I trained constantly, always under the watchful gaze of the angel Abigail.

This place I’d been brought to after my death was constructed out of pure magic
that responded to the whims of those in it. Abigail explained that all I had to do was think of
something and Father’s Land would provide it for me. This was too much for my simple warrior
brain to grasp, so she demonstrated for me. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and
imagined a mighty ocean stretching out to kiss the horizon; and suddenly, right before my very
eyes an ocean appeared that made the great Eastern Sea of Elyria look like a puddle. I had no
words. All I could do was stare at the sparkling water like a fat child at a freshly-baked apple
pie.
“Now you try, Tragger Drake,” she said with a knowing smile as bright as a million
suns. “You have the same gifts that I do. Just think of something and it shall be.” Her eyes
danced as she said this. Though her words seemed too incredible to believe, I’d seen for myself
the ocean she had created, I had to at least try.
When I was alive, one of my biggest joys was festival time because of the jousting
contests. I had always been an exceptional jouster and usually won the events fairly easily. So,
I closed my eyes and imagined the grand jousting court in Elyria’s capitol city of Qum. In my
mind I pictured the stands draped in their colorful banners of silk. I saw the trampled dirt of the
ground, the waist-high center pole that ran along the competing field, and all the squires running
around tending to the gaily decorated horses.
“Open your eyes, Tragger Drake,” whispered Abigail in my ear. “Look at what you have
created.” I did as she instructed, and there it was, the majestic jousting court at Qum. All in vivid
detail, right down to the pungent smell of horse dung. I could do nothing but clap my hands and
let lose a savage laugh. I was damn sure going to like it here.
Abigail explained that this place, this magical Nirvana we inhabited was alive, and it was
in tune with our souls. The very land felt what we felt, knew what we knew, loved what we loved,
and feared what we feared. “Father made the land alive to help us expand our minds,” she said
in her maddeningly rational voice. “To allow us to learn that only our fear could harm us. That
our own worst enemy is us, and the undisciplined thoughts that control our minds.” I nodded my
head thoughtfully for her benefit, but I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. I was a
soldier, and as such I preferred simple explanations as opposed to complicated in-depth ones
that contained big words and lots of thinking to understand. The land magically created what I
wanted it to, who cared how or why? That was simple enough for my warrior mind to
comprehend. That worked well for me. Abigail gave me a sheepish smile and promised that in
time I would come to fully understand all the lessons Father wanted me to know. For the
moment, however, my simplistic explanation of Father’s Land would be acceptable. I thought I
had learned all I needed to know. I was ready to create some highly-trained soldiers and kick
some serious ass.
However, my lessons were just beginning.
I had been given the powers of a God; short of flying like a bird, there was nothing I
couldn’t do. With a thought I could send objects as big as a festival booth hurtling through the
air, or I could draw them to me just as easily. If I was feeling particularly feisty, I could explode
them into tiny shards. Shattering things brought me endless joy though it usually caused Abigail
to roll her eyes and demand that I restore it back to its rightful shape. That wasn’t nearly as fun,
though it was gratifying to know that I could do that as well.
Abigail, she detested being called Abby, so I made it a point to call her that as often as
possible, explained that the key to my using my incredible powers laid in thought. All I had to
do was concentrate on something, and whatever I thought about a certain thing manifested
itself into reality. Oh, how I wished I had this power when I was alive; I would’ve scattered every
single cell in King Collin’s worthless body throughout the four corners of the globe. I could’ve
been King Tragger, the most ruthless and powerful being to ever rule Elyria. The thought was
simply too delicious not to smile over. Abigail was forever scolding me, reminding me that these
new powers of mine were never to be used for personal gain, but rather as a weapon in our
Father’s eternal struggle against the Evil One, whom roamed the earth disguised as a mortal
causing mayhem and stealing souls from the good people of the towns and villages wherever
he went.
I both understood and didn’t understand the logic behind this; the soldier in me grasped
the concept of using these fantastic powers as a weapon against the enemy, but the human in
me didn’t understand why our Father didn’t just snap His mighty fingers and vaporize the Evil
One. I made the foolish mistake of bringing this up with Abigail, and that raven-haired angel
with the fiery-temper, admonished me for daring to question Father’s ways, and then sent my
ass crashing through a mighty Pine tree. Then, she lectured me on destroying such a beautiful
piece of Father’s Creation and forced me to use my powers to mend the tree.
I had to retaliate, of course. She may be an angel, but I wasn’t just some ragamuffin
she picked up off the streets, I was a feared and highly respected soldier in a mighty army, and
I came fully loaded with a temper of my own. So, I covered my winged instructor from head to
toe in honey, and laughed until I cried as I watched her become very good friends with all the
bees and ants very quickly. It’s heartwarming to watch someone you care about make new
friends, and Abby had such a . . . sweet way about her that day. I did, however, learn not to ask
too many questions; especially where our Father’s holy war was concerned.
The mission, however, was always constantly on my mind, and the longer I was left out
of the loop, the longer I went without seeing our Father for myself, the angrier I became. Why
wasn’t I good enough to be seen by Him? Why did He only go through Abigail? She got to see
and speak to our Father all the time, why was I excluded? Was my soul tarnished somehow?
Was I unworthy of Him? Was it because I wasn’t an angel? How did one go about becoming
an angel, if that was indeed the case? What did I do so wrong that He refused to speak to
me? Was it because I had taken the lives of His other children while I was alive? How could He
possibly hold that against me? I was a warrior, it was my duty to kill in the name of my liege. If
He didn’t want me to spill his children's blood, why did He pick that life for me then? What was
I supposed to do? I wondered, not for the first time, if Abigail had ever killed a man while she
was human. I never asked, but I suspected not; it just didn’t seem like something she could do.
Killers could always spot killers, there was just something dark and vaguely sinister smoldering
in their eyes. Abigail didn’t have that darkness burning behind hers. She had a mean streak to
be sure, she was loaded with all kinds of mischievous evil, but a killer -- no, she just didn’t have
that in her.
That must be the reason why our Father shunned me. I was a murderer. I had killed
His children in battle. My soul was tainted, or ruined, or smeared, or whatever it is they
say happens to a man’s soul once he has taken another life. I was unworthy of Him. I was
unworthy of Abigail.
I understood my place; death might be a new plane for me, but it was the same old
story. I was nothing more than the brute killer in this epic plan, and I was more than willing to
accept my part. After all, it was the only one I had ever known. However, I also understood
strategy and battlefield tactics. I had a lot more to offer then just swinging a mighty sword
and killing the perceived enemy. If Father wasn’t willing to see his ruined warrior, then the
least He could do was hear how I planned on waging His war. Abigail was the pristine guide,
all shimmering light and blessed soul, I was the filthy warrior cur. Fine. Then if I was to be
the general, then somebody had better start listening to my battle plan, or they could just find
another barrel-chested grunt to swing the damned sword for them.
I walked through the the lush green grass with this thought churning in my head. The
weather turned as gloomy as my mood; the skies became as grey as my eyes and a cold bitter
wind swept through the trees Abigail loved to knock me through. Snow started falling steadily
and the furry creatures who always seemed to be about darted frantically seeking shelter from
my mood’s sudden storm. I didn’t care about any of it. It wasn’t like me to be this despondent,
and I had to admit that my state of mind surprised me. I was a solider; following orders without
question had been my entire existence while I’d been alive, so why wasn’t it acceptable now in
death? I scoffed aloud at that thought. I clearly wasn’t considered intellectual enough to handle
such deep thoughts, that’s what Abigail was for. She was the brains of this outfit, I was nothing
more than the dumbshit muscle. I should be fine with that arrangement. That was exactly what
a soldier was; muscle for the grand designs of another. I sighed with melancholy, what a shitty
surprise it was for me to discover that my death was just as confusing as my life had been.
Abigail, pale purplish/blue wings spread out gracefully behind her, appeared in front
of me from out of nowhere wearing an elaborately decorated hooded shroud and a pained
expression. It was a look I’d never seen on her before, and it pained my heart to see her wear
it now. The wind played with her black hair under her hood making it dance across her ivory
forehead. Though this was hardly the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her, I was staggered by
her pure beauty. Her eyes betrayed her concern over the storm raging inside my soul, and I
was touched that she cared enough about me to want to comfort me, if indeed that’s what was
on her mind. She was just as likely to send me crashing through a wall of her creation, than to
offer me kind words of love and understanding.
I wanted to tell her how I was feeling, but before I could open my mouth she reached her
hand out and placed her index finger on my lips. Her touch was warm and comforting upon my
cold flesh. “Still your tongue, Tragger Drake, and put your fears behind you. Your words are
not needed. Your thoughts are screaming so loudly that all the angels in Father’s Kingdom are
weeping with your pain. I have been sent by Father to explain everything to you . . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I see his grey eyes, full of pity and despair, desperately seeking mine for answers. I
have them, but I do not know if I have the heart to tell him what he needs to know. When it is
my time to guide Tragger Drake to his destiny, I could very well lose him forever. I had already
endured the pain of losing my Golden-God Warrior once, when Glyn’s soul was destroyed, I
could not go through that kind of pain a second time. I had tried so hard to resist it, tried to
guard my heart, but apparently Father decided that four centuries alone was long enough. I
had allowed this brash hero into my heart. I loved him. Tragger Drake must not deny his fate.
Father’s worlds need a Golden-God Warrior more than my heart needs a reason to beat. I gaze
upon his ruggedly handsome features and I see pain etched in every line and wrinkle of his
weathered face. My heart breaks for him.
The time has come to ease his pain.
Every warrior reaches this conflict point sooner or later. They wrestle with their humanity,
their worthiness of the burden being bestowed upon them, with the sacrifices needed to be a
defender of Father’s Truth. Glyn had struggled mightily with these most basic, and very human,
issues, and I thought he had come through the battle with a sense of understanding and peace.
Perhaps, I saw merely what I wanted to see and not what was really there. Perhaps, I reflect
with a sad smile, he was very good at disguising his truth from me.
I can only pray that Tragger Drake will accept his true calling and not be burdened by the
matters of my truth. Not just for my sake, but for the future of Father’s worlds. My sacred duty
to Father is clear, and completely unavoidable. I must escort Tragger Drake when he becomes
the Light, and then be his trusted guide as he wages Father’s Holy war.
Just as I did with Glyn five centuries before.
In truth, Glyn becoming the Golden-God Warrior had not been enough to win the age-old
war against the Evil One. In the end, his Light had not been strong enough to save us from his
pure and deliberate wickedness, and another warrior needed to be selected.
That warrior was the grey-eyed brute standing before me with the bowed head feeling
sorry for himself. I stroked his cheek and was amazed by how the touch of his leathery skin
assured me that everything was going to be all right. The irony in that was not lost on me. I
had reached out to him to assuage his fears, and yet, it had been him who had quieted mine.
That was a sign of a true hero. Tragger Drake offered me a small smile, and I was filled with a
mixture of emotions as I studied him, noting how the wind tossed his golden mane like a cape
behind him. I wanted to scream at him at the top of my voice and snap him out of his self-
inflicted depression. Nobody before has ever made it snow in Father’s Land, and this thick-
headed, wonderful man did not know the power of his emotions. Emotion was raw, pure,
true and real energy, and they had the ability to affect everything Father created. Before he
accepted the mantle of the Golden-God Warrior, he would have to learn to control his emotions.
Looking upon him now, I had my doubts on his chances of success, however, he was the
Chosen One and he had to succeed where Glyn had failed.
“Tragger Drake, to understand your future, and what it means to be the Golden-
God Warrior, you must first hear the story of its past. You must hear my story. Then all your
questions will be quenched. The story starts with a man named Glyn. He was the first Chosen
One, and my history is very closely entwined with his.
“As a human, Glyn had been a man of deep morals and conviction; as the Light, he was
the hope of us all and his potential was limitless. When I took him before Father to officially
accept his destiny as the Golden-God Warrior, I was never more in love with him. Yet, as
Father bestowed the Holy Kiss of Love and Light upon him, I had felt our connection severed.
The loss was like a physical pain. Our beautiful and loving connection had been shattered and
replaced with a cold emptiness that I found impossible to accept. In the blink of an eye, I was
no longer Glyn’s beloved Abigail. I was now merely his guide for his tasks and nothing more
until that fateful battle when his Light had been forever extinguished.
“In the four hundred years since Glyn’s disappearance, I withdrew from Father. My heart
was darkened by bitterness for what He had had taken from me. My existence, if one could
call it that, was steeped in somberness as I turned away from the Light. My journey though
the cold emptiness was treacherous, filled with self-doubt and uncertainty. I doubted myself, I
doubted Father, but more than anything else, I doubted love. Love became something in bard’s
songs, and in stories. It was not real, it was not trustworthy, and all it did was hurt. The other
angels did was speak of the glory of love, the righteousness of it, the purity found in it, the magic
that lived in it. I came to see love as the weapon of the Evil One.”
“You fell into darkness, Abigail?” asked Tragger Drake. “Seems cursed hard to believe,
woman. How’d you get out of it?”
“Slowly, over the course of centuries, my darkness started to fade.”
His eyes grow large and his jaw dropped almost to the ground. “Did you say centuries?
Blast it all, Abby, this Glyn guy must’ve been some kind of stud to take that long to get over.
Then again, I don’t suppose there’s any hard ale here to help drown the sorrow in, is there?”
“Tragger Drake,” I said with mock annoyance. “May I please continue with my tale?”
“Yes, of course, woman. You can’t leave me hangin’ were we are. What happened
next?”
“Every single step was a victory as I fought my way back to the Light. Father, who had
not stopped my downward spiral, did not assist in my struggle to recapture my place within His
kingdom. There were times when I feared that my soul could not be saved, and I was destined
to life a life of loneliness and solitude.
“But such was not to be my fate.
“In time the darkness in my heart faded and my mind became my own again. The
loss of Glyn still hurt, of course, but after a few hundred years, it was hard to recall his face,
or the timber of his voice. Father had been patient with me, a testament to the truth that He
is a Father of love and compassion. I had given Him many reasons to allow my soul to cross
over. Tragger Drake, if you only knew how many times had I longed for the eternal slumber that
danced just out of my reach. it would have been so simple; just close my eyes as fade right out
of existence. No more pain. No more darkness. No more Abigail. At the time, it seemed like the
perfect answer. I had failed in my task to be the protector of Glyn’s soul, of his heart.
“But Father refused to abandon me. Instead, He answered my tormented curses with
words of love. I had come full circle back to Him, ready to serve without question and trust to
His plan. I finally realized that I had a choice; I could either stay in my self-inflicted exile, or I
could reclaim my destiny. You see, warrior, where there is choice there is always the potential
for greatness. Father often reminds us that there can never be true peace and happiness
without struggle and pain. One must battle through the darkness to appreciate the promise
of Light. That’s what Father was teaching me. You cannot have love without hate, happiness
without sadness, gain without loss.
“Tragger Drake, I tell you true, I was ready to rejoin the Light without the need for love,
in any of its many forms, my life. Or so I thought. Then you, Tragger Drake, entered my life with
your foul temper, fouler language and fondness for drink, women and gambling. You test my
patience a million times a day. I never know if I should hug you or blast you into tint pieces.
There seemed to be few, if any, redeeming qualities in you. You mocked me at every turn,
poured scorn on every every lesson I put before you, questioned Father’s plan with arrogance
and disrespect, and somehow made me feel alive for the first time in four hundred years.”
“Abby, I almost stayed awake for that riveting story, really. Now, curses woman, tell
me how any of this has anything to do with why Father refuses to see me. Why am I not good
enough for Him? All I want to do is be this blasted Golden-God Warrior for Him, and I can’t even
get a simple thank-you out of Him. Sorry, Abby, but I’m not exactly feeling the love here.”
He reminds me so much of Glyn. Not in a physical way; Glyn was sleek and slender
whereas Tragger Drake is solid and sturdy, but they share the same passion. The bloodlust that
runs through the warrior before me equals the bloodlust that burned Glyn’s veins as well. It is a
little disquieting to see two men so very different, yet exactly the same in so many ways.
As I stare at my Tragger Drake, I see the same fire in his eyes that Glyn had burning in
his when I took him before Father. It is no small thing to be asked to lose your humanity. In the
end, Glyn had not survived. If Tragger Drake is to meet the same fate, there will be no saving
my soul.
“You do not understand,” I whisper. My voice trembling as I struggle against the
memory of my demons. “It is not your flaws which separate you from Father, it is your humanity.”
My eyes are glistening with tears as I lay my palm lightly against his cheek.
“Walk with me Tragger Drake, and I will give the understanding you lack.” I take his
hand and lead him along the snow-covered lawns of Father’s paradise. With a loud sigh he
nods, and I am relieved that he does not resist. I am not accustomed to this unusual weather,
and do not like the snowflakes hitting my eyelashes. As he follows, his shoulders are slumped,
his head hung low, his eyes devoid of their usual life and luster.
“Why does that mean, Abigail? How does my humanity separate me from Him?
Shouldn’t He be proud of my humanity? After all, He chose me, did he not? Answer those
questions for me, and speak plain. You know I hate it when you talk too much. You remind me
of my Grandma, she was always chewing on someone’s ear about some such.”
“Perhaps, it is because you are not yet ready to allow yourself to see Him. “ I reply. He
scoffs at this and spits vulgarly on the ground. Once again, I am forced to call on every ounce
of strength I have to not send him crashing through something.
“That’s a load of shit, Abby. And you cursed well know it.”
“What I know, Tragger Drake, is this. You keep insisting on using your human eyes to
see instead of your Spiritual Sight, and therefore are missing Him completely. You must free
yourself of your limitations in order for Father to become visible to you.”
“What kind of cursed mumbo-jumbo is that? Blast it all, woman, I don’t even know
what that’s supposed to mean. Now, I told you to speak plain, and let me tell you, Abby, that
was anything but plain. Now, try it again. This time say it in a way that this simple soldier can
understand, if you would please.”
There is a rustling in the bushes just to my left when suddenly, a rabbit, puffed up
against the unexpected chill, scurries across the snowy field. “Look, Tragger Drake. Tell me,
what do you see?” I ask, pointing at the creature as it stops just short of some bushes. He turns
to me and raises one eyebrow, giving me a look that suggests that I have lost my sanity. “Do not
look at me in that tone of voice, Tragger Drake. It is an honest question. Now, tell me. What
do you see?”
“Curses, woman!” he snaps. “A rabbit. I see little delicious-tasting bunny, okay?”
Overhead, the skies continue to be angry and the snow blows in gusts upon the ground.
Tragger Drake remains oblivious to it, clearly, this is man used to being out in the elements. Just
as clearly, I am not. I run my hands briskly up and down my arms in an attempt to stay warm.
My hope is that Tragger Drake will take the hint and make it stop snowing. Since he is the one
that caused this freakish weather, he must be the one to halt it. Father’s rules can really be a
pain sometimes, however, harmony must be maintained throughout all living things. It is just
difficult to be harmonious when your teeth are chattering.
“Take a closer look, you big lug,” I admonish gently. “This time use your Spiritual Sight,
and not your human eyes to see what is truly before you. Understand, if your tiny brain can,
that it is only your humanity making you see Father as a man. You think of Him as being exactly
as you are and nothing more. However, if you will just trust the Spiritual Sight inside of you,
then you will know that He is so much more than a corporeal being. Here, let me show you.”
I move closer to him and push the ornate hood of my shroud back. Closing my eyes, I
raise my hands to weave a colorful design in the air. I chant ancient words softly as my fingers
build an intricate and expanding galaxy. Stars sparkle and dance as planets rotate among the
dizzying array of colors, a universe fully alive and vibrant in the palm of my hand. I smile as he
reaches his hand out in wonderment to brush at the glittering mist. Before his eyes, the sphere
displays a scene of the two of us standing in the snow-covered meadow. The rabbit, and the
grass, and the flowers and trees are all visible, only there is Spiritual Sight contained within the
sphere.
Father is evident everywhere.
“Tell me, Tragger Drake.” I whisper. “Now do you understand? Father is with you
always. He is everywhere and nowhere, everything and nothing. He is future and past, day and
night, sun and moon. He is the grass you stand upon and the air you breathe. He is the wind at
your face and the snow you caused to fall from the sky. He is the up and the down, the Alpha
and Omega, He is both the question and the answer. And He is always with you, always around
you, surrounding you with His truth, with His touch, with His love.”
“I see the truth of it, Abigail.” Tragger Drake looks over at the rabbit, which had turned
to face us. Never before had I witnessed such a proud warrior stare into the eyes of a hare and
understand exactly what he was seeing. Yet, Tragger Drake did. For the first time since his
mortal death, he looked upon the creature with his Spiritual Sight, and saw the Truth. He saw
Father staring back at him.
It was a purely magical moment.
I dissolved my sphere of colors, for it was no longer needed. Tragger Drake had
reached a level of awareness that the one who came before him had not achieved. The rabbit
gave a slight nod of his furry head and then dashed into the shrubbery.
Tragger Drake gave a minuet smile and returned the nod. Then, with eyes as full of
wonder as a child, he looked at me and said, “Wow.”
With just that single word, I knew he understood.
“To everything there is a reason, and to every time a season,” I whisper, quoting from an
ancient spiritual text. I made the sign of peace over Tragger Drake and felt my heart begin to
flutter. The time of his accession is at hand, and I know he is in danger of losing his humanity
by accepting Father’s golden armor, and I am in danger of losing my warrior forever.
“So help, me Tragger Drake,” I say under my breath. “You had best come back to me.”
I press my face into his chest, the heat of his body warming me despite the frozen bite of the
wind. His arms snake around me with quiet authority and for the first time in four hundred
years, I am lost inside the embrace of a man.
“What’s all this, woman?” he asks. His mouth pressed against my temple as he tries to
comfort me. He is solid, real, and his masculine scent of him fills my lungs. I have no words for
him right now, I am a prisoner to his touch. This is way Father assigned this magnificent warrior
to me; it is as much for me as it is for him. It is true that Tragger Drake could not be the Golden-
God Warrior without me, but I cannot be the angel Abigail Hillsong without him as well. We are
two players on the same team, two halves to the same whole.
In this moment, I am alive.
“You shiver no more, Abigail.”
I look up into his beautiful grey eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
He looks out to the meadow with a great spreading smile.
My eyes instinctively follow his and I suddenly I am aware of what it is he is trying
to show me. The storm he had created has now ceased to howl, the once angry clouds
dissipating into a beautiful azure sky. The sun bathes the meadow in deep honey-hued tones of
light laced with healing warmth, and the air is filled with the familiar scent of wild flowers. Trees
stand proud and a thick carpet of lush green grass chases away the last of the foreign snow.
“It is time, Tragger Drake, for you to ascend and become the Chosen Light. Father
awaits, as does your destiny.”