The impact drove all thought from my head. I felt my ribs crack, felt my shoulder separate with a wet pop, felt myself lifted and thrown like a child’s rag doll. Then the second horse was on me, iron-shod hooves crushing down with the weight of the world behind them.
Pain beyond description. The taste of blood and mud in my mouth. The curious sensation of my life running out of me like water from a broken cask.
But the children were safe. Through the growing darkness, I could hear them crying—frightened, but alive. Mary Fitzgerald would see another sunrise. That had to be enough.
The cold was leaving me now, replaced by a strange warmth that seemed to come from within. The hunger that had been my constant companion for so long was fading, along with the ache in my bones from too many nights on a straw mattress. The voices of the villagers grew distant, as if they were calling to me from across a great chasm.
’Twas not so bad, dying. Rather peaceful, once you accepted it.
But then the peace shattered like glass, and I found myself standing in a place that was neither light nor dark, neither warm nor cold. A place that simply was, without beginning or end, without up or down to give it meaning.
And I was not alone.
“Eamon O’Rourke.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, spoken in tones that resonated in my bones. When I turned toward the sound, I saw…not a person, exactly, but a presence. Sometimes it seemed masculine, broad-shouldered and strong. Sometimes feminine, graceful and nurturing. Sometimes neither, sometimes both, shifting like flame or flowing water.
“Who…? What are you?” I managed, though speech seemed an unnecessary thing in this place.
“I am El. The source, the beginning, the love that binds all things together.” The presence moved closer, and I felt warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. “You have done something beautiful, Eamon O’Rourke.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You gave your life for children who were not your own. Asked nothing in return, expected no reward. That kind of love, that selfless protection of the innocent, is what makes humans most precious to me.”
I thought of Mary Fitzgerald’s face, frozen with terror. Of the other children, some no older than she. “’Twas no choice at all, really. Could hardly stand by and watch them be trampled.”
“Could you not? Others might have. Others have.” The presence that was El shifted, showing me glimpses of infinite compassion. “But not you.Never you.”
“Am I dead then?”
“Your mortal form has ceased, yes. But your soul…” El moved closer still, and I felt myself embraced by something vast and loving beyond human comprehension. “Your soul has choices yet to make.”
“Choices?”
“The first is simple enough. You may proceed to whatever destination awaits you in the hereafter—judgment, reward, punishment, whatever your mortal beliefs have prepared you to expect.”
My stomach clenched with old, familiar fear. Father McMahon’s voice echoed in my memory, thundering about the torments that awaited those who lay with their own kind, who harbored unnatural desires in their hearts.
“And if…” I swallowed hard. “If that destination is not a pleasant one?”
El’s laugh was like music, like spring rain on new flowers. “Oh, my dear child. You think I would condemn you for love?”
“’Tis not natural love, what I feel. The Church says?—”
“The Church says many things, not all of them in keeping with my will.” El’s presence surrounded me, warm and accepting in a way I’d never experienced in life. “Love is love, Eamon. Whether it flows between man and woman, man and man, woman and woman—all of it springs from the same sacred source. The human heart’s capacity to love another soul is what makes your species so precious to me.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, driving out fear I’d carried for decades. “You… You don’t condemn such feelings?”
“I created them,” El said simply. “Every form of love that brings joy without causing harm is holy in my sight.Your desires are no more sinful than your need for bread or water or the warmth of sunlight on your face.”
Tears I didn’t know I could still shed ran down my face. “Then why do they preach otherwise?”
“Because mortals fear what they do not understand, and sometimes, that fear corrupts even the most well-meaning teachings.” El’s voice grew gentle. “But you need not fear judgment from me, Eamon O’Rourke. Your heart is good, your soul pure. Paradise awaits you, should you choose it.”
“You said there were choices. What else might I choose?”
“To serve. To protect. To become something more than mortal, tasked with guarding those who cannot guard themselves.” The space around us shifted, showing me glimpses of other realms, other possibilities. “I have need of guardians, Eamon. Angels to watch over the innocent, to stand between them and those who would do them harm.”
