I am pleased to announce that I have finished the initial writing of all of the short stories to appear in Dark Aeons! “Afflatus Divine” and “Ascenscion” have both been finished. I was happy with “Afflatus Divine” for the most part, but couldn’t get the feel of a good ending right. Parts one and two are better than three, I’m afraid to say. “Ascenscion” was just a fin little short piece, included in its entirety below.
And what now? Now I focus on Torrek’s Slumber mostly, and continue to slowly edit the short stories and send them off to their editor, Peter Merlin, while I wait for Michael Ireland to work on The Libel of Blood. Mr. Merlin is currently editing “The Winds of Madness,” “Dark Prophecy,” “The Silver Door,” and “The Wolf’s Key.”
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Ascension
The old priest smiled and raised his hands to the sky. “They come for me now, my followers! My chariot of fire, come to take me up to heaven!” The crowd gathered at the feet of the old man looked up at the sky in awe as a bright spot appeared and then grew, its light soaring through the sky to illuminate the priest’s balding head. He held his right arm up in benediction and smiled. “I leave you now, my flock, but you are in good hands! My altar boy will serve you well, and you now know all you need to know. I shall see you when heaven descends again to meet Earth!”
The priest closed his eyes and again lifted up his arms. The column of light struck him head on on, and the pillar of brightness soon became too much to look at. As the crowd shielded their eyes, the pillar expanded and then contracted. As the light began to dim, the crowd again turned their eyes to it. They all saw a dark patch in the center of the figure began to rise up along the column of light, gaining speed as it ascended higher and higher. Some even fancied they could see his hand raised in benediction.
The altar boy, though, standing to the side of the column, could see into its heart with eyes unclouded. He saw the light for what it truly was. The small bodies of millions of tiny, winged imps, glowing with a foul inner light, had soared down from the sky and surrounded his mentor, clawing at his limbs and tearing his clothes. He alone could see the terror reflected on his master’s face as he was dragged up into the sky, faster and faster, by those terrible winged things, up into a realm of eternal torment. As the crowd marveled at the priest’s ascension, the altar boy despaired. He had not ascended – he had been taken to the skies by foul daemons! But who would believe him?
And what fate awaited the new priest now?
Z. M. Wilmot 