To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates. Percy Bysshe Shelley, Prometheus Unbound Prologue False Angels JERUSALEM The wound was their path. Nathan Lee Swift sat strapped in the belly of the cargo helicopter with a dozen assorted archangels, looking down upon what little remained. The earthquake was visible mostly by what was no longer visible. Cities and villages had simply vanished in puffs of dust. Even his ruins were gone. The map had gone blank. The air was hot. It was summer. There was no horizon. The sands stretched into haze. He felt chained to the giant beside hi
