A Deafening Silence In Heaven - Thomas E. Sniegoski Page 0,60

that she was about to die, but if that was the case . . .

When?

The falling sensation seemed to go on and on, and soon it became almost old hat, like something she was completely used to, just the way things were, plummeting forever into the darkness.

And then she wasn’t.

Ashley had arrived—somewhere. As suddenly as she had disappeared from the bed, she was now standing in a field of tall golden grass.

As she tried to acclimate to her new and unfamiliar surroundings, the field of grass suddenly erupted in fire, and all around her were the screams and smells that could only herald death.

It was pure survival instinct that drove her to run. She had no idea where she was going, only knew that she had to get away.

Smoke writhed up into the sky as the golden grass burned. Ashley’s gaze followed the snaking trails, and what she saw in the perfect sky caused her mind to freeze. She fell to her knees, eyes fixed on the sight above her.

The war that she thought was being fought in the golden field around her was actually taking place in the sky above. Mesmerized, she watched the winged and armored figures, brandishing weapons of burning metal, clashing in savage battle. Swords came together with a clamor so powerful that she felt it in her chest, sparks of divine fire raining down to set the fields aflame.

Ashley found her cheeks wet with a steady stream of tears as she watched the war of angels unfold, wincing as if injured herself as some of the magnificent beings were struck down, their cries as they fell the most heartbreaking sounds she had ever heard.

Winged bodies were falling like rain, landing in broken heaps, most of them dead, but some . . .

Ashley could not move, paralyzed by the sights. She wanted to close her eyes and wish herself away, but she fought the impulse, knowing somehow that this was part of helping her friend.

Of helping Remy.

An angel, one of his beautiful wings of white and speckled brown charred black with divine fire, landed in a broken heap not two feet away. She watched the figure as he lay there, his ornate armor spattered with the blood of battle. With a grunt, the figure pushed himself to his feet. His wing was still burning, and he beat the feathered appendage upon the ground in an attempt to put the fire out. But the angelic warrior did not have time to complete the task.

An ear-piercing cry filled the air, and the angel threw himself toward the ground in search of the sword he had dropped. He grabbed it up and spun toward the shrieking cry. Another angel, his features hidden by a helmet of gold and red, dropped down from above to confront him, relentless in his assault, swinging a sword that seemed to burn brighter—hotter—than all the others, driving back the injured warrior.

Ashley wanted to scream at them to stop, but she knew they would not have heard her, imagining that she was only a ghost in this strange, psychic landscape.

The battle was furious. She could see that the injured angel was tiring, his own blade’s brightness diminishing the longer they fought. The injured angel feigned a slash across his opponent’s midsection, but instead wiped what remained of his still burning wing across the attacker’s eyes, perhaps hoping to blind him.

But his adversary was too fast, capturing the smoldering appendage in his gauntlet-covered hand and twisting violently. The angel cried out and pulled away, but that served only to rip the fragile wing from his body.

Ashley felt her heart breaking over and over again as she watched the hopeless sight.

The wounded angel pathetically tossed his sword at his enemy and turned to flee. His foe was like a machine, capturing the cold blade—a blade that at once again burned to life as he held it. In a burst of energy, the injured angel dashed away, pushing through the burning golden brush in an attempt to escape.

Ashley watched with growing horror as the angel attacker simply stood there, holding two blades now that burned white in their intensity, his eyes unblinking through the holes of his helmet as he stared at the fleeing angel.

For a moment, she thought that maybe the attacker would have pity on his injured foe. But then wings exploded from his back, lifting him from the ground in pursuit.

Again, she tried to look away, but found that she couldn’t—she was seeing this act