The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [207]
In return for the money, he gave the men messages from the Voice. The men in suits knew of the Big Voice, but it was hard for them to hear it. Carson found that difficult to believe; to him the Voice was like a trumpet in his head. Yet it was true. The Voice would speak to him, and he would relay its message to others. He was touched. He was a prophet.
But a prophet of whom? In those first months, even years, it had been easy to believe it was God who spoke to him.
Who are you? he would speak into the darkness, kneeling on the floor, hands clasped together.
I am the end, the Voice said. And I am the beginning. I will be the destroyer of all things. And I will be the maker of all things as well.
These words filled Carson with dread, but they also brought a quickening to his blood. The world was fouled and corrupted. Was not the only way to cleanse it to destroy it and make it anew?
In Denver, Carson's congregation grew rapidly. The men and women in suits, the ones from the company called Duratek, wrote him check after check. With that money he built a church, and the followers poured through the doors to listen to him preach. Then the owner of one of the Denver television stations called him and gave him a show. More people came through the doors of the church, rich and poor, young and old, all looking for an answer to the emptiness in their lives.
Soon the church was too small, and he drew up plans for a cathedral, one so high it would rival the mountains, and so strong nothing could shake its foundation—a cathedral of steel. He felt fear when he went to Duratek; he knew it would cost an enormous sum of money. However, the Duratek lawyers wrote the checks, and building began. Carson chided himself. He should never have doubted.
Except, deep in the most secret recesses of his heart, he did doubt. As time went on, as the cathedral climbed ever higher toward the sky, a fear grew in him.
It was all so good. Too good. The Big Voice had given him what he had always wanted—a great flock to follow him—but what did it want in return? He relayed the words of the Voice to the agents of Duratek Corporation on a regular basis, but that was hardly a burden. Like the Voice, they seemed to want little of him; they never asked to be mentioned as a sponsor of his show in exchange for the checks they wrote him. It didn't make sense; surely the Voice wanted more of him. However, when he asked, it never told him what.
Gather your followers unto you. That is all I ask.
For now, Carson would add to himself. But what would the Voice seek later in return for what it had granted him? That seed of doubt sprouted in him, blossoming like a dark flower, and in time he began to fear that the Big Voice was not truly the voice of God, but rather the voice of Satan.
It seemed impossible. The Voice in his head was deep and ancient and beautiful. But was not Lucifer the fairest of the angels before he was cast out of heaven? Did not the Devil tempt with sweet words and promises? He brought people to him not with fire and sword, but by giving them what they most wanted.
For over a year, Carson had struggled with this fear, though he did not show any outward signs of it. Even those in his inner circle didn't sense his doubt. His show climbed in the ratings, and construction of the Steel Cathedral proceeded according to schedule.
At last his new church, his new house, was completed. On that day Carson at last understood the truth, and it was even more terrible than his darkest fears. The Big Voice was not God, and nor was it Satan. It was something else, something other. More real, more present, and more powerful than anything dreamed of by the hearts of men.
It was not God.
It was a god.
The day draws close, the Big Voice spoke to him that night he stood on the empty