Free The Children of Eternity by Kenneth Zeigler

far from business as usual in Zion.
    Business within this city was conducted in a very different manner from that on Earth. For one thing, few of the wares here were built in the conventional sense with physical tools and manual labor. Most of it was the product of imagination and force of will. Works of art were created through thought, and they materialized right before the customers’ eyes. These items were neither sold nor bartered but given freely as between loving brothers and sisters, and to the artisans, the making of these things was a labor of love.
    But today there was no commerce in the shops or open-air markets. Indeed, little remained of many of the once-busy establishments. It was a truly sad state of affairs. Would things return to normal? Christopher wanted to believe that they would, but first they would have to rid Heaven of its invaders.
    Farther along the avenue they encountered a winged demon standing motionless in the shadows of a partially collapsed building. A wave of apprehension swept through the group. Yet, as they passed, the demon seemed to take no notice of them whatsoever.
    “That was creepy,” said Christopher, glancing back toward the demon, who still hadn’t moved. “Didn’t that demon lieutenant we met at the entrance to Zion mention something about thousands of his kind at work clearing the streets between there and the Holy Place?”
    Jerry scanned their surroundings. “Yeah, he did. But where are they?”
    “That was what I was wondering,” said Christopher. “There is a lot of work to be done, but I don’t see any of them doing it.”
    “I was told the same thing when I arrived,” replied Jonathon. “I think they’re stalling, buying time. They’ll probably come up with one excuse after another in the coming days and weeks. They feel threatened by us—that one we just passed did, though he said nothing. They don’t want us meeting with the Father. They can’t have us organizing a rebellion while their forces are spread thin fighting the angels. But I’ll tell you this, my friends: I’m game for a rebellion the first chance I get.”
    Christopher pondered Jonathon’s words for a moment. There were a few statements that struck him as odd, though he focused on only one of them. “Why didn’t you join this friend of yours, the one who gave you that gun? I mean, you were involved in the battle at Ceranda. Why not just stick with them?”
    “I still may,” replied Jonathon. “I just wanted to get all of the facts before I throw in lots with anyone. I want to be certain that I’m supporting the right people. There are several different resistance organizations out there. They are all well-meaning. Each has a slightly different game plan. Still, the way I see it, some of those plans just aren’t workable. No, I want to throw in lots with the group that has the best chance of success. I want my efforts to count for something.”
    “That makes sense to me,” said Jerry, whose eyes constantly scanned his surroundings.
    They continued walking, sometimes having to make a detour around large piles of rubble in the streets. It made Christopher sad. He loved this city, much like one may love a close friend. To see it so hurt him deeply.
    Then, just a few hundred yards from their destination, they encountered a virtual mountain of rubble where once had stood the Great Arch of the Via de Gloria. It commemorated the victory of the angels over the minions of Satan during the first war in Heaven, almost 100 centuries ago. It became clear that it hadn’t been destroyed by a few random fireballs. No, it had been the target of intentional demolition, a symbolic act of vengeance by Satan against those who had vanquished him and his dreams of glory all of those years ago. The rubble towered at least 25 feet above the street from curb to curb. The boys could hear the songs of praise from the Holy Place beyond. They were so close, but there was no way around or over this