He sat in the park, just outside the ancient city, cradling his Infinite Trumpet and looked out over the Biblical plain, and remembered.
He recalled, how throughout the long eons of human history he’d blown his trumpet, sometimes alone, sometimes with others, and sometimes amongst serried ranks of trumpeters.
His Trumpet call had gathered men, it had led them into combat, and it had announced both the start of the battle and its end. It had signalled the advance, and had sounded the retreat of an army. His trumpet call had led men in the faraway lands of the East, across the blazing hot sands of Africa, and the vast plains of Asia. It had led men in the wars of religion, the wars of succession and the wars of conquest. It had led the Roman Legions trying to civilize the people of Germania and Gaul, it had led the Crusaders in their Religious Wars; and it had led the invading hordes from the East trying to conquer the West.
His Trumpet had announced the advance at Austerlitz and at Waterloo, and had led the charge of the Light Brigade in Crimea. The sound of the Infinite Trumpet had held the line at Gettysburg, had signalled for the men to advance from their trenches in the Great War, and had led the massed advance across the Steppes of Russia, and finally had sounded the Last Post for the fallen.
He had survived these many millennia – no one ever wanted to hurt, maim or kill the man with the Infinite Trumpet. Whenever and wherever the battles were fought, whichever armies were involved, they always, always left the Trumpeter unharmed; they always left him to play his piece for the fallen.
In more recent years, he had played his instrument in the Speakeasies of Chicago and New York, and in the smoky jazz clubs of the Deep South. He had played with the greats as well as the indifferent, he’d played alongside those in tune, and alongside those that had missed the beat, or had missed a note, but it didn’t matter. He’d played and he’d watched; played as the public sat and listened; played as they drank and danced to his various tunes, and always and everywhere he was known as the ‘Man with the Infinite Trumpet’.
Throughout all of time he had missed his brother who had disappeared many, many centuries ago; and every few years he had climbed to the tallest hill he could find, and had used his trumpet to call for his brother, but to no avail. He had wondered where he was, as like him he had been formed at the Beginning Of Time, and he would continue until the End Of Time, why he didn’t know, it just WAS.
Since the last great conflict, as well as the numerous more recent wars, there had been little need for the ‘Man with the Infinite Trumpet’. Modern technology had replaced him on the battlefield, but he constantly watched and patiently waited.
War was now being fought from afar, with missiles, radio and electronics, and in this ‘Empty Battlefield’ there was little call for the ‘Man with the Infinite Trumpet’ to either sound the advance, or announce the retreat; but always he was called upon to play for the fallen; but this was now, only during those few peaceful times. In the current present, he had no role to play amongst the modern fighting man, but amongst the survivors he played to remember those who were no more.
He still watched, he still waited and he would still call his brother from those high hills.
Now the forces were again gathering. They were gathering at the crossroads of the World and at the crossroads of Time. They were gathering on the Biblical Plains, the Wastelands and the Deserts, and the intensity of the conflicts were growing. Alliances were being made, North and South, East and West, Religion by Religion, Country by Country; the forces of the Light and the Dark were now gathering.
Here as ordained, on these very Biblical Plains the time of Armageddon was now fast approaching.
He stood on the mound of Megiddo, raised his trumpet to his lips and blew his Infinite Trumpet as he had done many, many times before before to summon his brother.
Finally after all these long years, there at last, in the distance he could see him, now fast approaching. His wings outstretched holding a flaming sword in his right hand, his brother Michael flew towards him.
The Archangel Gabriel again sounded his trumpet and finally, finally after all these long, long years unfolded his own wings to greet him. Now at last together, they could now face the forces of Lucifer gathering for the Final Battle at the End Of Time.
About the author
Henry is a retired surgeon and member of the Canvey Writers Group. He has published a number of stories on the CafeLit site
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Great Story.
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