Questions tormented him. What was happening? What madness was driving him? Bringing him into confrontation with the leaders of his church, jeopardizing his position both in the church and the community – jeopardizing old friendships, perhaps even his marriage? But these thoughts held no sway. All were carried along by the stark certainty of what he had felt as he had dashed out of the Witness House and turned to see the sky beyond it turned black and forbidding, like the anger of a beloved parent writ large.

And he had been right. With each step he had felt that confirmation. He was right. He was right.

And now the Lord had spoken to him; touched him. Him! Summoned him to his presence on this ancient and most mysterious of hills.

Cassraw cursed his legs for their heavy reluctance as he struggled on.

The chain of seemingly trivial events that had eventually brought him raging out of the Debating Hall flickered briefly before him, taking on the appearance now of a mighty golden pathway along which he had been propelled. ‘Your way is beyond our understanding, Lord,’ he gasped. ‘In the fall of the least mote is Your design.’

‘I have little time, servant.’

The voice raked chillingly through Cassraw, reproaching him for this momentary diversion from the call.

‘Forgive me, Lord,’ he repeated over and over in a frantic litany, as he scrambled up the piles of broken rocks that would lead him to the summit.

Then the strange daylight was gone. He was vaguely aware of a faint haziness from the south, but did not look at it for fear of losing so much as an eye-blink of time on this desperate journey.

He could not forbear a frisson of alarm and despair, however, as the darkness closed about him. But nothing must stop him. He must go forward. He must obey his Lord’s command, no matter what the cost.