It will begin in the heavens…

Father Bill Ryan had returned to the city after five years of hiding in the South, and was still laying low. Only a handful of people knew he was back. After all, he was still wanted by the police.

Poor Father Bill. The years of seclusion had not been kind to him. He looked so much older, and he acted strange. Simultaneously jumpy, irritable, frightened, and angry. And he talked of strange things. No specifics, just cryptic warnings of some sort of approaching Armageddon. But with the Russians acting semi-civilized and the cold war over, that hadn't made much sense.

One thing Father Bill had been fairly positive about was where it all would start.

It will begin in the heavens.

He'd told Nick to keep his ears open and to let him know if he heard of anything strange happening in the skies, no matter how insignificant.

Well, something more than strange had happened. Something far from insignificant. Something impossible.

It will begin in the heavens.

The unease in Nick's spine stopped crawling and sprinted up to the back of his neck, spreading across his shoulders. He excused himself from the table and headed for the pay phone in the hallway.

2 • Father William Ryan, S.J.

"Ask him about tonight," Glaeken said, close by Father Bill's side. "Do they think the sun will set ahead of schedule tonight?"

Bill turned back to the phone and repeated the question. Nick's reply was agitated. Bill detected a tremor weaving through the younger man's voice.

"I don't know, and I'm sure Harv and Cynthia don't know, either. This is terra incognita, Bill. Nothing like this has ever happened before. All bets are off."

"Okay, Nick. Thanks for calling. Keep me posted, will you? Let me know about sunset."

"That's it?" Nick said. "Keep you posted? What's this all about? How did you know something was going to happen? What's it all mean?"

Bill sensed the fear, the uncharacteristic uncertainty in Nick, and wished he could say something to comfort him. But Bill had nothing comforting to say.

"You 'll know as soon as I know. I promise you. Get back to me here tonight. I'll be waiting for you. Goodbye."

Bill hung up and turned to Glaeken, but the old man was over by the picture window, staring down at the Park. He did that a lot. Glaeken looked eighty-something, maybe ninety, slightly stooped, with white hair and deeply wrinkled skin; but he was a big man, and his frame blocked a good portion of the window. Bill had been living here in Glaeken's apartment for the past couple of months, helping him with his ailing wife, driving him around town while he did his "research," but mostly waiting.

The apartment was huge, occupying the entire top floor of the building, and filled with strange curios and even stranger paintings. The wall to Bill's left was mirrored and he started at the stranger facing him in the glass, then realized he was looking at himself. He'd shaved his beard and cut his hair and he missed his ponytail. He still wasn't used to seeing himself with bare cheeks. He wasn't used to looking so old. The gray hair had been there for years, but the beard had hidden all the lines on his face. He looked all of his fifty years.

Bill moved up to the window and stood beside Glaeken.

The wait, apparently, was over. He was glad for that. But an icy tendril of dread slithered through his gut as he realized he had traded one uncertainty for another. The apprehension of wondering when it would start had been replaced now by a greater worry of what was starting.

"You didn't seem too surprised," Bill said.

"I sensed the difference this morning. Your friend confirmed it. The Change has begun its march."

"You wouldn't know it from the looks of things down there."

Across the street and a dozen stories below, Central Park was a palette of greens in the light of the high spring sun as the various species of trees sprouted this year's crop of leaves.

"No," Glaeken said. "And you won't for a while. But now we must lower our watch. The next manifestation will occur in the earth."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. But if he follows his pattern, that is where he'll make his next move. And when he has reached his full powers—"

"You mean he hasn't!"

"There is a process he must go through before his power is complete. Plus, there's a purpose to playing with the length of our days. It's all part of his method."

"Not at full power," Bill said softly, his mind balking. "My God, if you're right about that, and he's able to alter the time the sun rises when he's not up to speed, what'll he be able to do when he is?"

Glaeken turned and pinned Bill with his deep blue gaze.

"Anything he wants. Anything."

"Nick says it's impossible for the sun to rise late," Bill said, grasping at straws. "It breaks too many physical laws."

"We'll have to learn to forget about physical laws—or any laws, for that matter. The 'laws' we have created to explain our existence and make sense of the universe around us are about to be repealed. Physics, chemistry, gravity, time itself will be reduced to futile, meaningless formulae. The first laws were broken at sunrise. Many more will follow until they all lie scattered about in ruins. As of this morning, we begin a trek toward a world and a time of no law."

An old woman's voice quavered from the master bedroom.

"Glen? Glen, where are you?"

"Coming, Magda," Glaeken said. He gripped Bill's upper arm and lowered his voice. "I don't think we can stop him, but there may be a chance to impede him."

Bill urged his spirits to respond, to lift, to cast off the pall of gloom that enveloped him. But his mood remained black.

"How? How can we hope to stand against a power that can alter the path of the sun?"

"We can't," the old man said sternly. "Not with that attitude. And that's just the way he wants us to react—with despair and hopelessness. 'He's too powerful. Why even try to resist?'"

"Good question," Bill said.

"No." Glaeken tightened his grip painfully on Bill's arm. "Bad question. That way, he's already won, without a fight. He may win. In fact, I'm pretty sure we haven't got a chance. But I've fought him too long to sit around and simply wait for the end. I thought I could. I wanted to sit this out, sit everything out. That was why I took the name Veilleur. For once I'd be involved in nothing; I'd simply sit back and watch. And I have watched. And all the while I've waited for someone to come along with the power to stand in Rasalom's way. But no one's appeared. And now I find I can't sit by and let everything fall into his lap. I want that bastard to have to work for it. If he wants this world, he's going to have to earn it!"

Something in Glaeken's words, his manner, his flashing eyes gave Bill heart

"I'm all for that, but can we do enough to let him know he's even been in a fight?"

"Oh, yes. I'll see to it."

Magda's voice intruded again, trailing in from the bedroom.

"Doesn't anybody hear me? Isn't anybody there? Have I been left here alone to die?"

"I'd better go to her," Glaeken said.

"Can I help?"

"Thanks, no. She just needs a little reassurance. But I'd appreciate it if you could be around tonight while I go out. I've got a little errand I must run."

"If you need anything, I can—"

"No. This is someone I must meet alone."

Bill waited for Glaeken to elaborate, but no explanation was offered. He'd learned over the past couple of months that the old man played everything close to the vest, yielding only the minimal amount of necessary information, keeping the rest to himself.

"Okay. I think I'll stop in on Carol, then. To tell her it's started."