Day One Thousand Two Hundred Thirty #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

When Mawuli failed to return over night, all of us went down to look for him. Vermin which had joined the scavenger birds slunk away at our passage. We found him on the far side of the valley on the one spot of ground not soaked in blood.

He said not a word as the Captain gathered him into his arms.

Rather than return to the heights right away we skirted the edge of the valley until we made out the stone bridge far above. Mawuli was recovered enough to walk on his own and he aided Elijah and myself. After a short search we located the stream bed and took the path that paralleled it up to the heights.

Day One Thousand Two Hundred Twenty Eight #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

None of us closed our eyes last night. We were too alive to the moment.
The silence of the night early gave way to the sounds of hasty preparation. While the first rays of light revealed rank upon rank of the opposing armies stretched out in endless lines.

The blood trickling down the rocky stream bed under the stone bridge was only the harbinger of what was to come, down in the valley.

Elijah stood to his feet and raised his staff over his head and intoned judgement on both armies.

Then across each rank and down each line, blood sprouted like a crimson bloom above each individual, a veritable fountain as they fell.
Like grapes in a wine press.

Day One Thousand Two Hundred Twenty Seven #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

We found the road unencumbered by patrols or checkpoints until we neared the area of the stone bridge. Well before then, Tomas guided us up to the level above the destroyed altar.

Though still in ruins people were hard at work attempting to make it serviceable. All the more ugly.

Mr. Kagi was the first to notice. Then I recognized the people being forced to work on the edifice – the prisoners paraded through the world government camp but a few days ago.

After a quick calculation in my head (and my memory of the shape of last night’s moon) I knew that tomorrow marks the return of the new moon.

My blood ran cold over the fate of these prisoners.

Day One Thousand One Hundred Thirty Five #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

My old dream disturbed my slumber over night. The one in which blood dripped incessantly. But this time there were bodies afloat on the flood. There were stacks of them across the plain that disentangled from one another as the tide rose.

Once underway I broached the subject with Elijah. He was silent for the longest time after I finished speaking.

Reuben, who had been listening from the beginning, asked me if our angel were responsible. He meant for the carnage depicted, of course. Elijah broke in and confirmed this guess, but also went on to explain that he most likely was responsible for the dream itself.

At that instant we rounded a bend and saw Stan’s sacrificial high place.

Day One Thousand Thirty Nine #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

With Meesa directing our movements we looked into all the nooks and crannies in Damascus in which Jezer could be seeking refuge.

I was a bit mechanical, I admit, and somewhat distracted. I had had an unsettling dream over night. And my thoughts ran on two separate tracks. One, upon what we were doing. And the other on the details of my dream.

In my dream, I was dreaming. It was night, and the dark enfolded me. And into the dream came the sound of dripping. A sound that crescendoed into a raging torrent. With the coming of the light, I could see it was a rising tide of blood.

But I could not see from whence the blood came.