Always in the Dark...
G. Matthew King
6/9/98
    
	There were three of us.  There are always three.  That is simply
the way such things are done.  It makes perfect sense when one thinks
about it.  Most of you don't bother to think about it.  That is not our
problem.  We simply do what we are meant to do.  It is our nature. There
can be nothing else.
	There were three of us.  We were called before Him to give one of
you a chance to complete a journey.  The thrill of being chosen runs
through our hearts for a moment, then we bow humbly in acceptance of an
opportunity to perform our duty.  Duty, that which has been engraved into
us since the beginning, when the waters parted and the land rose,
separating the heavens and the earth.
	The lines between Heaven and Hell are thinner in some places than
your mortal philosophers and theologians could ever possibly imagine.
Sometimes quite literally.  Fluxes arise in the Rainbow Abyss's existence
and those with the desire can pass between the two greatest extremes.  The
passing itself can only be described to you as having every bone within
your body being ripped out at the same time, and that is a pale metaphor
indeed.  It suits the purpose here.
	To save a soul.  Is there any price that should not be paid?  One
human soul, with all of its flaws and foibles, all of its joy-filled
triumphs.  Deep inside is that spark of fear and wonder at the first
opening of a newborn's eyes.  Hidden under layers of memories are the
first word, the first step, and the first childhood crush.  The smell of a
favorite stuffed animal, cut grass, and a favorite meal.  The agony of
first heartbreak and the shattered fragments of childhood innocence that
accompanies it.  The sorrow of loved ones passing beyond your coil to
become truly part of ours.  
	Blessed of all His Creations, mortals know so little of the
magnificence of the world in which they live.  Small wonder so many of us
turned to a war of jealous pride so long ago.  A war that hasn't ceased
yet.  Maybe it never will.  We know bits and pieces, but it is all shaded
by our nature.  Duty above all things.  To live in service to Him.  We are
creatures of Love, singing praises to His Glory.  We are creations for
Justice, with sword and shield always in hand.  We are servers of Mercy
and Compassion, delivering a more active salvation for some.  That is our
nature, to serve Him above all things.
	We left immediately.  White wings arched high over our backs,
carrying us on to a place where the fabric of the Rainbow was thin.  Not
exactly a place you can see, more that you just feel that you are there.
A push of willpower, and you breach the Rainbow Abyss.  Then all Hell
breaks loose, in a quite literal sense of the phrase.  
	"In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.  And the
earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the
deep.  And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters."  Genesis
Chapter One, verses 1 and 2.  Your King James Version.  Ever wonder why so
many of your ancient civilizations chose water as the beginning of their
creation story?  Think it small irony that your scientists say humanity
evolved from life that originated as one-celled organisms living in the
sea?  Maybe some of you who have seen the torrents of water pouring down
the Angel Falls in Africa can try to compare to the Rainbow Abyss.  You
would fail.  A swirling chaos of colors and sounds, time fragments and
bubbles of space.  Water is the only comparable medium to that momentary
glimpse of the Rainbow one achieves during the crossing.  All surrounding
fluid, infinite pressure on all sides.  
	Then we were through, our pulse pounding to the thunder of our 
wings.  Screams that can be found no where else greeted our ears; the
sights could not be harsher through the smoke and stench of the place.
Your author Dante decided Hell to be a place of excrement, fire and ice,
terrible beasts and infinite punishments for violation of the Seven Deadly
Sins.  More modern views hold Hell to be any state of existence without a
knowledge of God.  If mortals knew the truth of Hell, of how close and how
far away your ideas are, maybe some of you wouldn't be in such a hurry to
get there.  
	The presence of Evil was overpowering, a decay that permeates the
place of such unholiness.  It's choking, covering the inside of your lungs
like a slimy black film.  Pressing you down in shame at your actions,
knowing your sins inside and out better than you know them.  Somewhere in
the labyrinth of tunnels and pits was a beacon, a soul still pure and good
and right.  Our wings beat on harder, swords heavy in hand.
	The Fallen rise to meet us, their forms as twisted as their
actions.  Hideous and deformed, they were once our own.  Now they serve a
different master, a lord of pain and sorrow.  It's a game now; a chess
match with an infinite number of pieces, and each side can move any one at
will.  Free will is what determines your actions in your life, and where
you find yourself when in our life.  Sometimes with the proper invitation,
spoken or not, the Enemy gains a foothold on someone who is still trying
to fight on our side.  Catching someone in a world of lies, deceit, and
depression until they give in to the evil of the world at large.  And our
side is so few these days, and so precious.  So we went running right into
Hell, to bring one back.  
	The tunnels twisted in writhing patterns, incomprehensible to
anyone.  At the very center lays a twisted black heart, beating an ancient
pulse.  Evil, vomitous ichor poured forth from such a monstrosity, still
pumping the hateful pride that started this war so long ago.  Fire gouted
in front of us, singeing the hair on our heads.  Ice clung to our wings,
weighing them heavily.  Always there were the Fallen and those they
tormented for eternity.  
	Racing along in torn and demented patterns, we sought one mortal
soul out of an infinite number.  The ancients believed like calls like and
this is true in some cases.  Within the confines of Hell, to have some
innocence left is to stand out like a splash of crimson on a pure white
canvas.  The three of us fought on, knowing the way within ourselves
better than any thought out plan of approach.  A twisted tentacle, barbed
with bone and iron, reached for us out of the shadows.  A slash of a
sword, holy flames licking its edge, and black ooze of acid and poison
marked a friend's fair skin.  The tentacle retreated shorter than before
it tempted its fate.  The evil lives on, the anger and hate in its
existence growing just as the wound never heals.  
	A final turn and a cavern opened before the three of us.  I
remember screaming the war cry of the Archangel Michael as we burst
through the tatters of fate.   A globe of crystal hung suspended in space
at the cavern's center.   A reflection lay buried within, a mortal soul
under siege.  The Fallen guarded closely, battering the spirit with
temptations, sorrows, and pains.  I threw my shield in front of the three
of us as a jet of fire came coiling at me from the claws of an Archdemon.
The shield burned hotly, cracking but having held.  Shards of ice rained
into us like steel, forcing us into spirals and rolls.  Separating us from
each other and endangering our mission.  
	A spin brought us closer to the goal.  I saw my friends begin the
ever-quickening dance of battle, swords cleaving horn and leathery wing.
A spear was thrust at my left side, to pierce the heart and tear me from
all existence.  I hacked the shaft aside with my sword.  I flew above the
scene quickly, summoning my faith into a pinpoint of dreaming.  I felt the
fever growing; a fire burning within me like no other I have ever known.
A cry escaped my lips as I loosed the sword from my hand.  It became a
sparkling spear of pure light, scattering the Fallen even as it shattered
the crystal globe.  I am not certain even now what happened.  I can only
have faith that I called upon the pure name of God and He answered.  
	A smile crossed the lips of the mortal as peace descended upon the
heart, somewhere out there in the void on your side of the Rainbow.  In
the fading light of the Most Holy of Fires, the spirit grew misty and blew
away like an early morning fog.  Gone now; saved now.  Salvation in a more
active way.  Any price is worth such a cost.  
	It is said that there is no way to leave Hell.  Under any
circumstances, there is much truth to that.  The most interesting thing
about Hell is that the only way out is the way most people enter, straight
through the front gates.  For those of us who can leave Hell, Hell never
leaves us.  It takes its own price and toll on the spirit, even ours.
Such is its nature.  
	In the fading light of the Most Holy of Fires, the demons gathered
below our flight.  Escape now was the soul occupying thought, screaming
within us as Hell's black heart began to beat a quicker pulse.  Vengeance
was shrieked at every turn.  Lightning crackled and popped behind us,
arching for our chests.  Ripping the heart is the only way to create a
final ending.  Severing the bonds and sending us spinning into the void of
the Rainbow.  Our bodies were weary; our wings beat out of desperation and
dragged down by fatigue.  
	We careened onward now, flying out of panic and terror to escape.
Hell was alive now, active with the hate that literally dripped from the
walls.  Ahead of us shown the turrets and domes of a city, older than any
save one.  The walls were higher than one could ever imagine, infinite in
scope and thickness.  Yet to reach the gate and take one step through was
to pass beyond and find salvation for ourselves.  Such is Hell's nature;
inescapable, yet you could leave with one foot fall.  Arrows began to
stream from the towers of the town, tips of fire and ice and lightning.  I
lead the way; my eyesight seizing upon the iron gates and never leaving it
despite my twists to avoid the Devil's vengeance.  I heard a scream and
realized my own throat had uttered it as a black shaft ripped into my
wing.  Still I pressed harder.  There was a groan, a low moaning sound as
if the very earth was suffering under the terrible weight of sin.  And I
pressed the three of us even harder as I saw the black encrusted iron
gates of Hell slowly begin to close.  
	It could be said that the Gates of Hell are always open.  That
isn't quite true.  What is true is that the way into Hell is never closed.
There is always a way to go to Hell.  There is only one way out.  And that
way was being sealed.
	The wind whipped past my ears, whistling as it came.  I heard one
of us cry out behind me, knowing of injury and knowing we must all still
press on.  The gates began to swing slightly faster, gaining momentum as
they closed.  I knew there could be no leaving unless we went through
those gates.  Somehow we had to make it.  
	I can honestly say that we did make it.  But only two are needed
to make a "we."  These things are always done in threes.  That is the way
of things, and it makes perfect sense when you think about it.  I remember
clearing the gates ahead of the others, them following in the back draft
of my wings.  I also remember the cry of surprise as someone grasped the
last of my kind's ankle before it was yanked away by the shear frenzy of
his flight.  Sometimes I wonder if he could not have made it through.
Other times I see the truth of the gates crushing his poor body, cutting
it in two if fate had not touched him at the time.  The image still haunts
me, though.  Even know I see his body pressed up against the iron gates.
His wings are spread wide and coated with black filth; scarcely the white
shows through.  His hands and feet punctured by cruel barbs, crucifying
him to the gates.  True to his nature, he smiles in the face of an
eternity of tortured pain, smiles at having been martyred in service to
Our Lord God.  
	I don't know how God survives.  Maybe it isn't part of our nature
to be able to see the Rainbow the way He does.  I do know that God carries
on, with His only Son somewhere done in the realm of Hell, trying to help
us find others who are pure and lead them home.  I don't know how God can
face everything with His Son so far from home.  I only know the pain of
losing mine.