The First Age

Jon couldn't help but take notice that Mr. Indyk had completely ignored Jon's questions and instead pursued his own line of questioning toward Jensen. Could Jensen have killed the creature? What kind of question was that? The man hadn't been armed when he had been taken into custody; to answer affirmative would be a dead giveaway to abilities the man had no business knowing about.

Jensen wavered under the question, but at least to his credit he didn't give away any additional indication that he could do...well, things. Still, Jon was certain the "medical examiner" wasn't convinced Jensen was nothing more than an errant preacher caught up in a wild tale.

Ömer straightened and left the room with little fanfare. Jon turned his attention back to Jensen, who exhaled with vigor as if he'd been wound taught like a rubber band. Not an unexpected reaction. But it was good -- for Jensen's sake -- that he seemed to trust Jon over the other man. For Jon didn't have any purpose at the moment for which he could use the man, and indeed was only here to help him out of the snake pit in which he'd found himself.

"Uh. That was...strange."


Jon removed his spectacles and put them in his shirt pocket. He'd noticed the tension that had wrapped around Jensen at Jon's suggestion the man was delusional. And even though it seems the hunter hadn't bought it, Jon worried Jensen might be even more fragile than he'd seemed.

"Yes, that certainly was strange, Mr. James,"
Jon said to his client. " You aren't delusional. I merely put forth that explanation questioning your memory for that man's benefit -- and I'm pretty sure he didn't buy it."


Jon leaned forward, his eyes locking with Jensen's. "As I should hope you have learned already by now, some things in this world are stranger than fiction."
He could hear the man's heartbeat, strong and rapid, as the power swam through his veins. Jensen would certainly have to learn how to hedge his truths if he were to stay alive for much longer. The truth as told was not a black and white matter. It was a matter of choice -- what the speaker chose to reveal. Otherwise the speaker surrendered control to the listener.

Jensen needed to understand that lesson. Perhaps the knowledge he'd just spoken to a potential threat would drive that home. "There are reasons I asked you not to speak of your ability. That man--"
Jon cocked his head toward the closed door Mr. Indyk had taken -- "He is a hunter. Both of the things such as the creature you encountered...and of people like you and me. I did not figure it out until just before he left -- but I am certain of it as I am the sun will rise tomorrow."


Jon took a breath. "I can help you, I can represent you -- but I cannot be there for you around the clock. You must understand that what you tell others can have extraordinary consequences."


Jon settled back. The bailiff should be here shortly to let Jensen out. Hopefully there wouldn't be a gang of silent assassins waiting for him when he walked out of the precinct.

When Jon finally explained what he'd done, Jensen's heart sank heavy with conviction; having learned Jon had purposefully misled Ömer on Jensen's behalf.

The former-preacher shook his head sadly. This kind of relationship was not going to work for them. On one hand, he understood the logic behind Jon's defense, but on the other, he couldn't, in good conscience, allow him to use it. The decision already firmed in his mind by the time Jon locked eyes with him. The lawyer's directions were confident enough to make anyone consider it, but the longer Jensen watched the man across the table, Jon's face faded into that of another soul yet to face judgement for his deeds. Whether or not the man knew their Father, Jensen could not attest, but when that Day of Judgement came, falsehoods on behalf of Jensen James was not going to be among the listed sins. He'd already wounded so many people with selfish sins. Jon shouldn't be one of them.

"I understand your reasons for discretion, Jon."
He shifted in his seat, but not from nerves, only from having stayed in one place for so long. As he did, a sting of cold burst fresh from the metal chair. He contained the grimace and focused on not moving his feet likewise. He still hadn't found anyone with an extra pair of socks on hand.

"If Ömer was as you say he was, then I will have to deal with the consequences. You know the early church was in constant danger, but held to faith in the face of terrible persecution. At the call for Peter's crucifixition, he had the chance to flee the city, but turned back to bear similar horrors as Jesus himself had. When James the brother of John was brought to the place of his death, his accuser, having witnessed James' extraordinary courage and undauntedness, himself begged forgiveness, and resolved that James should not be martyred alone. They were both beheaded at the same time.

"Stephen, Paul, Mark, Bartholomew, Jude. So many did not deny their faith in the face of death and persecution.

"And of course, Jesus himself, could have saved himself from crucifixion and torture had he but only denied that he was the King of Kings. But the Son of God was born for that purpose alone, to die sinless, and bear the burden of our sins on our behalf."


The list of martyrs was lengthy, and continued to this day. A horrible death was something Jensen was none to keen on pursuing for his own end, but at least for now, sitting in this quiet room in some precinct in Moscow, his faith was firm. If ever he was faced with the sort of scene suggested by Jon, he hoped his resolution would hold. With the war that was coming, he feared all too much that such ends were waiting for many undeserving innocents.

Used to lengthy speeches, Jensen easily gathered his breath and paused to determine if Jon was at the point that Jensen should continue the witness or transition to the rest of his point.

Jessika must trust Jon to have called upon him, and Jon must be a good man to have rallied to her aid, but Jensen had to be clear. "I hope you will represent me, Jon, but I ask that we adhere to the truth. The Lord does not differentiate from outright breaking of one of the Ten Commandments from misdirection or omission, I would prefer to face these earthly extraordinary consequences you speak of than the disappointment of our Father in heaven."
He shook his head grimly.

"I've already failed so much, and wounded so many people. This is the least I can do."


He looked to the door, assuming Jon knew the details of his past. That he hadn't brought it up so far was appreciated, but Jensen was coming to understand he couldn't hide forever. "I believe you can do it, Jon, but if you won't take the case, I will understand."
A quiet smile of acceptance chased away Jensen's fear - for now.

Either way, he waited for Jon's decree.


Edited by Jensen James, Dec 4 2013, 08:10 AM.

So the preacher decided to preach? That was unsurprising. Passion for one's beliefs was an admirable trait, but to Jon it seemed Jensen ran the risk of letting minutiae blind himself to the grander picture, like the farmer unwilling to set foot inside the hen house for fear of stepping on an egg, letting the snakes who'd crept inside wreak their havoc.

And unfortunately for Mr. James, if he kept too strongly to his unwavering image of dedicating himself to this un-achievable notion of purity, aloof in his self-righteous humility, the snakes would strangle him before he could do anything about it. Perhaps Jon as well, and events were unfolding at too rapid a pace for Jon to allow himself be drawn into some self-reflective battle.

"Mr. James, in terms of legal matters I will represent you and, as you are my client, defer to your wishes as to how you wish to be represented in terms of the law, provided it does not provide you a substandard defense."


He paused. Jon was hardly a theologian, but of course as the Mescaleros were largely Catholic, he'd enough of religious instruction as a youth to craft at least a reasonable counterargument. Jensen had such a gift at his disposal, it would truly sadden Jon for the man to squander it.

"Tell me something, Mr. James. Do you believe that a man's life is judged merely by his sins, or by his capacity to do good? And which is the greater of the two? If we are inherently sinful creatures, is it not what we do with the gifts we are given for our fellow man that matters at the end of the day?"


Jon studied Jensen. This would be difficult to explain to the man since he had such a greater understanding of the Bible -- but perhaps he was not opening his eyes to the right lessons. "You mentioned the martyrs of early Christianity. We remember those whose deaths achieved something. But there are countless who aren't remembered in history. For fear of wavering off your path of piety, you risk the fear of being cut down before you have the chance to do whatever you have been called for, and I suspect you don't even truly know what that is yet. That doesn't make you a martyr, it just makes you dead. A useless dead person who was arrogant in his humility. Your line of thought would have Moses snuffed out as a babe, surely you can see that."


He took a breath. Would Jensen understand? Or would he continue to risk putting the both of them in danger over some notion it was pleasing to his maker to do so, rather than do what he was really called for? "You mentioned Jesus. Do not forget he was sought out by the pharisees for arrest long before it was his time to go to the cross. You have been blessed with a gift, but if you let yourself die a pointless death before you can use it you are no better than the man who buried his Talent in the basement for fear he'd lose it. Would that not, in fact, draw the greater disappointment in your Father's eyes? There are evil, evil things in the world that would snuff out your gift, and mine. Sometimes we must face a choice between feeling right and doing right. So will you unburden yourself from fear of sin, or will you let your talent go to waste?"



Edited by Jon Little Bird, Dec 7 2013, 03:49 PM.

Jensen truly was relieved that Jon would represent him.

But his relief quickly cooled somber. Jon hinted at the confounding argument of good people committing sinful acts, and how were they judged?

At first, Jensen listened and weighed everything Jon had to say in order to address his points with heartfelt sincerity. This would be the second time in one night he'd been given the chance to witness. After years of hiding, now that his heart was open to it, God was giving him a string of chances. Probably not so much to test his willingness to obey the great commandment, but because a heart unshielded by sin saw more chances to love his brethren where a man stooped by guilt closed his own doors before ever attempting to open them.

But Jon was a great speaker. He drew upon examples that his audience would understand. He was clearly familiar with the stories of the Bible,and Jensen considered their implications. His focus shifted from Jon to the place occupied by Omer, now unforgiving emptiness, but Jon's hammering was slowly denting the new armor Jensen thought shielded his soul.

He looked next to his hands in his lap, the pose of a fearful child rather than a soldier of the Lord, but there were weights on his shoulders that sent them drooping. As though John Smith were on one side, urging him to trust in the infinity of the Lord's will, and that what will be, will be, no matter mankind's actions. While on the other, Jon Little Bird argued that he take matters into his own hands, and never mind the consequences, so long as the greater good was achieved.

But that greater good was the reason Jensen was in Moscow at all. The reason two sons grieved over the loss of their father the last four years. The reason Jessika was too shamed to remain attached to her husband's name. He'd convinced himself he was sparing them, when in reality, he was too afraid to face consequence. Was he now in the same situation? How could he tell the difference?

The two men on his shoulders were not alone in their beckoning. The figure from The Dream whispered a reminder to hold fast. An angel of the Lord - one who had held himself with divine knowledge. The being had been kingly and bright, reflecting the love of the King of Kings. What would the angel advise? 'Hold to faith', he would say. He did say.

If Jensen agreed to Jon's efforts, he would walk an incredibly narrow path that differentiated sin from love. Knowing what he knew of himself, would Jensen be able to maintain the sacrifice in the name of greater good? Could he hold to sinful handholds once in a while without stumbling completely down the mountain?

Well. It looked like he was going to have to try. It's not like martyrs were hoping to die excruciating deaths. Being stoned to death was definitely not on his bucket list.

"Alright, Jon."
He looked up, accepting of his lawyer's advice. John Smith would probably agree. The angel? Well. Jensen hoped for approval as well.

The chance to witness slammed shockingly loud, like a patio door wrenched by the pressure of a coming storm blowing through the house. He felt weighed down by failure, but none ever said chain mail, armor, shield and sword were easy to wear.

Tight muscles fought him as he uncurled in the chair, sitting straight once more. He met Jon's piercing efforts eye to eye, shaking his head. An awkward smile broke the tension. "Only a few days ago I was convinced these talents were anything but gifts, but the Lord has seen fit to place me in the path of ... men ... able to convince me otherwise."


He shifted in his seat, still struggling with the idea of walking so treacherous wire needed to maintain balance. Just don't look down.

"I want to serve. I want to do the Lord's will, with all my heart. Light of heaven knows I shouldn't follow my own will."
The joke in his voice did a poor job at cutting through the tension.

Habit scrubbed his hair back from his eyes. "But I don't think the choice is so much an issue of either/or: lie or die."
At least in this very specific situation. If there was a gun to his head, he liked to think he'd hold to principle, but then again, nobody woke in the morning hoping to be stoned to death by dinner.

"I'd rather fight for the truth."
There wasn't a violent bone in Jensen's body, but his conviction was solid. Only problem was, he needed the right kind of armor or he wouldn't last long. He just hadn't found it yet. "But you're right. There's a war coming, and I shouldn't focus so much on skirmishes before the real battle begins."


That felt right. Just saying it out loud and he was.. well, not exactly more at ease .. but more steadfast at least.

And war is coming.

And apparently. So was the bailiff. Because there was a brief knock on the door shortly before an officer let himself in.


Edited by Jensen James, Dec 8 2013, 09:07 AM.

Jon bowed his head briefly to acknowledge Jensen's acquiescence. More of the tension seemed gone from the man's face. Good for him. Jon had his concerns the man would be given over to zealotry. A mind that was unable to bend would snap like a frozen twig when confronted with the storm a true test would bring. Jensen, however, showed true wisdom in his acceptance of reason and his ability to change his line of thought.

And then came mention of impending war. From this man. Jon raised an eyebrow as Jensen spoke. Was he speaking of political tension, or something else? Jon suspected the latter...but Jensen just mentioned how little he understood of his ability, so what did he know? His thoughts returned to his conversation with Nick Trano. There were more coming -- more with the gift, the ability...It hadn't even been a shock to Jon to learn of yet another one in Jensen. Jon, Nick, Jaxen, Oriena, the Ascendancy himself, Jensen...the first raindrops to herald the oncoming deluge that loomed across the horizon. And the patterns of the racing, thickening clouds screamed it was coming this way.

So when Jensen spoke of a war coming, what did he mean?

A knock sounded at the door, followed by the scraping sound of metal on concrete as it swung open. The building custodian should really get the hinges rehung. An officer entered, not the same one who'd led him in here, this time a tall man of his early middle years with broad shoulders an a thick brown mustache peppered with flecks of gray. He set an opaque plastic bag upon the table -- Jensen's personal effects from the hospital, most likely. He announced that Jensen was free to go, turned around and left without any further ceremony.

Jon stood and offered Jensen his hand. "Congratulations Mr. James, you're a free man. For the time being, at least. As the declination of prosecution was approved without prejudice, the prosecutor still has the option to bring up charges later on, but I don't see that as likely. I'd like to accompany you out, if I may."
Jessika would undoubtedly be waiting for Jensen and Jon wouldn't mind a formal introduction from her husband.

And there were still other things that stoked his curiosity. Jon moved away from his seat and put his hand on the doorknob to open the door a bit wider. Then he stopped and turned back to Jensen. "I can't help but wonder what you mean when you say there's a war coming. I certainly hope you will have time to elaborate. But first let's get you out of here."

Jon's handshake was sturdy and quick, and Jensen's was sincere. He went so far as to wrap his other hand across theirs, sealing their collaboration all the more firmly.

He started rifling through the bag when Jon turned back to ask a final question. Jensen blanked. And looked down. Where could he start? "The best answer would be to show you,"
he finally said. He poured his belongings on the table. "If you're not busy, you're welcome to come with me. I probably won't get much sleep out of the night anyway. I'm still on third-shift schedule."


Thankfully, the bag contained his socks and shoes. They'd been removed in the ambulance, but whereas his clothing had been cut away, thankfully these had been pulled off the old-fashioned way. He'd not take socks for granted from now on. The hospital gown and sweat pants completed the outfit. He'd taken off his jacket at the murder scene to cover the shivering victim, and as it was now the middle of the night, he did not look forward to the cold air. But hey, freedom and cold air was better than prison and warmth. Most of the time.

They walked out together and passed through the various checkpoints without a hitch. A cold hallway led to the exit, and seated on an old bench was Jessika. She held her chin in one hand and appeared on the verge of falling asleep where she sat. Either she heard or she sensed their approach. Knowing her, it was probably the latter.

When she stood the material of her clothes fell silky as the loops of her hair. Her lips were downturned, but she was wide-awake. A bag lay at her feet, probably containing the ruined suit jacket. With bare arms and a flimsy top, she must be freezing. And Jensen had no jacket to offer her.

She strode directly for them, but it was toward Jon she aimed. Suddenly, Jensen recalled the tingle in his cheek from earlier. He paused to introduce them.

"Jon Little Bird,"
he gestured, "this is Jessika Thrice..-"
and left off the James.

"Thank you for your swift work, Mr. Bird,"
Jessika shook his hand. She held herself with poise and confidence. Shoulders back and eye-contact direct. "Your reputation does not disappoint."
She seemed on the verge of adding something when she looked at her wayward husband. He still wasn't sure how much, if anything, in that alley she had actually seen. The light? The creature? The healing?

Jon turned Jensen's response over in his mind. He had something to show Jon that was related to his cryptic utterance of war on the horizon? To investigate further might require letting Nick Trano go off on his own to Dominance V, but were he to ignore this possible warning it might catch Jon unaware down the road.

Looks like I'm staying in Moscow for a while longer.
Besides, he still hadn't found himself a new apartment. He'd have to take his chances with Trano off alone for the moment.

"I might have a few moments available we can discuss that,"
he said to Jensen.

A drowsy-looking woman quite inappropriately dressed for a Moscow winter roused herself from a bench outside. Jon recognized her immediately -- Jessika Thrice, the Lone Star Darling herself. Jon couldn't help but notice that as soon as she got up she hardly gave Jensen a second glance before moving toward Jon. Plainly there was a sea of emotional turmoil still between the two. Obviously she still cared deeply for Jensen, or else why jump so fast to get Jon involved with Jensen's defense? It couldn't just be damage control for her candidacy. Would Texas voters really care if her husband was a murder suspect in Moscow? Knowing Texans it might have gotten her a few more votes if anything.

Jon just didn't get it. On the surface Jessika seemed like quite the catch of the lifetime, if one were to put her political beliefs aside. Strong, self-made while at the same time nurturing and willing to do what it takes to stand by her man -- and an estranged husband nevertheless! Plus, she was -- in Jon's estimation -- very, very attractive. What would possess a man to run away from that?

Jon offered Jessika his hand and gave her a gentle smile as she complimented his reputation. "Thank you, Ms. Thrice. Always a pleasure to help out a fellow countryman, even if he is a Texan."
. Jon gave her a wink at that last remark. Jessika would probably know enough about Jon to know he was New Mexican born, with all the good-natured neighborly antipathy that entailed, so Jon couldn't resist the jab. She'd likely find it humorous, in this day one couldn't afford to carry around past grudges over trivial matters. "Moscow can be a cold place indeed without friends. Speaking of friends, the Council of Native Americans still has to weigh in on who it plans to contribute to in your state's election. We should definitely talk about that sometime. You've got my number."


Jon stepped back, wondering if he was about to witness some grand reunion between husband and wife, or if Jensen would ask him to come back to his place and fill him in on his cryptic portents of war, or if Atharim assassins were about to jump out of the shadows...or something entirely unexpected was about to happen.

Jensen's wife could talk her way in or out of anything. She was dazzlingly effective. Whether a board meeting or a room full of parents irritated that their child wasn't selected for the solo, she had this amazing ability to vanquish all tension with a single smile. As a leader, there were few others who could accomplish the load she bore. She'd been the church's cornerstone. Its visionary. If it hadn't been for her - and a few prayers - the City Council never would have allowed them to build a mailbox let alone a stadium.

Jensen stood back and let Jessika shine. This was her moment, and she took advantage of it like an expert. How good she was turned out to be kind of scary, actually. She spoke with Jon for a few moments, edging the line between flirtatious and friendly, following a light-hearted joke about the rivalries between their states. She mentioned her awareness of the Council, and encouraged them to donate to the campaign that best aligned with their needs. Of course, she followed up with a few points about how her vision for Texas just so happened to fall in line with issues they'd likely find pertinent.

Afterward, there was an awkward silence that stretched out dreary and sterile as the marble hallway of the police station. Jensen's hospital gown had more pizazz than the place, and being that he was free to go, he was well... ready to go.

He looked between Jessika, who was going to be freezing without her suit jacket, and Jon, who was the most sane-looking of the trio. Between Jessika's blousey top and Jensen's hospital gown and sweat pants, they would probably draw quite the eye walking into John's loft. And none of them had one of those little squirrelish dogs to class the group up. "I'll get a cab,"
he said, but it came out more like a question than he'd intended.

Jensen opened a rear door for Jessika, whom he spoke to briefly while Jon was busy getting his own door. "He's coming with us,"
he told her quietly, uninterested in protests for the moment. Her glassy gaze didn't reveal whether she had any or not, and Jensen long ago gave up trying to interpret it. She slid into the car without complaint. He rode in front. Three in the back would be uncomfortable for all kinds of reasons, and maybe Jessika would have the chance to butter up Jon for more campaign dollars.

The ride was otherwise uneventful, and Jensen breathed a sigh of relief that no ladies with dogs more glamorous than most people were shooting up and down the street outside. The lone doorman, however, gave them a hesitant stare. Luckily, he recognized Jensen, and let them inside with no more interest than anyone might have.

Jensen fiddled with keys for a few shaky moments. Hunger and nerves seemed to be finally catching up with him.

"Make yourselves at home,"
he gestured and went about searching for light switches. Finally, he gave up and just flipped on a lamp he knew to be in the middle of the room. The suitcase he'd hauled over earlier that day - was that only today ?? - lay in the corner, unzipped, but the lid was popped open anyway.

"Uhh, I'll be right back,"
he told them after digging out the first change of clothes in the hasty pile. He cringed at how badly he'd shoved everything in there before. He may not be wearing suits, but unfolded clothes led to wrinkles. Then he disappeared into what he hoped was a bedroom. It'd been a while since he'd lived anywhere with more than one door.

He caught a glimpse of Jessika stretching out on the couch just before inviting Jon to join her. He frowned, confused at feelings he had no right to suffer.

Jessika was every bit the operator Jon had expected her to be. As they sat together in the back of the taxicab on the way to wherever Jensen had directed the driver, she asked Jon questions about what life was like growing up on a reservation. The way she held that intense focus on Jon and hung on his every word, laughing even at asking follow up questions even to more mundane details, suggested she wasn't so much interested in what Jon had to say as she was in convincing Jon of her interest. And she was good at it too. Jon found himself liking her even though he was aware of the game she was playing.

The cab brought them to a university loft. Jensen led them through the lobby and to a door. Jon noticed the man had to fumble a bit before bringing light to the living area. Jon glanced around. the place was comfortably furnished if a bit Spartan. So it hadn't been intended for long term occupation, and from the looks of it -- yep, there was a suitcase with Jensen's belongings -- Jensen was indeed a recent occupant. He hadn't even unpacked.

As Jensen went to go change, Jessika found herself a comfortable seat on the couch and invited Jon to sit with her. He accepted as it would be rude not to. The couch wasn't large and they ended up sitting rather close, less than a foot between them. He leaned back just enough to give a little extra space without appearing to show that was what he was doing. It occurred to Jon that Jessika might be playing an entirely different game with Jensen at the same time -- making Jon her tool.

As Jensen emerged from the room, Jon cleared his throat. "You spoke of a war coming,"
he said to Jensen. "That should hardly be a surprise. America cannot continue to ignore the growing might of the CCD and not reposition itself to create a more balanced posture of power. This will cause a confrontation sooner or later. What America did to win the last cold war won't work this time. But I think you may mean something else."


And Jon had a idea what Jensen meant. The man couldn't ignore their mutual gift. He hoped the man had the sense not to reveal Jon's gift in front of Jessika, but what did she already know?And why did Jensen think the emergence of this new power, a thing stranger than anything dreamt up in a crazed writer's imagination, stranger than fiction indeed, would mean war? what did he know?

Jensen took his time changing clothes. It wasn't like he was stalling, okay he was stalling, but he wasn't trying to be rude. But every time his hand reached for the handle, he thought of something else to check on, or do, or straighten. It turned his stomach to have to go out there and face them. To be honest with himself, because he was so good at that, he wanted to avoid looking Jessika in the eye. Finally, he sucked it up, and rejoined the world. He wasn't really alone, after all, but that first step was never easy.

Jessika made a point to ignore his return. She had the same pallor in her cheeks as she had when she tried to argue that nothing was wrong when clearly something was. They were going to have to talk eventually, but for now, Jensen was fine with procrastinating a little while longer.

He joined the pair, one hand fumbling in his pocket. Jessika finally looked up at him. He couldn't decide if she was annoyed he was alive or just for interrupting. He looked around the loft as though studying it for the first time all over again. When he saw the kitchen, his stomach sank. He must have left his manners behind in prison. He gestured and shot off to rifle through the refrigerator. Hoping against-- Thank God. He returned with three bottles of water.

Bottle in his own lap, he sat on a chair opposite the pair, but perched on the edge, he was far from relaxed. The table centered between their seats was integrated with an iScreen system. As Jon concluded his points, to which Jessika sternly nodded an agreement, Jensen powered it up. Although Mr. Smith's system was an upgraded version, he was familiar enough with its workings to summon the necessary evidence. Which, finally, was something he could talk about with some confidence at least.

The first was the news story about the recovery of the Egyptian wreckage in the Gulf. "Are you guys familiar with this find?"
He pivoted the screen their direction to browse the headlines at their leisure. "Its proof of a Greek civilization older than Sumerians. It pre-dates the Flood itself. Some scholars could say it predates the Garden of Eden."
What that meant for Christians was going to be a question Jensen could not answer, but he definitely didn't profess to have answers. Well, except to the one Jon asked, of course.

He leaned back, catching a glimpse of the ancient Bible that had been given to him so recently. "In seminary I took classes on the exegetical study of Revelation, how to interpret eschatological literature, and so on."
He shot Jessika a silent look that knew what she'd been saying about Nikolai Brandon. Every thirty or forty years the church was convinced the world was coming to an end. It just so happened this time, the crazies were right.

He turned back to Jon. "But it wasn't until I met the man that discovered these very tablets that I gave much thought to the prophecies of other religions. Its actually remarkable. Almost every religion on the planet has an equal view of the end of the world."
Jensen pressed his lips together. This wasn't particularly easy to tell people, especially when one of them was the mother of your children.

He steadied his nerves with a prayer, "Its the apocalypse. The war between heroes of the Light and armies of the Darkness."
Time to unleash the actual crazy. He ran his hands through his hair. "The Antichrist or Apollyon, the forerunner. Either one is bad enough, but I think Jessika is right about the Ascendancy. He's more than he claims."


He'd been relating almost everything John Smith had told him nearly word for word, but now he was in the middle of the story, a memory suddenly floated to the surface. "Actually, Mr. Smith mentioned you, Jon. You and Nicholas Trano of all people. As having been men who've stood up to the Ascendancy and not yet been crushed by him."
Jensen frowned unsure of what to make of that. If the Ascendancy was the enemy, two men who stood before the so called 'lord of the earth' 'lord' of the earth, or 'god' of the earth? - a question for later research - then were these two men significant as well? "They are able to devour their enemies with fire that flows out of their mouths. They also have power over the sky and waters and are able to strike the earth with plague." Jensen shivered, just to think of the power that might mean. Especially since, well, Jensen and Jon both had powers of their own.

"Do you know Nicholas Trano? Is he like, uh, us?"
Jensen quietly asked, having a feeling he already knew the answer. Jessika frowned.

He popped the cap on his bottle and took a long swig. At least it was cold.