The Valkyries

preachers.
    “Have courage.” Valhalla’s voice rang out clearly and strongly. “Open your heart, and listen to what your dreams tell you. Follow those dreams, because only a person who is not ashamed can manifest the glory of God.”
    “The desert’s made them crazy,” a woman said.
    Some people left immediately. They were fed up with preaching.
    “There is no sin but the lack of love,” Valhalla continued. “Have courage, be capable of loving, even if love appears to be a treacherous and terrible thing. Be happy in love. Be joyful in victory. Follow the dictates of your heart.”
    “That’s impossible,” someone in the crowd said. “People have obligations.”
    Valhalla turned in the direction of the voice. She was doing it—people were paying attention! Different from five years earlier, when no one came near them during their appearances in the city.
    “We have children. We have husbands and wives. People have to earn a living,” another person said.
    “Well, meet your obligations. But obligations never prevented anyone from following their dreams. Remember that you are a manifestation of the absolute, and do only those things in your lives that are
worth the effort.
Only those who do that will understand the great transformations that are yet to be seen.”
    The Conspiracy,
Chris thought, as she listened. She remembered the time long ago when she hadsung in the plaza with others from her church, to save people from sin. In those days, no one spoke of a New Age—they spoke of the coming of Christ, of punishment and hell. There was no Conspiracy, such as now.
    She walked through the crowd and found Paulo. He was sitting on a bench, far from the gathering.
    “How long are we going to travel with them?” she asked.
    “Until Valhalla teaches me how to see angels.”
    “But we’ve been here for almost a month.”
    “She cannot refuse me. She swore on the Tradition. She has to keep her vow.”
    The crowd was growing in size. Chris was thinking how difficult it must be to talk to the people gathered there.
    “They’re not going to take the Valkyries seriously,” she said. “Not with the way they’re dressed, and with those motorcycles.”
    “They have been fighting for some very old ideas,” Paulo said. “Nowadays, soldiers dress in camouflage. They disguise themselves, and they hide. But the old warriors dressed in colorful outfits, much more obvious on the field of battle.
    “They wanted the enemy to see them. They took pride in battle.”
    “Why are they doing this? Why preach in public parks and in bars and in the middle of the desert? Why are they helping us to speak to our angels?”
    He lit a cigarette. “You joke about a Conspiracy, but you’re right,” he said. “There is a Conspiracy.”
    She laughed. No, no, there was no Conspiracy. She had used that term because her husband’s friends acted like secret agents, always careful not to discuss certain things when others were present, always changing the subject—although they had sworn, all of them had, that there was nothing occult in the Tradition.
    But Paulo seemed to be serious.
    “The gates to Paradise have been reopened,” he said. “God banished the angel with the burning sword who was at the gate. For some time—no one is certain for how long—anyone could enter, since it was obvious that the gates were open.”
    As he was speaking to Chris, Paulo recalled the abandoned gold mine. Up until that day—a week ago—he had chosen to remain outside of paradise.
    “What guarantees entry?”
    “Faith. And the Tradition,” he answered.
    They walked over to an ice cream wagon and bought cones. Valhalla continued to speak, and her sermon appeared to be endless. Before long, she might even try to get the spectators to participate, at which point it would probably end.
    “Does everyone know that the gates are open?” Chris asked.
    “Some people have noticed—and they are calling the others. But there’s a problem.”
    Paulo pointed to a monument in the middle of the square. “Let’s suppose that paradise is there. And every person on earth is here in the plaza. Each of them has their own path for arriving there.
    “That’s why people talk with their angels. Because only the angels know the best path. It does no good to seek advice about it from others.”
    “Follow your dreams, and take your risks,” they heard Valhalla saying.
    “What will this world be like?”
    “It will be only for those who enter