The Eschaton

By William Hopper

Every God. Every prophecy. One planet. The Christ has returned, but so too has Vishnu and a host of other deities. Now, as our Gods and faiths collide, humanity must find a way to fulfill its destiny before our Gods fulfill theirs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Hopper
• Release date: Sep 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466089723

William Hopper

William Hopper is an author and columnist, writing mainly on religions and religious history. He has authored six books, including the best-selling Heathen's Guide series.

Book preview

The Eschaton

By William Hopper William Hopper

Copyright William Hopper 2010

Published by CoolCats Publishing at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

The Temple Mount, October 16th, 9:12 am

Jenna Vaas, Thursday, October 17, Upstate New York.

Kalki Mehra, Bratislava, Slovakia, Thurs. Oct 17

Jenna Vass and William Hayes. Theology Hall,

PLAGUE HITS SLOVAKIAN CAPITAL

Kalki and Chahna, Bratislava, Slovania

Jenna and David, Israeli Air, Flight 7628

Bill Hayes, Israeli Air, Flight 7628, Two Hours Later

Joseph Rosen, Des Moines, Iowa. October 17, 9:15pm

Jenna Vaas, Israeli Air, Flight 7628

Jenna Vaas, 7:15 pm, David Citadel Hotel, Room 1401

Bill Hayes 3:20 am, Room 1405, David Citadel Hotel

Jenna Vaas, 7:50 pm, Room 1401, David Citadel Hotel

Doris, Administration Office, Theology Hall

Ellen and Rosen, 6:15 am, Just outside Maxwell, NE

Bill Hayes, David Citadel Hotel, 10:43 am

Jenna Vaas and Kalki, Room 1401, David Citadel Hotel

Rosen, Ellen, and Michael, Colorado Plains

Idris and Christ, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Joshua Ben Josef, aka Jesus Christ, Manhattan Island

Rev. Len Jenkins, Christ Church, Jaffa Gate, Jerusalem

Joshua and Len, Jerusalem

Rosen and Ellen, Colorado/Utah Border

Joshua and Len, Apollyon

New Temple, Jerusalem

Nowhere

New Jerusalem

Epilogue

A Note From the Author…

The Temple Mount, October 16th, 9:12 am

When Isaac Barresh was a boy, he knew without question that the promised messiah was about to arrive. His family had moved to the Holy Land in 1953 to become proud citizens of the new nation of Israel. It had been a time of unprecedented hope. Ezekiel’s prophesies seemed to be coming true. The Diaspora was over. The Temple Mount, denied to Jews since 70 AD, was finally within their grasp. Like many in Israel at the time, Isaac understood that these signs heralded the imminent rise of a new messiah.

That was sixty years ago.

Now, half a mile from the Wailing Wall, Isaac could already see the crowd of Muslims gathering near Al Aqsa. They’d be boys mostly— teenagers full of vigor and purpose ready to defend their faith with rocks and insults. Rabbi Baird had weeded out the worst of the trouble makers from their own procession, but Isaac could still see fervor in the eyes of the young men who walked with them. There would be bloodshed today.

It wasn’t always like this. He said to the closest of them.

What!? the boy replied, barely registering Isaac’s voice above the chants.

I said it was not always like this. Isaac repeated, louder this time. The Six Day War. I was there. I was part of the first brigade to pass through the Lion’s Gate and take control of the Temple Mount.

We should have killed them all back then and been done with it! the boy said, smiling. When he realized that Isaac was not smiling back he turned away abruptly, losing himself in the crowd.

Their procession followed the old roads to the Mugrabi Gate. There, Rabbi Baird stopped the pickup truck that carried the Cornerstone of the New Temple. Isaac had walked in this procession for twenty-three years now, and had seen his share of violence and death come with it. He also had taken the long road back from the Temple, watching as the Cornerstone— and the hope it represented— was packed away for another year.

Still, he hoped. He prayed. And he walked.

The turnout had been good. By the time they were at the gate their numbers had grown to several hundred. There had been demonstrations earlier in the week, and the Knesset had been forced to prevent the stone from actually passing onto the Temple Mount itself. Instead they would pray at the gate, far from the confrontations that waited within.

It seemed that the plan to keep the peace had worked. As they neared the gate, the priests were singing the old hymns, unimpeded by the Muslims who looked on from above. For the moment, Isaac allowed himself to believe that it would all go well. They would finish the blessing, say their prayers, and he would be back home before noon. He eyed the walls above, wary, but content that the Muslims there meant them no harm so long as they did not carry the stone across the threshold.

It was because he was watching the Muslims that Isaac missed the real threat. Without warning their small crowd suddenly grew to a thousand as armed men erupted from every side street and building, easily overwhelming the procession. The first of them, presumably their leader, leapt on the back of the pickup, pushing Rabbi Baird aside. The singing stopped.

People of Israel hear me! the man cried. This time… this time the Cornerstone will not fail!

Isaac groaned. Though they had kept the enemy at bay, they had failed to keep their own zealots in check. There were hundreds of them, far more than he had ever seen at any one time.

You have brought this stone here to have a Temple built! the man shouted. We are here to finish the task that you have so nobly begun!

Isaac had seen what a few fanatics (from either side) could do. This many at the Temple itself, with the Cornerstone to incite them, was a nightmare. As the words floated around him, Isaac said his prayers, sure that these would be the last minutes of his life.

None of your number need die here today. the man continued. Before we take the Mount, I ask that each of you go home to your loved ones. This fight belongs to all Jews, but this battle is ours! We have planned for it! We are ready for it! I ask that each of you step aside and watch as the power of Yahweh is manifested for His people!

Isaac opened his eyes, as if checking to see that he had heard the words correctly. They were being given the chance to leave before the bullets started flying. It was unprecedented.

Rabbi Baird spoke next.

People! Baird said to the assembly. These men are here for their own purposes. If we need not be harmed in this madness, I say we should do as he asks. Go home. I want my people safe.

Baird had barely finished the sentence when the strangers moved forward, seizing control of the truck and the Cornerstone. The congregation was pushed back, leaving Isaac and his assembly on the outside of a growing mass of weapons and men.

He immediately understood his position. Once free from the throng, Isaac moved quickly toward the open boulevard, searching for cover before the onslaught began. It was only a few hundred yards to the old buildings that would shelter him, but his bones rattled with the effort. The first shots were already firing as he threw himself around the corner, huddling behind ancient brick.

He watched from his hiding spot. The first string of shots quickly became a chorus. Muslim gunmen had the high ground, but the insurgents cared little about this. They rushed the guns, allowing the first of them to be cut down by the initial volley. Those behind stepped over, brazenly running straight into the next shot. Eerily, Isaac began to see their strategy; make the Muslims empty their magazines, then charge while they reloaded. It was macabre, but it was working. They were gaining ground fast.

There is still the problem of the Cornerstone. a voice said from behind Isaac. The bridge is built for people, not trucks. They are not going to get that stone across it.

Isaac turned to acknowledge his fellow witness, assuming it to be another of the procession who had taken cover behind the building.

I doubt they have any inten— Isaac said, stopping in mid-sentence. A figure was hovering just above him, its immense ankle wavering mere inches from Isaac’s face.

I have fought many battles in my day. the being continued. Some of them on this very spot. But the strategy of this… It is either insanity or genius. I can not yet decide.

Isaac could only gape as the being’s enormous head peered over the wall, studying the battle. Huge white wings silhouetted him. Massive arms, bronze and muscular, were folded leisurely across a leather battle harness. The sword sheathed at his side licked flames at the edge of a six-foot scabbard.

Isaac fell to his knees. The being diverted his glance long enough to cast a quizzical look at Isaac’s prostration, but promptly returned his attention to the battle.

They’re going to win. he continued. Though to what end remains to be seen. I can only assume that there is a plan at work here that I have not yet discerned.

Lord… Isaac said from the ground.

I am no one’s lord. the being said, a note of annoyance in his voice. Then, tearing his attention from the Mount, he lowered himself to the ground in front of Isaac. I serve no man, and no man serves me. He said. I am Michael, archangel and commander of the Armies of Light.

Why have you appeared to me? Isaac asked without looking.

Michael tilted his head slightly. I was watching the battle. It was you that ran into me. He said tersely. Then, as if to himself, he added The Muslims are falling back.

Isaac braved a glance toward the archangel. Micheal's colossal form was leaning over him now, stretching past the protection of the wall to catch every bit of the action. The lowest of his feathers were hovering just above Isaac’s bowed head, brisling against his scalp. He recoiled from the sensation.

Sorry. Michael said perfunctorily. The giant wings leapt up, their span billowing over the archangel’s shoulders.

There…! Michael said suddenly. Isaac jumped, sliding across the dust to the corner of the wall. When he looked up Michael was standing back, his face casual.

They are in. The Muslims will put up no more fight. Though that is not to say that this is over. Michael said, his eyes still scanning the area.

Isaac was breathing hard, but his wits were still with him. He summoned the courage to speak.

Michael... He said lowly. If I may call you Michael..?

I’d prefer it. the archangel replied without looking.

Tell me… Is your presence a sign that the messiah is coming?

No. Michael replied flatly, his focus still on the Mount.

A hope died in Isaac. But the prophesies are true, are they not!? Isaac asked.

Content that the battle was over, Michael turned his full attention to Isaac You asked if my being here was a sign of His coming. It is not.

But there is a messiah. Isaac affirmed.

Michael seemed to pause, then answered. There is.

When will he come to us? Isaac implored.

The archangel allowed himself the luxury of a sigh. His countenance was strong and resolute, but there was a hint of trouble in his eyes. Isaac watched, terrified but anxious to hear what Michael could tell him.

I wish I knew. Michael said.

You do not know? Isaac asked, incredulous. You are an angel. An archangel! For sixty years I have prayed that the signs would bring to us he who we are promised… God’s anointed who will lead Israel. How can an archangel not know of this?

I know the prophesies. Michael answered, slightly indignant. But the signs are not as they should be. This battle… the taking of the Mount… I can not reconcile the timing of it with what The Voice has prophesied for the messiah’s return. It is why I am here… measuring the events against the words I have been given.

You do not know God’s plan? Isaac asked, his voice trembling.

I am a warrior. I act only on the orders given me. Beyond this, I interpret the signs as you humans do.

For a few moments there was silence between them. Isaac digested the archangel’s words. Michael, for his part, busied himself with his wing, examining it for defects. Eventually he pulled a single feather loose, letting it drop to the ground with a look of satisfaction.

You know only as much as humans? Isaac asked, unable to hide his disappointment.

I know only what The Voice tells me. Michael said. There is a battle to come. The Demons of Darkness will rise to fight the Angels of Light, and the Earth will be laid waste by their battles. There will be earthquakes, plagues, and death the like of which the world has never seen. And yes, there is to be a new messiah on the throne of Israel. All of this is to happen, but I do not know the hour of its coming.

But… you lead the army! Isaac protested. You must have some idea of when this final battle is supposed to happen!

Peering past the wall, Michael took stock of the situation on the Mount. The gunfire had stopped. Military vehicles were on the scene now, as were the news crews. The archangel stepped back to consider it.

Saturday. Michael guessed. But as I said, the signs are imprecise. It could begin any time between Thursday and Sunday.

Return to Table of Contents

Jenna Vaas, Thursday, October 17, Upstate New York.

Jenna Vaas had rented the same small, third-story walk-up since she’d started her doctoral studies three years ago. In that time only four people had ever knocked on her door; her father, her landlord, and two Mormon missionaries. None had called on her at 7:30 in the morning. For a moment she just stared at the door, her half-awake mind wondering if she’d just imagined it. Two heartbeats later, another knock confirmed the first.

Hello..?. she asked, making no move toward the door.

Miss Vass? a voice came from the other side. It was male, decidedly young. Miss Vass, I’m sorry but I’ve been sent by Professor Hayes to get you. He said it was vitally important. A brief silence, then, feebly; I have a note…

Jenna sighed. She had over an hour before she was to give a lecture on the Second Temple Era. If Professor Hayes was sending an undergrad to get her early, it could only mean one thing: She’d be covering the old man’s classes again this week. It boded poorly for the rest of the term.

She opened the door just as the freshman started to knock again. Had she been more awake she might actually have chuckled as the boy’s hand hit thin air on the third rap. Instead, Jenna turned and headed for the bathroom, leaving her morning messenger staring at the now-open door.

Let me guess… She said over her shoulder. Hayes is taking another of his famous week-long sabbaticals? She reached the bathroom before the boy had a chance to reply, but he tried anyway.

There’s no classes so… no. the boy said from the doorway. But with everything happening I think Professor Hayes needs you there.

Jenna heard none of this above the din of the toothbrush and running water.

I’m gonna be a couple minutes. She called from the bathroom. You might as well come in and wait.

The boy obliged, closing the door behind him. Finding a stool next to the island, he sat, waiting patiently. He could hear the sounds of various cases opening and closing in the bathroom. When her foot appeared in the doorway he briefly stood up, but relaxed when he saw it stretch out, catch the corner of the door, and push it closed. For the next few seconds he stared intently at the plastic cat figurine on the fridge as the unmistakable sound of her peeing filled the small apartment. There were other, nondescript noises; the toilet flushing, then the bathroom door burst open. The boy sat bolt upright.

Jenna had transformed from bed-head to beauty in less than ten minutes. The freshman couldn’t help but appreciate both the clothes and the form they covered. He guessed her to be about 5’6", maybe 120 pounds. Her legs and waist were thin but proportioned. She was older, but definitely worth looking at. His guess was that she was over thirty, though her breasts still looked firm. There was no sign of gravity hav—¬

He realized she was watching him.

His face flushed crimson as he jumped from the stool, pulling an envelope from his back pocket. He brandished it toward her as the first, best distraction he could find.

I was supposed to give you this right away but you were… you were busy. He said. Jenna took the envelope, ignoring the boy’s embarrassment.

She had assumed that the early-morning communiqué would be a list of additional classes she was going to have to teach. Instead, she found that it contained a single page, scrawled in Professor Hayes’ own handwriting. No letterhead, no salutation. The note simply read:

Jenna: Pack a small carry-on bag of light clothing. Your passport is on file at the registrar, and I have taken the liberty of having it sent to my office. It will be with me when you arrive. Note that I have expedited your doctorate program. As of this morning you are a fully credited PhD. D. I only wish it were under better circumstances. We leave at 10 am sharp. Doris will fill you in on the details. ~Regards, W. Hayes

She read it twice, but it didn’t help.

*****

I guess you guys are gonna be busy. the cabbie said as he handed her the change. She took it and got without comment, lost as she was in her own thoughts. The cab was halfway down the lane before the driver’s words finally registered in her mind.

Busy? She said aloud. When is a theology department ever ‘busy’?

She was in the building and up two flights of stairs before she realized that something was definitely wrong. It wasn’t until she passed room 302 (where she was supposed to be giving a lecture in half an hour) that it occurred to her what it was. The place was deserted. At this time of day there should have been dozens of students wandering about. Instead, she was passing empty offices, classrooms, and hallways. She make her to the Administration Office. As she approached, she heard the first sounds of life since entering the building: Doris’ shrill voice echoing down the corridor.

The dean called to say that the entire endowment fund is available if you need it. Doris was saying. At least money isn’t going to be a problem.

You know it’s big when the dean opens the purse straps. Hayes’ voice replied.

Be that as it may, the money is there if you need it. Doris replied.

I don’t. Hayes said coldly. If this all goes as planned, the admin are going to have more grant money than they know what to do with. If it doesn’t…

If it doesn’t, you don’t want to owe your ass to a bunch of bureaucrats. Doris finished for him. The perky lilt in her voice reminded Jenna of why she loathed the woman. Hayes had always said that the department could not function without her, but Jenna had always been willing to give it a shot. Just hearing the woman’s voice was grating.

I wouldn’t have put it quite that succinctly, but I think you’ve summed it up rather well. Hayes continued.

I try. Doris chirped, trying to sound coy despite all evidence to the contrary. I’ve got to go pick up the permits and sign the releases. I’ll be back in a few with the newspapers if you still want them. Anything else while I’m out? she asked.

Energy. Hayes’ voice droned.

Just put a new pot on. Should be ready in about five minutes if you can live that long.

I’ll do my best. He said.

A second too late Jenna realized that Doris was about to pass right by her on the way out. The woman’s bullish stride gave Jenna no time to avoid her. Doris stormed the doorway in classic Doris fashion, bumping Jenna back a full foot before stopping. Though she was several inches shorter than Jenna (and about ninety pounds heavier) Doris still managed to glare her straight in the eye.

Seems your protégé is here. she shouted back to Hayes. Shall I send her in?

Dear God, yes. Hayes called back Somebody’s going to have to pour the coffee.

Doris’ eyes never left Jenna’s, but her lips curled up into a broad, fake smile. You may go in now Jenna. She said. Before Jenna could respond the woman dismissed her with a curt nod, brushed past, and traipsed down the hall.

*****

Entering the office Jenna was struck by two equally bizarre images.

The first was Hayes himself. Though he was in his mid-sixties, he had always carried his 6’1" frame with strength and vigor. Now, slumped in a black swivel chair, he looked like an old man in a nursing home. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes. A day’s growth of beard was coming in white and bushy beneath pursed lips. His suit jacket was strewn across the coffee table, a red double-Windsor hung loosely around a bust of Galileo.

The second thing that struck Jenna was that Hayes was not alone. There were two men seated on the sofa across from him. Both were about 30 years old, in good shape, with brown hair and eyes. They might have been dismissed as grad students were it not for the semi- automatic weapons slung over their shoulders. It was the weapons that held Jenna’s attention.

Yes they are real. No, they are not to be worried about. Hayes said simply.

Now that I did not expect. Jenna said, her attention still locked on the weapons.

I’m afraid we have a lot to cover and very little time to do so. Hayes said. How much do you know of what’s happened?

Jenna broke her stare to address Hayes. I know that one of your students showed up at my house with a note telling me I had my PhD. D. I know I’m supposed to go somewhere with you. I also know that my classes seem to be canceled, and there are two guys with guns sitting in the admin office. So if it’s not too much trouble, I’d really like to have some of this make sense now. She was talking faster than she intended, suddenly aware that there was more than just anger behind her words.

Canceling classes was not my idea. The dean made the decision that a World Religions Department isn’t the safest place this week. The rest of the university is business as usual, but Theology Hall is going to remain on hiatus until things calm down. Hayes said.

What ‘things’… Jenna demanded, her voice suddenly sounding more girlish than she’d ever wanted it to. I got your message to get here as soon as possible, and I did. Why?

With a resigned look of pain Hayes pushed himself from up the chair, his joints popping as he rose.

Follow me. He said, walking into his office. And bring coffee.

*****

Five minutes later Hayes was seated in the ancient leather chair behind his desk, coffee in hand. Opposite him, on the far-less-comfortable metal chair, Jenna watched as her mentor added copious amounts of sugar to his cup.

You need to get cable. He said, clicking the remote control for the small television in the far corner of the office. Jenna ignored it.

What makes you think I don’t have cable? she asked.

If you did, you’d have been in here hours ago and you wouldn’t be asking a very old, very tired professor to bring you up to date.

I hardly think...

Ah there it is... Hayes said, finding the news station. You watch. I drink coffee.

Jenna turned her attention to the screen. A reporter was in the foreground of what looked like ruins of some sort. The mute was on, and she struggled to read the captions that flew by above the ticker.

Oh... sorry. I usually keep the noise off. It gets damned annoying hearing the same thing over and over. Here… Hayes said, un-muting it. Immediately the reporter’s voice filled the room with patented gravitas.

What we know at the moment is that just after midnight our time a group called the Temple Mount Faithful brought the Cornerstone of their New Temple to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. the reporter was saying.

They do that every year on Tisha b'Av. Jenna remarked to Hayes. He merely pointed her back toward the television.

The reporter continued: We know that there have been confrontations between Jews and Muslims during these stone ceremonies before…

Aw geez… Jenna said, the possible ramifications immediately obvious to her.

Witnesses claim that a group overtook the ceremonies. The Temple Mount Faithful have decried any foreknowledge of the incident, claiming that their rabbis were just as surprised as anyone else when the throng descended.

They brought the stone into the Old City? Jenna asked. Hayes allowed the newscaster to answer.

Israeli militia units were dispatched to bring the crowd under control, but the attackers had breached the Al Aqsa Mosque before the military arrived.

Jenna sat motionless. The Al Aqsa Mosque sits at the entrance to the Shrine of the Golden Dome, a monument to Islam’s claim over the Holy City. For one Jew to step across its threshold was forbidden. For hundreds to try to take it by force…

Preliminary reports estimate that over two hundred have been killed or wounded. the reporter continued.

I understand that none of the surviving Al Aqsa guards have in fact been harmed? the anchor’s voice said.

No, Dan, none at all. When the insurgents overtook the Mount, the Including Imam Ali of the Al Aqsa Mosque— were released virtually unharmed.

They seem to be awfully nice terrorists… Jenna muttered.

It gets stranger, trust me. Hayes added.

Currently Iran, Syria, and Egypt have each threatened to retake the Mosque and grounds, though immediate action has been tentatively halted by the release of a video from the attackers. The correspondent’s face disappeared and was replaced with footage