Chapter 32

Later...
The Oak Room,
Charlottesville, Virginia

“This is one helluva reception, if you don’t mind a Prophet saying so,” I chuckled as I looked around me at the banners welcoming my party to Charlottesville.

“Only the best food and drink for an obvious man of God and of destiny. Other clergy have come and gone, but none have aided entire cities and even one whole county in rising from the ashes. That is no small potatoes, Reverend Clarke. Clearly, Divine Providence has brought you here to deliver us from the hand of these Nazi scumbags. What counsel do you give, though, I wonder, on the issue of the radical feminist regime in Blacksburg? Do enjoy the crab cakes ... a fresh reminder of your victory in Baltimore!” Mayor Lansing inquired of me while Sarah Whitman kept her eyes glaring at us ... but which of us?

“Oh, those bitches ... yeah, don’t lift a finger for them. They are just as evil in their own way as the Nazis ... if anything, they are even dumber to die for their insane ideology. And make no mistake. Die they will. We don’t want to risk valuable blood and treasure to save the likes of them. Heaven has no mandate for me to save them, but to aid and succor you, that is a very different matter. I am to finish the winter here and much of my party is to stay behind with you. That is a prophecy,” I repeated my revelation.

“You mentioned that thirty members of your tribe will remain here. Now you have reiterated this prophecy. Clearly, that is significant and you believe it. It’s not exactly good news for you, even if it is for us. To believe convenient things is easy. To believe inconvenient ones is something else entirely. One thing is more obvious to me than ever. You are a true Prophet, sir,” Sarah now told me, her eyes dancing as she approached me.

“And so are you,” another voice presented itself.

Standing among us was an angel who stood eight feet tall and sprouted blazing wings. He was naked instead of robed, his muscles were powerful, yet lean, and he had curly black hair with an olive complexion. He carried a flaming, yet curved sword, much like a scimitar, but ablaze. He was truly awesome and majestic in his appearance.

“Who ... are you?” Mayor Lansing dared to ask him.

“I am the angel Ramiel. Your father, Sarah Whitman. Your true father. That is me. You are the Prophetess for this city, this place. This is your destiny, but first you must learn from the Prophet Adam Clarke. It is your role to keep some lights of truth and justice burning in the darkest night, against the day when the dawn shall return to Earth and Man.

“It was to this end that Jehovah commissioned me to sire you on a mortal woman of this world. Some Prophets are chosen to help ward off the darkness from these lamps of light, while others are to join the Lawgiver in Haven, the greatest refuge of all. Although Jehovah and Jesus are both absent and retired, the divine command and instruction to prophesy remains under the new Lord God and King of Heaven,” the angel declared, stunning Sarah with this latest news.