THE MULTITUDE
by
J. M. Fraser
THE MULTITUDE
Copyright © 2019 by Joseph Fraser
Cover art by Elle J Rossi
Interior formatting by Author E.M.S.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or any means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without permission in writing by the author.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America by J.M. Fraser
ISBN: 978-1-946464-06-4
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE MULTITUDE
Copyright
A MODERN-DAY RESURRECTION
PART 1: GENESIS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
PART 1I: WATER INTO WINE
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
PART III: THE RAPTURE
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
EPILOGUE
Did You Enjoy THE MULTITUDE?
Excerpt from FAULTY BONES
Excerpt from THE WITCH OF THE HILLS
About the Author
A MODERN-DAY RESURRECTION
April 12, 2020
Warden Spencer, flanked by two guards, gaped at a boulder a short distance from the Subway Killer’s cell. Scrapes in the floor suggested this eight-foot ball of granite had somehow been dragged from directly in front of the cell door to its current resting place. A boulder having no reason to be anywhere near the prison compound, let alone inside of it.
And the thin, bearded prisoner who’d pushed a woman to her death seven or eight years ago?
Gone.
PART I: GENESIS
CHAPTER 1
Far western Virtus, twenty days after harvest moon, 3414
(September 29, 2013, in our universe)
Quintus Laskaris peered through his spyglass at a smoking beast in the distance. White steam poured from the cylindrical metal chimney of the huge, barrel-shaped machine. The wheels beneath gripped two endless strips of metal stretching in parallel lines all the way to the shimmering horizon. The enemy’s clever inventors had come up with a way to neutralize the uneven terrain.
If the rumors were true, ten thousand slaves had worked the project, spiking those metal strips to wooden slats every few feet over an incredible distance, beginning in this scrubby desert where Nirvana’s frontier settlements encroached upon Virtus’s rightful land and traveling west to the distant mountains and then to the sea. Many had frozen to death in the highest passes when the winter blizzards set in, but slaves were replaceable. The job got finished at that terrible price.
Quintus shuddered. The Nirvana nation was renowned for its violence and heartlessness. Worse than his own countrymen. And they’d soon be coming in force. Several carts waited behind the beast, strung together like beads on a chain. They’d be used to transport goods, weapons, and soldiers faster than a horse and without ever tiring.
Somewhere behind him a twig snapped, jolting him with enough adrenaline to bring a metallic taste to his tongue. He shifted from his prone position to a crouch and whipped a dagger from the sheath at his ankle.
“Steady now.” A heavy-set, bearded soldier stepped from behind one of the scattered boulders Quintus had been using for cover. “We’re on the same side, last I checked.”
Quintus relaxed. He and the lieutenant had a good history. “Maybe we should reconsider our loyalties, Bertramus. We’ll be outmuscled soon.” He handed over his spyglass.
The lieutenant squinted into it and let out a low whistle. “What is it?”
“They call it a locomotive.”
“And you’re here to steal the plans?”
“We’re a little late for that.” Quintus looked his dusty companion up and down, then shifted his attention to a small group of soldiers waiting on horseback just beyond the boulders. “Since when do we exiled scouts get reinforcements?”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Bertramus said. “The king sent for you.”
An old wound on Quintus’s thigh throbbed as it always did when the weather changed or his nerves frayed or his brother tracked him down. “What could Albus possibly want with me?”
“Come east and find out.” The lieutenant delivered the line with a chuckle in his voice, diminishing any concern the king might be up to worse than his typical random foolishness.
“Leave my post and journey for a week? Just tell me now.”
“He wants to surprise you.” Bertramus crossed his arms. “I’m under strict orders to keep my damned mouth shut.”
“Wonderful.” Quintus looked to the heavens for escape. If only he could fly like a bird to a land so distant Albus would never find him. Soar to the recent comet so bright in the evening sky he could almost see a smudge of it now, there, twenty degrees to the right of the midday sun. He pointed.
Bertramus followed his gaze and grunted. “Another day without a cloud. Will rain never come?”
“Let’s not dwell on the weather. Aren’t daytime stars bad omens? This might be the beginning of a story we won’t like.”
The lieutenant clapped him on the shoulder with a heavy hand. “Who can say where a story begins? Are you a scribe or a soldier?”
* * *
The story began here, lieutenant, sixty-eight years earlier.
Hiroshima, August 6, 1945
The angel Gabriella likened Asura Ito to a delicate porcelain doll. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Adored. The twelve-year-old prodigy sat on the opposite bench, across the flagstone path, with hands folded, colorful pins in her hair, the girl’s blue-and-white kimono interpreting the sky.
While Asura seemed like an ornament stolen from the Japanese garden on the other side of the wall, Gabriella strived to be no more remarkable than a stepping stone. She’d assumed her preferred appearance as a child, darkening her otherwise blonde hair and reshaping her eyes to blend in. She wore a plain kimono. Her hairstyle didn’t sport a single pin—a simple strategy to fool the pilgrims into underestimating her as an ordinary friend, perhaps the girl’s poorer cousin, if they noticed her at all. Otherwise, they might have been unsettled by her timeless eyes. Angels, even those as amazing as she knew herself to be, were most
