CHAPTER 1

But be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them. — William Shakespeare, from Twelfth Night

The Kingdom of Heaven – Angelic Control Epicentre (ACE)

It occurred to Nathaniel that if he were a human, he'd be breaking out in a cold sweat about now. Yes, undoubtedly this state of affairs would create stress levels of the highest order — if he were a human, that is. He'd be tossing up the pros and cons of obedience (maintaining a tranquil demeanour and staying put) versus rebellion (letting out a soul-shrinking scream and hightailing it through the nearest exit like someone on a bad acid trip). Then, horror of horrors, he'd probably choose rebellion, a downright appealing option — for a human, that is. And then he'd probably — if he weren't an angel — lose it big time and ...

What bizarre train of thought was this? Was he losing his mind? Having another of his escapist fantasies? Both of these were at best scary possibilities, and his heart sank at the mere notion. A guardian just couldn't afford to dabble in vain imaginings, and that was all there was to it.

He began to tremble, starting at the toes and gradually working up to the teeth. When the chattering started to attract some attention, he knew it was time to get a grip. Exercising maximum control, he closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then covertly panned the room by lifting both eyelids and looking from right to left without moving his head.

Oh, hallelujah! Call off the ambulance! This was not a dream sequence that had run amok. He was in fact in the vestibule of the ACE Head Office and really was standing in the blue-ribbon-elite waiting area!

A ball of nervous excitement exploded in his spirit, and he lit up like a meteor in full fall. Multiple dream scenarios flashed through his mind, not least of which involved Nathaniel the Faithful receiving an award for outstanding guardian achievements.

He decided that such an auspicious occasion warranted a wing check, so he looked over his right shoulder towards a gold-framed mirror on the far wall. Wouldn't you know it? After two centuries of nonstop guardian duty, those feathers were still well preened and thick, all the gold tips as good as new.

Turning now to face the mirror, he thought — not for the first time — how good it was to be thirteen feet tall, clearly above the angelic average. In a moment of unbridled vanity, he beamed with pleasure and allowed his eyes to linger on the reflection smiling back.

Oh yes, the old Nathaniel was certainly a step above the guardian norm. Those eyes were the colour of fresh snow, and the diaphanous robes floated like a sea of light.

He swayed from side to side and sashayed into a half-turn and then remembered where he was and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Fortunately the two ushers were looking towards the entrance. Turning to see what had caught their attention, he was just in time to spot what had to be a grade AA warrior accessing the vestibule.

Everything went as quiet as death. A herald announced Zimron the Valiant as the guy strode through the entrance, screening all and sundry with eyes that flashed gold and white like a Morse code signal box. Energy crackled and bounced off walls as he approached the blue-ribbon waiting area.

The guy stood at twenty feet minimum; he boasted muscles that would turn a panther white, and bedazzled everyone with his gold-and-orange robes, which were reminiscent of a sunrise — or sunset, depending on your perspective.

Nathaniel's flirtation with pride came to a swift and humiliating end. But then again, in terms of one's eternal destiny that was a good thing — disturbing and deflating, but ultimately good. Choosing the path of maturity, he decided to start up a conversation with the only opener that came to mind: "Do you come here often?" A pathetically lame attempt, sadly reflective of how lame he felt at the moment.

Zimron turned towards him, eyes flashing at twice the pace as before, brows furrowed. He said nothing.

Nathaniel cleared his throat and plunged on. "This is my first proper appointment time, actually. I've heard reports, of course, from friends who —"

"Three times!" boomed a voice.

Nathaniel jumped a foot and yelped. He was absolutely mortified but managed a weak "Three times?" in return.

"Yes, I've been here three times. The first was when Moses was approaching the Red Sea and needed a miracle. The second was when the walls of Jericho were about to come down, and the third was during the Crusades."

Well, if Nathaniel had felt a bit threatened before, he was downright panicky now. "Oh, really?" he squeaked in a voice that was a full octave higher than usual. "I did pop in for just a quick roll call two centuries ago at the start of my guardian apprenticeship. Scared wingless I was. Those archangels were so awesome that I fainted and the ushers had to carry me out. It was a categorically tragic humiliation!" He pronounced the last sentence with a flourish of hands, but it turned out to be anticlimactic, because Zimron had wandered off to address one of the ushers.

At this point, Nathaniel tottered dangerously close to the Highway of Offence. Honestly, warriors could be so rude! Happily, that mental collision course was disrupted when multitudes of bells rang out, signalling that it was time for someone to go in. Over the loudspeaker came the cry, "Zimron the Valiant to the inner chamber, Zimron the Valiant to the inner chamber," and as if that weren't enough, the words echoed off every wall and along every hallway.

Zimron galvanised into action and flew off without as much as a goodbye.

"Nice knowing you," Nathaniel muttered. He was wondering what to do next when one of the ushers signalled him to come forward. This guy was friendly but at the same time very businesslike, a combination that luckily had a soothing effect. He flashed a smile of encouragement.

"Nathaniel, our records tell us that you were quite overwhelmed when last presented to an archangel. How are you expecting to respond this time?"

"Well, if I haven't improved in two hundred years, I might as well give the game away!"

The usher threw back his head and laughed. He must have mistaken that last heartfelt comment for a joke. "That's very melodramatic, but don't fret. This time we're going to do some serious prep work on you beforehand. We shouldn't keep you waiting much longer."

"Excellent! Thank you very much!" Nathaniel bellowed. What in heaven's name does prep work entail? It sounds ominous! "I can handle this, I can handle this, I can handle this," he whispered, panic levels shooting up off the graph. Oh, brother, now would be a good time to do some relaxation exercises if he could just find a good focal point.

It didn't take long. The north-facing wall of the vestibule was made from finest crystal and overlooked a snow-dappled mountain range, which soared to mingle with suspended clouds and then plunged into fruitful valleys. Perfect! He spent several minutes contemplating alpine glory while doing non-demonic meditations and Holy Ghost–anointed deep breathing.

Needless to say, all of that did zilch to calm his nerves. Well, what was an angel to make of this situation? An hour ago he'd been in a guardian training session trying to improve his take-off times and struggling to maintain a loving attitude towards Jamsen, who was beating him hands down. "And all of that's important, because how can you hope to better yourself if you have slow times or a flawed character?"

Nathaniel realised immediately that he'd accidentally said that last thought out loud, but a quick peek revealed that no one was taking any notice because a new lot had just arrived for processing. He began to breathe again.

You could have knocked him over with a daisy when that messenger had turned up and interrupted the session to announce that Nathaniel the Faithful was wanted at Head Office. All the guardians had just stared open-mouthed as he took off and winged after the messenger who'd already taken flight.

Just then someone called out his name and caused Nathaniel's thoughts to flip back to the present. He turned around to look straight into the eyes of a seriously stern-faced administrator who stood sceptre-straight with hands on hips.

"Can you hear me, guardian?" demanded the AA in tones that snapped Nathaniel into both fight and flight modes.

"Yes, administrator!"

"It's time, guardian!"

"Right!"

Nathaniel felt as though he'd just been summoned to the death chamber. This new guy spoke like a prophet of doom, not nearly as comforting as the last. He followed the administrator, who opened some purple satin curtains and then flew along a hallway and into a media area.

What a brain-muddling zone this was. AAs were charging in every direction, a blur of various shades of blue. Many were wingless, and all were built for skill. Myriad screens ran reports from every universe as the cameras of Heaven panned over Creation. Fluorescent letters ran across the walls giving updates of trouble spots, and the atmosphere pulsed with the glory of worship, which was being transmitted live from the Throne Room.

"This way, guardian!"

Talk about charisma challenged! Plate-face took off flying again at the speed of light so that Nathaniel was hard pressed to keep up. Countless workstations and information storage cells whizzed by until in the distance could be seen a flashing red sign which projected the words "Preparation Area" out into the cosmos.

"I can do this, I can do this, I can do this," said Nathaniel. This was no time for timidity. As they came closer to the sign, he was relieved to see two smiling ushers who came flying out to meet them.

The AA took a deep breath and began to call out to all and sundry, "Nathaniel the Faithful to see —"

"Yes, yes; we know who it is," said the one with sea-green eyes which sparkled with humour. "Thank you, job well done," he added.

The AA disappeared, and the ushers came to stand at each side of Nathaniel, all of which went a long way towards lowering his stress levels. "Greetings, friends," he said with some relief. "Pleased to meet you!"

"Greetings Nathaniel," they replied in perfect harmony as they nudged him under the sign. "We're honoured to be sharing this sacred experience with you."

He opened his mouth to ask what in Heaven they'd meant by that last statement but heard, then saw, a wall of water so massive it rendered him mute. A mountainous wave came crashing over them and created an undertow which sucked him into the vortex of what seemed to be an ocean.

He was dragged endlessly through water which swished and churned as if it were in a giant washing machine, and just when he was feeling as if his time might be up angel-wise, he landed like a beached whale in a giant chamber. He felt as though he'd landed on top of a live electric socket.

Oh ... boy! Energy-wise this place made the Media Room look like a twopenny firecracker. Dazzling lightning slashed through the atmosphere, and ear-splitting thunder booms reverberated off every surface.

Nathaniel agonized briefly over the likelihood of him coming out of this blind and deaf. Or — worst case scenario — blind, deaf, and a basket case. Then he started to vibrate, which led to bone-snapping shakes until his only conscious thought was Thank God for the ushers!

They held on until he was an inch away from disintegrating and then dragged his lifeless form for miles across to a spot labelled "Anointing Oil." Once they were positioned there, one held him firm while the other reached across to a wall which had a huge lever attached to it. He pulled the lever down and immediately a vat of oil was upturned over Nathaniel, filling him to saturation point.

It left him feeling quite euphoric. To be totally honest, it was downright intoxicating! Mere minutes spent soaking in the mind-melting nectar was enough to make him slump like a wino in one usher's arms and smile inanely at the other one, who had now flipped the lever back up and was hurrying over to assist.

As they lifted and then carried him across the room, he turned first to one and then the other of his new brilliantly wonderful friends and continued to grin through an ever-thickening stupor.

They placed him gently on a huge down-filled cushion where he just slouched, in no hurry to move. His fuzzy brain could make out neither hide nor hair of what was happening, but he wanted to enjoy every last second of whatever was going on. Finally, after what could have been minutes or hours, he heard an usher speaking through the haze.

"Archangel Michael is ready to see you now."

"Diju say `Archanshel Michael'?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

Nathaniel took several moments to come up with his next response.

"Sherioushly guys, I mean sherioushly now ... am I on Candid Camera or Thish ish Your Life?"

He beamed from ear to ear as they exploded into fits of hilarity, holding on to their sides and leaning on one another for support. So much for all those who'd said he couldn't crack a joke!

"Seriously, guardian, Archangel Michael wants to see you" said Ol' Green Eyes. "It's an important occasion when someone gets promoted! Up you get, and let's get to the Inner Chamber!"

And with that they rocketed off, pulling Nathaniel with them. Light years flashed by as they soared through the heavens. Workers everywhere looked up as if something had grabbed their attention. Faces lit up, and thousands waved happily. This was not the sort of reaction he was used to getting.

Gradually he began to think a little more clearly, and in fact by the time the ruby-encrusted entrance of the Inner Chamber came into view, he was maintaining a modicum of decorum. Minutes later they executed a perfect landing, with Nathaniel positioned between the two ushers.

"Excuse me, friends," he said, finally staring straight ahead at an imposing three-storey solid gold door. "I hate to appear slow on the uptake, but did you say `promoted'?"

"Indeed I did," replied the one on the right.

"Yes indeed he did," reiterated Green Eyes, who then stood to his full height of seven feet and called out in commanding tones, "Nathaniel the Faithful to see Archangel Michael!" The door opened, and Nathaniel was carried in on a tide of worship. The glory of the Lord lifted him to great heights until everything and everyone was forgotten, transfigured as he was with adoration.

"Oh how wondrous and glorious you are Lord!" he cried again and again like a cracked record. "You are beyond beautiful, and words will never be enough!" A song of adulation rose up in his heart and found fulfilment as he joined in harmony with the millions of others who worship around the throne unceasingly and endlessly, forever and ever.

After what seemed like a moment but could have been hours, he came to in a sumptuous room. Despite the thick presence of the Spirit, he found the strength to stand. This was mercifully unlike the fiasco two centuries ago when he'd had to be carried out comatose. That prep work seemed to have done the trick.

He straightened his robes, then looked up just in time to see Zimron passing by. The warrior stopped and looked directly at Nathaniel for two full seconds with eyes flashing like there was no tomorrow. He then nodded and waved on the way out. Nathaniel was still misty from his time of worship and had to go cross-eyed to focus and wave vaguely in the right direction.

He began to look around and get some bearings. This place was the full six-star article! Every surface was encrusted with precious stones: sapphires, rubies, emeralds, amethysts, topaz — you name it. And there, ensconced in a sea of emerald velvet, was the archangel himself.

"Well, well, it's young Nathaniel! How are you feeling after two centuries of guardian duty?"

His voice was a harmony of three octaves. Nathaniel blinked twice and shook his head to make sure this wasn't a dream. Nope; he was wide awake, and the Archangel Michael was sitting right there before him.

"It's been a privilege and an honour, sir!" he shouted. Seriously, what does your average guardian say to the warrior who'd led the Great War of Heaven; the one who'd battled head-to-head with Satan?

"Did you find the Rogerson family interesting?"

Michael glowed amber from head to toe. He had a ruby aura, for crying out loud. And there'd been nothing even remotely interesting about the Rogerson family.