Emma Bailey was asmall, frail woman, but there were places where she was viewed as a giant.
Dawn Springs Anew
Emma Bailey was a sensitive soul. Sometimes she could sense things that most others could not: spiritual things -- things unseen. She was known to her tiny church as a Prayer Warrior, and they brought her all their troubles. She was known in many other places, too -- places no living flesh had seen.
The tiny LED clock on her night stand was flashing 3:30 A.M. when he came -- a warm whisper in her ear, and the coolness of his hand upon her brow. "Emma ... Emma! Wake up."
She stirred restlessly, and turned toward the clock. The numbers blurred before her eyes as he moved.
"Emma! Wake up." The whisper came again. She sat bolt upright, glancing around. There was no one there. In her soul, she felt a keening dread. Something was very wrong.
The voice came again, but this time she felt it, rather than hearing it. She could even taste it -- like bile: fear, pain, terror. Loathing and hatred floated in the darkened corners. Desperate need! "Pray, Emma. Pray ... pray ...pray ...."
In cold desperation, Emma Bailey poured out of her bed onto her knees. Overpowering sadness broke her heart, as thousands of voices wept through her. Emma had no idea what she prayed for, but she prayed like she'd never prayed before -- and wept. A glowing power seemed to envelope the room, even spreading beyond the walls.
Outside, the opalescent glow lit up like a beacon in the predawn darkness. Two blocks down the street, another glow flickered into being. A half-mile away came another ... then another. Slowly they spread throughout the city: souls praying for an agony not their own. Power began to flow.
New York glittered like a jewel in the darkness, while a dim light flickered in the stratus clouds like heat lightning. The air crackled with power.
On the roof of a tall building, a large group of winged creatures stood expectantly, gazing upward. More beings winged in from every direction, adding to their number.
Huge wings flared, as a large, dark-skinned man settled to the roof. There was a flash of light, as the foremost angel drew his sword in salute.
The dark man nodded, glancing around at the glowing prayer-fires of the city. "Have all the messengers returned?"
"All but one. He's on his way back, now."
The day had been steadily advancing as preparations continued. All around the country, legion upon legion of the hosts assembled. They were heavily concentrated in this city. "This is a deadly moment, Palanth. It is rife with blindness and pain -- a desperate time for these people."
The junior angel nodded, "I know. They are a strong people, though. They will draw together with the kind of unity they are known for."
"That's the beauty of these people. It is through the deepest desperation that they are the strongest. They will hold each other up."
Another angel joined them with a flare of wings. "Hail Metatron! It is done. Prayer-fires burn around the planet."
Metatron glanced up at the sound of engines. "Just in time."
As the Boeing 757 dropped toward the World Trade Center, the angelic host turned. Just before the impact, they drew their swords. The satanic pawns in the cabin knew one unholy instant of terror before they were snagged up into powerful fists and dragged toward the abyss. They were cast into the flames without a word.
Legions sprang into action immediately, guiding the confused spirits who suddenly found themselves floating above chaos. Words of comfort and strength were whispered into the ears of those trapped in the rubble. Power and peace radiated to the terrified onlookers. Wisdom was whispered into the ears of leaders all over the world.
This was the dawn of a new world -- a world united against the senseless violence of terrorism. A world turned back to its spiritual roots. It began as a whisper, but ended as a shout: "Unity!"
Dallas D'Angelo-Gary 01