Morgan finally realized that he was about to die. He looked down; and there at his feet lay the Whore of Babylon. The falling sand had already begun to cover the statue. Although he knew it was pointless, Morgan began to claw wildly at the rubble. His knuckles and fingertips started to bleed, and he began to cry.

'The Anti-Christ is with us!' shouted Bugenhagen, through the rasping of the pouring sand. 'Give yourself to God!'

Outside, as if in blasphemous answer, the walls and the pillars of the castle lurched and began to crumble. Down below, the rumbling was amplified into a terrifying roar. Morgan began to moan as he continued to claw away at the wall of stone that stood between him and his only chance for survival. But the sand was already up to his waist, and rising fast.

Bugenhagen's eyes were still closed. He was praying: ‘"... and he had power to give life unto the image of the Beast; that the image of the Beast should both speak and cause that as many as would not worship the image of the Beast should be killed."’ Bugenhagen paused, then added, 'Bless us, Christ Jesus, and forgive us...’

The sand was at the level of their chins now. Morgan was whimpering like a frightened animal. Bugenhagen kept praying:

‘"... the forces of evil may seem to overwhelm us and be triumphant, but goodness will prevail. For it is written in the Book of Revelation: ‘... and then shall that wicked one be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of His mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of His coming...’”’

The sand rose over their mouths, and over their noses, and over their eyes, and when it moved up over their foreheads, their headlamps were extinguished in a single terrible moment, leaving the black void, the absence of everything, that is death.

A final, thunderous lurch sent the rest of the ruined castle down to the ground in a roaring cascade of flying rubble and stone.

Two things remained. The wall by the mad painter Yigael—the single solid piece of evidence left—had somehow miraculously survived intact. And lying next to it, in the rubble far below the surface of the earth, was Bugenhagen's leather pouch. It was as if some other force, equally as powerful as that depicted on the wall, were at work, leaving evidence of its presence.

On the surface of the earth, out of the mushrooming cloud of dust and debris, the raven soared mightily, like a blackened phoenix rising from the ashes. It circled the ruins below with a hideous, triumphant shriek, then flew off into the rising sun, and disappeared into the early morning mist.

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE