I scheduled a public appearance to greet the faithful and make a statement for the general press. It was to take place immediately before my sequestering to do the translation. Word had leaked of my return, and the members of the flock were energized, sensing great things ahead, while the members of the general population were intrigued about the implications for the filament.
It had worked, I was alive – and that meant all sorts of possibilities for the future of the filament and our people. The northern coalition government wanted to speak with me about the specifics of my journey – I told them it would have to wait.
The translation was paramount.
I kept my speech upbeat, hopeful, spiritual – and short. Many asked what would become of the stewardship – would I return to my place as Steward, or would Riggs continue on as the leader of our faith?
I told them all questions would be answered after the translation was released.
And with that, I disappeared once more. Not to space, this time, but to the confines of an underground sanctuary, deep in the bowels of the New Diamond City pantheon.
#
Following a thirty-hour fast, and much prayer, I sat down at the old wooden desk (a transplant from the Diamond City pantheon) and stared at the book.
I turned up the lights, opened to the first mysterious page, and squinted at the foreign text.
The alien words failed to come into focus.
So I continued to stare.
I eventually fell asleep, my head on the record.
I repeated this ritual, and the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months.
I never despaired.
By the fourth month, I had leafed through all ninety-nine pages of the text, slowly poring over the characters, gently brushing the pages with my fingertips.
I tried reading it forwards, backwards, upside-down and sideways.
Nothing.
Steward Riggs periodically appeared and provided updates about the outside world.
Things were not going well.
The war was heating up, and the faithful were anxious to hear from me.
One day in the heat of the summer, I placed a glass of water beside me as I studied in vain.
When I started to doze in the muggy afternoon, I bumped the water, spilling it across part of the sacred text.
I was mortified at my carelessness.
But then I saw it.
The characters seemed to dance on the page – to swirl and jump and shimmer. And they coalesced before my eyes, becoming clear to me in an instant.
I cried out for joy, dropped to my knees and thanked the Creator.
Then I began the translation in earnest, gently brushing a thin layer of dampness over each page as I went.
Within a mere ten hours, I had translated the entire manuscript.
In a moment of inspiration, I named it the Final Testament, and emerged from my self-imposed reclusion.
#
The Final Testament revealed so much in so few pages.
The information – the truth – contained therein was astounding, wondrous – and at once controversial.
Many, who preferred to reject the uncomfortable truths, labeled the work a fraud. They said I had never really brought anything back at all. Some went so far as to deny the existence of Thalin, saying I had staged my disappearance.
But I showed them all the record, allowed it to be subjected to rigorous authenticity tests.
Still, so many argued against its veracity, and persecuted me as the messenger.
The part that most found objectionable was the time line.
Or, rather, the deadline.
In just eleven weeks, so the prophecy went, the transfigured people of Thalin would arrive here as part of their galactic quest to bring more of the righteous into their fold.
Our turn was coming – and that, I believed, was wonderful news.
However, once they had come for the good, the evil would be left behind.
Left behind to die when our sun goes supernova, another eleven weeks after that.
A “good news/bad news” scenario, if ever there was one.
Many were suspicious of the timing of my translation – they wondered why it had taken me months to emerge, only to state that there were mere weeks left in our planet’s history.
I do not claim to understand the deep workings of the spirit – I only know that there must have been some reason for it.
And that my world had eleven weeks to get itself together – or face the consequences.
#
The Final Testament ushered in a new era for our people.
Millions converted to the faith, believing the words of the Final Testament and desiring to put their lives in order before the coming of the Thalin.
Within the Church there was a schism. A small group did not believe the Final Testament, and fell away. Others, who had lived faithful lives, began to grow prideful and were not welcoming of the converts, accusing them of insincere deathbed repentance.
The strongest coalition was between the humble faithful and the converts they welcomed.
Then there was the world of people who were not of the faith, who found themselves inconvenienced by the turmoil of the mass conversions and dissentions among the people of faith.
The Church constituted just under half the world’s population before the Final Testament was revealed. After, despite some losses, we were the majority.
As we prepared for the coming of the Thalin, the economy started to break down, as people stopped producing for a time that would not exist for them.
That made the non-believers angry, and a hot war erupted.
“What are we to do?” asked Riggs, just two days before the Thalin were prophesied to arrive. “The streets are running with rivers of blood. Our people may all be dead before the great day comes, Kinsman.”
“We will survive,” I said. “Yes, our people are joining the Creator in great numbers right now, but very soon, we will all join the Creator. Perhaps these valiant ones are just going ahead to prepare a place for us.”
Riggs looked older than ever, the lines in his face casting shadows, like so many tiny canyons etched into his dark skin.
“Steward Morgan. I am weary. I have seen so much of death, destruction, pain and suffering in my lifetime. I long to join the Creator. And I am a believer in the Final Testament.”
“But,” I said.
“But my heart breaks for the many who will be lost, not knowing the truth – those who will not be taken up with the Thalin. What shall become of them?”
“The record did not say. But I like to believe that perhaps some of the faithful may be assigned to stay behind to willingly teach their kinsmen who are on the fence and need more information before they can choose for themselves properly. Perhaps it will not be too late for them, day after tomorrow.”
#
Today was the day.
I’d spent the last thirty hours fasting and praying, and poring over the Final Testament once more.
The world was about to change.
Our very existence was about to change.
I looked to the heavens, where even the non-believers had trained their looking devices, focused on the location of the filament.
When the invading force arrived, nobody was prepared.
More than two-thousand high-powered battle ships emerged from the filament and swarmed toward our planet.
They attacked mercilessly, strafing the land with their light cannons, burning the countries from east to west.
Billions perished in the first few minutes.
Tears streamed down my face as I considered how wrongly I had interpreted the Final Testament.
How could I have misunderstood? How could my translation have been so mistaken?
It had not been a promise – but a warning.
The Thalin were not coming for us, to take us home.
Instead, they had seen our destruction at the hands of these mysterious alie
ns, and merely foretold our demise in their record.
And I had failed us all.
#
Desperate, miserable, I climbed to the top of Diamond Mountain, from where I could see the devastation of my world.
And I wept.
Then I prayed. I looked up, and blinked.
And the world changed.
Suddenly, at the darkest moment of this utter annihilation, the sky lit up.
The Thalin!
Salvation had arrived.
THE END
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