LotS/The Story/Puny Human Birthdays II/BeneathTheTemple

Bethany closed her eyes and let the warm air currents wash over her. For a long moment she hovered there, suspended in the heavens, listening to the workings of the wind and the soft burn of her thrusters. In battle, or when she led her soldiers through their drills, there was no time to savor such things. But in her private training sessions she could revel in the sensations.

She'd been flying for decades now. But no matter how many times she took to the air, the feeling never lost a mote of its magic. The second baptism. That's what some of the other Archangels had called it, in the days before she'd risen up the ranks and loose talk had begun to die in her presence only to be resurrected in her absence. The experience of your first winged flight, of the ground relinquishing your body and soul to the heavens so that their currents might wash you clean of fear and folly -- leave you pure in the eyes of Lord and man and self.

"To touch the face of God," she whispered. It was a popular phrase among the Archangels, but no less potent and meaningful for the frequency of its utterance.

Her eyes opened. She drew her weapons. The sword locked itself into her right gauntlet and ignited in a blaze of celestial fire. The pistol found its berth in her left hand's grasp, and it too attached itself. They were fixed in place until she chose to release them, as unyielding as the justice and righteousness they'd been forged to deliver.

Bethany whispered a prayer. It drifted into the surrounding sky, which had received many thousands from her lips over the years and untold billions more from Jerusalem Maior's other inhabitants and its legions of visiting pilgrims. She levitated in a sea of piety, imagined sacred words flowing around her armor, wings, and weapons -- sanctifying each of them in turn.

Then she swooped.

There was fire below. Burning buildings and wrecked vehicles, devoured by flames, cast their smoke into the air like departing souls. Amongst the infernal pyres, lending their voices to the pandemonium, men, women, and children in pilgrims' robes screamed. And perished.

Soldiers wearing black armor poured into the square, emerging from nothingness as the holographic systems spawned them into existence at the edge of the training area. Their lashing whips of gunfire raked the crowds, bringing terror and death. Simulation or not, the sight made Bethany's eyes blaze.

Her pistol flashed. One of the soldiers fell, both head and helmet pierced by the blast. A second flash, and another lay beside him -- until the ether reclaimed them both.

Some of the soldiers aimed upwards and sprayed their fire at the avenging angel. Bethany weaved between their streams, reveling in the freedom afforded her by the heavens and her winged cuirass. Bright lances passed her on the left and right, above and below. She slipped past them in turn. Then, when the concentration of fire became too great, she brought her wings round. Their metal feathers met and locked in place, forming a bulwark. Holographic shots hissed and plinked against it, their sounds and impacts rendered lifelike by the training armor's systems.

A screen opened in the middle of the shield like a waking eye. It showed the scene below, the soldiers whose weapons zapped against her aegis in impotent fury. They grew larger and larger as she continued to plummet, until she could make out the details of their garb and the glares behind their visors.

Then her wings opened, and her sword flashed. Its burning edge swept through limbs and torsos, marking its passage with neat, cauterized wounds. Her pistol fired through the gaps created by the dismemberment, returning more soulless holograms to oblivion.

She sprang high into the air, her thrusters carrying her above the battle, and launched herself at the next group of soldiers. Their guns blazed, but the fire plinked off her sweeping wings. And when she was in range, the sword-wrought carnage repeated itself -- while her pistol picked away at the enemies whose weapons were still turned on the pilgrims, claiming their existence or at least drawing their attention.

A new arrow, this one gold, appeared on her visor's display. Another Archangel, their armor recognized by hers and depicted as friend rather than foe. She gave a start when she saw the symbol emblazed upon the marker. It upset her final stroke, which left a messy, jagged wound through a soldier's body. He fell apart like a sundered jigsaw puzzle.

"Greetings, Sky Commander Raphael," Bethany said.

She paused the exercise. Fleeing pilgrims froze in mid-run. Blaster fire hung in the air. Columns of flowing smoke became stagnant black-grey spires.

"Greetings, sister." The voice came into her ear through her communicator. Then he landed in front of her, and his next words passed through the air between them. "Forgive me for disturbing your training."

Bethany gazed at the sky commander's armor and tried not to betray her emotions. He wore a resplendent gold and crimson panoply, its aureate wings like the rays of a dawning sun. His ceremonial attire. That meant... When she met his gaze, his blue eyes twinkled. It made his aged face seem decades younger.

"Congratulations, Bethany."

"Thank you, sky commander. But the smugglers were careless. Tracking them down was simple." She spoke the words, but she didn't believe Raphael had come to congratulate her for the mission she'd completed earlier in the day.

"I meant your birthday."

Bethany's heart pounded. He'd wished her a happy birthday many times over the years, whenever the two of them happened to meet on that date. But he'd never sought her out for the purpose. That was confirmation enough, if his attire wasn't.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"Forty... An important number."

"Yes."

There was no need to elaborate. Both of them knew their Biblical numerology. Forty ran through both Old and New Testaments, marking periods of days or nights or years.

"Come with me."

Sky Commander Raphael's thrusters took him heavenward. Bethany stowed her weapons and followed.

They flew towards the distant majesty of the Grand Temple in silence, as peaceful as the soft cyan sky around them. But a thousand thoughts and anticipations filled her mind -- born of rumors heard long ago, now lent fresh credence. They swirled around her head in such an all-consuming haze that the magnificent structure seemed to lie below them a moment later.

Raphael descended towards his private balcony, gesturing for her to do the same. Bethany touched down beside him at the same moment the scanner flashed and the doors opened in recognition of his authorized DNA.

She'd been in the sky commander's office a few times before. It was there that she'd been interviewed prior to her most recent promotion. But like the glory of flight, the chamber was as wondrous as when she'd first laid eyes on it. The walls and ceilings were sumptuous, covered in frescos painted in the styles of different masters from Earth's Renaissance -- each depicting a Biblical scene. On one panel, a larger than life blinded Samson toppled the pillars of the Philistines' temple. Nearby, Jacob grappled with the angel. Across the room, Jesus fed the multitudes with loaves and fishes. These and dozens of other fine illustrations drew her eye and awe.

"Did you know I'd come to you today?" the sky commander asked.

"I..." Bethany's gaze fell upon a picture of Ananias and Sapphira meeting their fate. Perhaps that urged her towards veracity. "I suspected. I've heard the rumors."

"Tell me."

"They say that on their fortieth birthdays, senior officers who might..."

"One day become the sky commander? Yes. Go on."

The breath caught in her throat at that confirmation. She gave a small cough before she continued.

"They're taken somewhere. And when they come back, they're..." Her tongue groped for some way to explain it. "I saw Flight Commander Esther on the night she turned forty. She looked... happy."

The sky commander chuckled.

"Unusual behavior for Esther," he agreed.

"But they don't always come back. Host Leader Paulus didn't."

The humor drained from Raphael's face.

"No. They don't. That's why they're given a choice. Why I'm giving you a choice. I can't tell you where I'll take you or what you'll have to do there. But I promise it will be either the greatest experience of your life or the most terrible."

"How many have failed?"

"Only a handful have ever died during the trial. We promote people we believe will come through it unscathed. But we can't see into their souls."

"If I refuse?"

"You'll leave the Archangels tonight, with full honors. And I should tell you that not everyone who passes the trial chooses to remain. Some are so changed by it that they find their callings elsewhere."

"Has anyone ever declined?"

A faint smile crossed his lips.

"No. It isn't in our nature."

"It isn't. I accept."

"This way."

He approached one of the frescos. It depicted a verdant tree bearing strange blue fruit. Raphael reached up and pressed his hand against the lowermost of the azure pear-shaped objects, as though he intended to snatch it from the painting. Both fruit and hand flashed with green light. Then the painting slid inwards, retreating from his touch, before rising upwards and disappearing from sight.

An elevator was revealed behind where the fresco had stood. The sky commander entered it. Bethany followed him.

They didn't pass any doors as they descended. The smooth metal of the shaft continued unbroken until the journey ended. Then Bethany found herself at the end of a long, broad, brightly lit corridor. Its walls were plated with a metallic substance she recognized. It was heavy duty armor, the same kind that adorned the hulls of their combat vehicles. Equally familiar objects floated along the passage, coming towards them.

"Flaming swords," she murmured.

"The more obvious of the defenses," he said. "Others are hidden. But this isn't part of the test. None of them will trigger while you're with me."

Sure enough, the flaming swords hovered in the air before the two of them, then parted to form an escort on either side. The burning blades flanked them as they continued down the corridor.

At its end was a round door, almost the same dimensions as the passage itself. Like the corridor's walls, it too was armored. And a force field throbbed across it in translucent golden waves.

Raphael touched the wall on his right. A small doorway slid open, revealing a room no bigger than the elevator.

"Step inside here while I open the vault," he said.

Bethany did as bidden. The door closed behind her.

A few minutes passed, the chamber's quietness unbroken. When the portal reopened, and the sky commander beckoned her into the corridor, the vault was likewise unsealed -- revealing the impressive multilayered thickness of its door and the even more impressive spectacle beyond.

Raphael took her hand before they walked inside. He only released it when they were well clear of the threshold. Bethany barely even noticed. Her eyes were on the treasures.

There were marble statues, paintings in gilded frames, piles of gold coins, jewels beyond number, ornate suits of armor, weapons both exotic and archaic. Wealth and luxury glittered at her from every direction, arranged on shelves and pedestals, ensconced in display cases, mounted on the walls.

"Antiquities and relics from Earth. And from other worlds besides. Would you like to inspect them?"

"Are they why we're here?"

"No."

"Then perhaps later."

The sky commander nodded. He crossed the room and stopped in front of the far wall. A heater shield was mounted there. Bethany had seen such armaments both in depictions of warriors from Earth's Middle Ages and about the persons of present-day Novocastrian knights. But this one was decorated with a curious design. It showed a blue dragon standing side-on, above a pitchfork in the same azure hue.

Raphael pressed his hand against it, as he'd done with the painted fruit in his study. Once again a doorway opened, when the shield and the entire section of wall displaced themselves to reveal the gaping blackness of a smaller, unlit chamber.

"This is what we came for," he said.

He took her hand again, and drew her into the room. The section of wall sealed itself in their wake, plunging them into pitch blackness. The sky commander relinquished Bethany's hand for the second time and clapped both of his together.

A small spotlight came to life on the ceiling. Its cone of illumination fell in the center of the room, creating an island within the sea of shadow and disclosing the object which rested on a large, rectangular pedestal.

Bethany gasped.

"That's..."

"Yes."

The sky commander approached it from the side, leaving the space between it and Bethany empty. He placed his hand on its lid.

"Do you want to pray first?" he asked.

She nodded and dropped to one knee.

"Lord," she whispered, "if I'm unworthy of this test, please forgive me and take my soul to your side."

Bethany stood.

"I'm ready," she said.

Sky Commander Raphael opened the lid. A powerful wave of golden light surged forth. It washed over Bethany and engulfed her.