The Last Handful of Clover - Book 2: Gifts Both Light and Dark

2.57 The Kindling of a Thousand Flames

June 14, 11:55 pm

Only minutes earlier Richard peeked over the railing and did his best to survey the plaza below them, without being seen. But as he watched, he thought perhaps his stealth was hardly necessary. The angels were all now completely transfixed by the sight of the Temple before them. They swayed slowly from side to side, but none of them moved from the spots they had staked out in the plaza. They appeared to be basking in the illumination from the temple itself, as if their eyes were dazzled by the sight.

"My God," Richard said. "Billy told me he thought there were maybe a couple hundred of them. But there has to be four or five times that many."

He glanced quickly to his left, but Tuilla was not watching the gathering. She had her back to the railing, and her head down, as if she was deep in thought. Or perhaps deep in despair, Richard thought. Afraid of what that could mean, he turned his attention back to the plaza.

It appeared that all the ghosts who were coming had now arrived. None were late to the party.

If there is one thing you can say for the Wanderer's minions, Richard thought, they're certainly punctual.

Richard sensed a slight stirring to his left, at the southern corner of Temple Square. A girl with flaxen hair, tied neatly in a ponytail at the back, entered the sphere of illumination left by the streetlight, and made her way into the shadowy plaza. She was dressed in a simple yellow jumper, with a pattern of blue and red flowers that seemed vibrant and out of place in the morbid gathering of the dead through which she walked. Although most didn't acknowledge her, Richard watched in fascination as the ghosts parted before her, and then stepped back into place after she had passed. The young woman looked like a bright fishing lure being pulled through murky waters.

Near the center of the plaza she sat down, facing the temple. And like the ghosts all around her, she looked up at the soaring edifice of the building with a reverential air. She then folded her hands in prayer, and although Richard could not see it, he imagined she closed her eyes as well.

That was when he noticed who was standing just behind her and to the right.

"I see Mattie," he whispered to the old woman. "And behind her is Justin. I think the guy from the theater is there too—the one she called Bradley." The three of them stood in a triangle, as if Mattie was the figurehead on a sailing ship, and the two ghosts behind her were loyal sailors, ready to put their backs to the oars. For a brief moment, Mattie glared at the praying girl. But even as he watched, her attention wavered, and she joined the rest of the throng in staring up at the temple.

For a moment, the scene was so still and silent that Richard felt the hand of fate caressing the back of his neck, and the tiny hairs there all stood on end.

Suddenly, a ripple passed through the crowd of ghosts. It wasn't a ripple of movement as much as an intake of breath, which was then held by the crowd as if they were expecting something glorious about to unfold. Their collective gaze shifted slightly, and their hands opened forward, as if in supplication. No longer were they staring at the temple itself, but now at something lower and closer. Richard let his gaze follow theirs.

A man stood on the edge of the reflecting pool, just in front of the wall that divided the plaza from the temple. Richard felt a dark joy ripple through the crowd, as the gentle light of the streetlights filtered into the dark courtyard, and caught glittering metal and yellow stripes on the figure's jacket.

The Wanderer is a military man, Richard thought. Of course he is...

"He's here," he whispered to Tuilla. "It's George. Or whoever he's possessed." Quickly, Tuilla raised up on her knees and gazed over the railing next to Richard.