Ordination, Pt. 1

The sunlight glided slowly through the stained glass windows illuminating the oak pews with greens, blues, and reds. Small specks of dust floated through the air with no direction. The hard stone walls and marbled floors gave no quarter for the movement of air and did nothing to dull Michael’s footsteps as he approached the sanctuary. Bishop Balthesar heard him approach.

“Ah, Michael,” said the plump Bishop, his booming voice echoing through the silence, “My favorite catechumen! Thought you’d have one last confession as a mortal, eh?”

“Not exactly, father” Michael said with a grin, “I just came to see the place off.”

“Fitting," the Bishop said, "These halls won’t be the same without you. Its a shame really, you would have made such a wonderful priest.”

“I’d like to think so, but God has other plans for me.”

“So it would seem. I will leave you alone then. But this isn’t goodbye, not yet! I want to share one more dinner before you grow those wings!” the Bishop laughed as he walked the length of the sept. Once he was alone, Michael took a deep breath. The smell of the sanctuary was always old, like the fragrance of wisdom. He approached the altar and knelt on the red velvet steps that climbed to the stricken symbol of the man Jesus; a body racked with wounds and a crown of bloody thorns. Michael couldn’t help but laugh at the face of the ancient statue. The sculptor had the eyes all wrong. Jesus had more fire behind them, he knew; less pain and anguish.

Michael bowed his head and closed his eyes, beginning his afternoon hour of prayer and he had much to prayer. This was his final day as a regular man. Tomorrow he would change and take the burden of servitude, the 'iron wings' as they were called and enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. He prayed words of gratitude to be selected for such a priviledge, and he prayed for the strength and wisdom to serve his God and his Church with power, honor, and justice.

As he uttered the words of the Our Father, the walls of the church began to shake. A great shadow passed overhead and the light slowly emptied from the sanctuary as the roar of a Vatican convoy landed outside. Michael took one last breath and finished his prayer with an utterance of complete devotion and love for the Divine.
The massive doors at the nave swung open, and immediately the charge of two dozen Vatican Elite stomped between the pews and columns. A Herald entered and blew a resounding trumpet blast. “All hail Her Excellency and Holiness, Popess Ester the Seventeenth!” The Herald blew the trumpet another three times, each one longer than the last. The young Popess then entered in bright gold and scarlet robes flowing around her, a pearl staff topped with an azure emerald in hand, and a sparkling diamond tiara worn only by those touched by the Spirit of the Divine. She approached Michael slowly but when she met him face to face, it was the Popess who knelt to him.

“Great Michael, the one whom God loves. It is an honor to meet you.”

Michael stumbled as he spoke, “Please, rise, your Holiness. It is I who should be bowing to you. I have not yet earned my wings and do not deserve such honor.”

“Humble to the last,” the Popess said smiling, “We would do well to follow your example. But your sacrifice deserves no such modesty, and I would see one of our Truly Faithful in human form before his Conversion.”

“It is a great and unexpected honor, your Holiness.” Michael knelt and kissed her extended hand.

“Herald,” she said, “I would have a word with this one in private. You and my guards may be excused.”

“As you wish, your Holiness.” The Herald waved a signal to the Elite and they quickly exited the nave. The Popess watched them as they left and said nothing until the great oaks doors slammed shut. It was then when she turned and immediately bounded at Michael. He caught her quickly and she kissed him passionately.

When their embrace was done she lowered herself to the ground but never took her eyes away from his. “Oh, Michael, I thought I would never see you again!”

“Nor I you,” Michael said smiling, “That day you became Popess I was certain you would forget all about me. Who would have ever imagined that my little Jess would become the Holiest person in all the Church?”
The Popess blushed, “You of all people know there are plenty more Converts a good deal holier than I. And I’m not Jess anymore. I’m Ester the Seventeenth.”

“My apologies, your Holiness.” Michael said, “But you’ll always be little Jess in my eyes.”

“I’m glad someone still remembers.” She smiled and kissed him again. “Come, sit with me. We have a lot to talk about before you get those wings of yours.”

“So I imagine,” Michael said as he sat beside Jess in a front pew, “Is it you I have to thank for this honor?”

“Not mine any more than yours,” she said. Noticing his disbelief on his face, she responded seriously, “Michael, I swear to you I had nothing to do with it. This is the last fate I wished for you, but God works strangely and is very selective in what he says to us. He keeps secrets from even Jesus these days, and its put enough strain in their relationship. The Son is off fighting the war, and the Father broods. Its getting to be more than I care bear.”

“Things are really that bad at the Vatican?” Michael asked.

“My beloved, you don’t know the worst of it. We’re losing the war. We encounter more and more Fallen Converts everyday, and the relic we found on the last expedition turned out to be false and we couldn’t hide it. Riots outside the Vatican are getting worse and the Spirit is getting far too wild. The Trinity could help if they would only show their faces once in a while but even with all my pleading they don’t utter a single word. Damn it all, Michael, its been more than three years since there’s even been a bloody miracle! The words ‘False Gods’ are on everyone’s lips and that blasted Trinity doesn’t even care enough to hear.”

“Blasphemy isn’t very becoming of you, my love,” Michael said, “How did you ever get to be Popess with a mouth like that?”

“You know damn well I never wanted this,” Jess said.

“I know, I know…” Michael said, “Just like I don’t have much of a heart to have a ton of iron burned into my back.”

The Popess took Michael’s hand sweetly. He held it tight and sighed, “So the people need a hero, eh? A new Savior, is that it?”

“Something like that,” Jess said, “The Church hasn’t seen in Archangel in over a century, not since Gabriel fell. It would do us some good to raise us some heroes instead of losing them.”

“Alright, then.” Michael said. Jess laid her head in Michael’s lap and he stroked her hair softly. The silence of the sanctuary was all the witnessed the care between them, a Popess and almost-priest. After a time, she raised and looked into his eyes. “Just promise me you won’t turn out like the last Michael,” she said.

“My love, as long as I have you with me, that will never happen.” He kissed her and stood. “Come now,” he said, “You have a church to lead and I have a Bishop to entertain.”

“I wish you could stay with me tonight,” she whispered.

“So do I. But fear not,” Michael said, “I will always love you.”

“Fear not?” Jess laughed, “You’re sounding like an angel already!”

They laughed as the Popess walked the aisle away from the sanctuary. She turned to have one last look at Michael and called for the Herald to return. She was escorted out of the church surrounding by Vatican Elites with their massive gunblades. The silence returned to the sanctuary as the convoy lifted off, and the sunlight returned to warm the air. Michael stepped to the front altar that decorated the sanctuary and lifted the golden lid. Inside, a sword made of Divine Steel lay, crafted by the First Archangel in the Fire of the Spirit and Tempered in the Son’s First Blood. It was Armageddon, the sword that sealed the Garden, the blade that could end the world. Tomorrow, Michael would wield the sword as the Seventh Archangel, and signal the beginning of the end to the war between Heaven and Earth.