FALL: The Last Testament of Lucifer Morningstar

FALL by David Scott Hay was a recent Amazon Top 20 Hot New Release in contemporary fantasy  (66,000 words). Purchase the book at http://www.amazon.com/David-Scott-Hay/e/B00535PD2W/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1 

Contains

Chapter One: A Visitor
Chapter Two: The Writer
Chapter Three: Reacquaintance
Chapter Four: The Body
Chapter Five: The Quest

Happy reading, DSH

ONE: A VISITOR

            The stranger appeared one afternoon, on the eve of the Ritual of Flight. Duma, having a mischievous (and what some would whisper lazy) streak, had decided not to join his brothers in the weekly outing. Instead, he chose to walk, his wings folded tightly against his back like a bird’s wings in winter. He trod upon a dirt path over a few hills down to the Southern Slope of Heaven. The Fields of Gold rippled gently like an amber sheet in the breeze, and the Presence was quite warm upon his face. He liked it here; it always seemed more peaceful than anywhere else. Duma preferred to work alone, but his assignments in the Silver City often required the cooperation of several of his brothers. Generally, he got along with most whether they be of the Sarim or Cherubim.

            But he never passed up an opportunity to sneak away, which he often did. And although he would lightly be punished, he would gladly make up for his “indiscretions” with extra chores.  Duma’s temperament was unpredictable and his brothers did not complain when he missed the Flight. In fact, some were quite glad he did not join in the Ritual. Most of them could recall a certain time or two when Duma flew too close or plucked a feather here and there and then laughed at them.

            But Duma cared for none of their whisperings. It paled in comparison to what he’d been called six thousand years ago. Most of the angels had forgotten or acted as though it had never happened.

Ridiculous.

            Four centuries ago a younger naive angel named 

Cassiel had called him a rebel, and Duma, in a frenzied attack gouged out Cassiel’s left eye but broke one of his own wings in the melee.

It was a painful memory. Made more so perhaps by the fact that only one of his brothers, the archangel Ramiel, stepped forward to protest Duma’s punishment on the rack. But soon after the Sopheriel twins, along with the Irin and Qaddism who constitute the supreme judgment council or beth din, saw fit to amend the Law of Heaven, citing that the rack was no longer appropriate punishment for one of the Host. A historic decision, but one that did nothing for Duma and the faint circle of scars on his feet, ankles and wing blades.

But all that matters not, he tried to convince himself. The wing had healed with time, though it was now not as strong as it had once been. Instead, he discovered his love for simply walking, and for being alone.

            Duma crested the hill and veered off onto a narrow path into the Field of Gold. The path was no wider than was absolutely necessary, and Duma was always careful to either tuck his wings in extremely tight or to raise them like two great sails above the tops of the thin amber stalks.

He walked several hundred yards to his favorite spot. It was a clearing in the field worn by the diameter of his wings, roughly twenty feet across.  He stooped to one knee and touched the dirt. It was cool and yielding to his touch. Perfect with the warmth of the Presence. He flapped his wings thrice, and the resulting wind eased the wheat at the edge of the circle outward, giving a wider view of sky as he lay on his back.  Soon his brothers would take flight in the bright sky, like bats spilling into the dusk. Duma closed his eyes and waited for the beating of his brothers’ wings.

            He awoke to a great whooshing sound.

The sky was clear, the light had shifted. Had he slept through the Flight? He did not think so. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up.