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should. And yet just now you exhort me to save God’s beautiful world. But if God Himself desires that it be destroyed, what point in striving against Him?“
    “Ah. I was unclear. I spoke in the language of the Bible, but I did not mean it literally. Revelations is a much disputed book, and for good reason. I do not trust it. Even if I did, I must trust all of it, yes, including that proviso that no one can predict when the end will come. No one. And, in terms of the signs, I am not aware that most of them have been fulfilled. What I meant was, this prophet supposes he is the Antichrist and intends to destroy the world.”
    “Then you think he should be stopped.”
    “That thing at New Moscow— Angelos keres, you called it, after the Greek spirits of death? It was an abomination. If the prophet was responsible for THE SHADOWS OF GOD
    that, he must be stopped, yes. We are God’s instruments in that.”
    “Why does God need ”instruments‘?“
    “I don’t know. Why do the devils need armies and sorcerous engines? I do not deny that God is mysterious, Adrienne. It is His nature.” He cocked his head.
    “What is this about? Ostensibly, your expedition hunts for Tsar Peter, who vanished while visiting his wayward American province. But I’ve heard many on these fabulous flying ships whisper that you will join battle with the prophet and his army.”
    “It is my intention to confront him, yes. I do not know if I can fight him.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he is my son.”
    Castillion blinked, pursed his lips, but nothing came out.
    “You see my dilemma?”
    “How can this be?” He slipped his hand from hers, clasping it with his other, as if he were washing them.
    “He was my son by King Louis, and he was stolen from me when he was but two years old. For ten years he has been lost, and at times I thought him dead.
    Instead, I find that they have made something of him. Something dangerous, as you say. We approach him —I can feel him more strongly each moment. The pictures in the chapel in New Moscow showed the prophet—I know it is Nicolas. I know it is my son. If I must kill him to save the world—I cannot.”
    “Then there must be another way.”
    “I don’t share your optimism, Father.”
    “You ask for my opinion. I do not think God would ask that of you. I think it is a clue that there must be another path.”

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    She shrugged. “Do you know what a certain angel told me about God, Father Castillion?”
    “I would be very interested to hear it.”
    “He told me that to create the world, God had to remove Himself from it—that to form the finite, the limited, He must in that sense limit Himself.”
    Castillion’s brow furrowed in fascination. “A very old heresy,” he murmured.
    “The gnostic heresy. It claims that the God of the Old Testament is really Satan, in disguise.”
    “Exactly. Not being able to enter the world, God sent angels to do His bidding.
    Once free of His immediate command, they began doing as they pleased.”
    “And an angel told you this?”
    “One of the aetheric beings who style themselves angels, at least.”
    “Are they, in your experience, always truthful?”
    Adrienne laughed bitterly. “In my experience, they are rarely so.”
    Castillion considered for a moment. “I see no contradiction,” he said at last.
    “God may be outside the world and yet present in our hearts. There must be some spark of Him in us, that we live at all.”
    “But if this world is—and has always been—the kingdom of the fallen angels, we can hardly expect fairness or justice. It may be that destroying my son is the only way.”
    “I won’t believe it,” Castillion replied evenly. “But I will think on all of this, if you wish.”
    “I would appreciate that, Father.” She looked down again, as the ship began turning.
    “We’re going back?” he asked.

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    “For the beasts they shot. We can use the meat and skins.”
    “How long before we