by Steven Brust
“I’d rather not, until it’s finished. I just want to find out if there is any chance of it working before I present it to Lord Yaweh. And you, of course.”
“Of course,” echoed Lilith.
Lucifer said, “Can you give me some idea, though? If I answer your questions, it’ll take a lot of time. I’d rather not—”
“Of course, Lord Lucifer.” Abdiel swallowed, his mind racing furiously. “It involves . . . drawing on the illiaster of a large group of angels at once and uniting it in a particular way.”
“I see. What particular way?”
“To . . . ah . . . create something.”
“To create what, Abdiel?”
“Well, I want to see if tools, like Asmodai makes, can be made between waves. I have a few specific ideas, but I’d really rather not speak of them until I’ve done some experimenting.”
“I see.”
“Well, Lord Lucifer? Will you answer my questions?”
Lucifer cocked his head and studied Abdiel for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose. All right. Yes, it is possible to reach one’s il-liaster, even this far between Waves. It is difficult, especially for someone who is not of the Firstborn. For anyone of the Third Wave, it is very difficult, but not impossible. It is also, as we know, dangerous.
“The very least you can expect is some amount of fatigue, until the natural level of illiaster rebuilds itself. This takes from minutes to days, depending on what you have done. Those angels damaged by the Waves have had their natural level damaged, which is why their forms are either physically smaller, as Beelzebub or Ariel, or have some normal ability missing, such as Leviathan or Belial.
“Not only does this level differ depending on the Wave one is from, but it varies a great deal from angel to angel. Michael and Belial, for instance, have the highest levels of the Firstborn. Yaweh and I, while we have lower native levels, have more skill in using it.
“Also, many angels have particular, natural talents. Yaweh, for instance, is able to conjure images of what is taking place throughout Heaven. Raphael is able to repair damaged angels, and so on.
“As to how one uses it, go about it this way: Close your eyes. Now, try to imagine, in the middle of your belly, your free illiaster. Think of it as a ball of white fire. Get as clear an image of it as you can. . . .”
“Lucifer?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Did you get the feeling that Abdiel was making up that plan as he went along?”
“Huh. I’ll say. That’s why I kept asking him about it.”
“Well then, why did you answer his questions?”
“I couldn’t think of a good reason not to.”
“Why do you think he wanted to know all that?”
“I imagine that he wants to use his illiaster, for reasons of his own.”
“Aren’t you worried about that?”
“Not especially. What harm can he do? He’s a mischief-maker, but he would never do anything hurtful.”
“No, I suppose he wouldn’t.”
“And if we see signs of someone running around creating snowstorms, or giving us bad dreams, we’ll know where to look. He isn’t ever going to be able to stand up to one of the Firstborn.”
“That’s a relief, anyway.”
“Milord, word hath come to mine ears that doth cause me some measure of unease.”
“What have you heard, Beelzebub?”
“Rumors do fly about the land, milord. These have little truth in them. Whoso they light on taketh the worst o’ the lie and sends that forth; whoso that lights on them doth likewise. ’Tis a most potent distillation of falsehood; milord, it will fall like the dew and make every angel drunk unawares. Many hard words are spoken by those who fear to be sacrificed.”
“Sacrificed?”
“Verily, milord. And yet we dare not enlighten these ill-sayers, for our lips are sealed by Yaweh’s desires.”
“True. Hmmm. This is serious.”
“Aye, milord.”
“All right. We have to make sure Yaweh hears about this.”
“Aye, milord.”
Michael was not the most brilliant angel in Heaven. He was one of the biggest, one of the strongest, one of the most constant and dependable, but he was not one of the brightest.
He had thick, curly brown hair to his shoulders and a broad, clean-shaven face with a well-formed nose. His eyes were brown and
widely spaced. His shoulders were broad. He dressed in light grey, with brown boots, and on his shoulders was the gold cloak of the Firstborn.
The lights from the fires cast strange reflections on his face as he turned toward the doorway. Next to him, standing over the long, low table, Asmodai also looked up at the door.
“Enter,” he called.
The door opened outward, and two figures were silhouetted against the night. They squinted down as Michael and Asmodai squinted up.
A voice called out, “Asmodai?”
“Lucifer! Come on down!”
The two figures walked down to the room where the lights were from fires from the forge, and the heat was unpleasant to everyone except Asmodai, who had gotten used to it.
“Good evening, Lucifer,” said Michael as they approached.
“Michael! This is a surprise.” They embraced each other, Michael being careful not to hurt the other.
“Yes, it is,” he said, as they broke off, held each other at arms’ length and smiled. “A pleasant one.”
“Yes. You know Lilith, do you not?”
“Of course,” said Michael, and smiled broadly at her. “Good evening, Lilith.”
“Good evening, Lord Michael.”
Asmodai coughed. “Let’s go to the other room,” he suggested, “where you’ll be more comfortable.”
“Yes, let’s.”
Asmodai lived a little to the north of the center, in the foothills of the mountains where Belial made his home. He had only two rooms. One was his workshop, with five forges scattered throughout, and the other held a bed, a small kitchen, and a few chairs around a fireplace. It was lit with naked torches and colored dark brown.
The three visitors followed Asmodai into this second room and found seats.
“What brings you here this evening, Michael?” began Lucifer, before anyone else could ask questions.
Michael grunted. “Asmodai was showing me where the work would begin on the globe, and how it would expand, so I can arrange the defenses.”
“I see.”
“And you, Lucifer?”
The Regent of the East bit his lip. Apparently liking the flavor, he chewed it for a while.
“I spoke with Satan several days ago,” he said at last. “His talk disturbed me. I wanted your opinion of it.”
“What did he say?”
“He was worried about our need for the cooperation of the hosts, and if we had the ‘right’ to force them to help us.”
Asmodai shrugged. “Do we need to force them? And can we if we do? If we have the need, and the ability, then it seems that we have the right. I don’t see the question.”
“Odd,” said Michael.
“What?” asked Lucifer.
“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
Lucifer and Lilith exchanged glances that Asmodai found unreadable. He looked from one to the other.
“Yes?”
Lucifer was silent. “We thought as you do,” said Lilith. “But speaking with Satan—well—we aren’t as sure now.”
“I see. Well, maybe we’d better all hie off to see Lord Satan right now and find out about this.”
“Now?” asked Lilith.
“An excellent idea,” boomed Michael.
“And say what to him?” asked Lucifer. “The last time we spoke—”
“I wasn’t there,” said Asmodai. “True.”
“Well?”
“Let us wait a few days, anyway,” said Michael. “Now that I think of it, I must turn these plans over to Yaweh.”
“Ver
y well,” said Asmodai. “Four days from now? In the evening? Meet here?”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
Yaweh studied Michael for a moment before saying anything. Michael broke the silence himself: “Is something wrong, Yaweh? You look—I don’t know—unhappy. We did the best we could.”
“No, it isn’t that. Your plans are fine, Michael. It’s—this.” He drew from his robe a scrap of parchment and held it up. “This is a message from Satan. In it, he says that he’s noticed a growing worry among the hosts, and the spreading of rumors about the Plan—false rumors, he says. He recommends that we announce our whole Plan to the hosts at once. What do you think?”
Michael furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “Are the hosts unhappy because the rumors are false? I mean, would the truth make them happier, or less happy?”
“Who can say? I certainly can’t. What does Satan think, do you suppose?”
“Well, he must think that it would be best—”
“There is more.”
“Yes?”
Yaweh relayed Raphael’s mention of Satan’s attitude. Michael nodded. “This echoes my own thoughts,” he said.
“I know,” said Yaweh. “But I happened to overhear something as I was entering here. It was Abdiel’s voice, but I’m not sure to whom he was speaking. I heard him say, ‘Nonsense. These are mere rumors, and not fit to disturb Lord Yaweh. If the Lord Satan were to oppose the Plan, as you say, he would certainly speak of them to the Lord Yaweh directly.’ There, Michael—now do you see why this bothers me?”
Michael thought for another while. “No,” he said at last.
Yaweh looked hard at him. “But then, you agree with him, don’t you?”
“I’m not yet sure. We’ll be speaking to him soon, to try to find for good and all what his—”
“We, Michael? Who is this ‘we’?”
“Why, me, and Lucifer, and Lilith, and Asmodai—”
“What? You’re all going to speak to Satan about our Plan? Why is this the first I’ve heard of this?”
Michael furrowed his brow. “I don’t know, Yaweh. I guess it never occurred to anyone to mention it.”
“It never occurred. . . .”
“Would you want to be there? I’m certain you are welcome.”
Grief and anger seemed to compete in Yaweh’s voice, as he said, “I think that if the Lord Satan wanted me there, he would certainly have informed me of it.”
“Oh, but he doesn’t—”
“That will do, Michael. I don’t wish to hear more. Leave me, please, I have to think about this.”
“Of course, Yaweh. Excuse me.”
“The Lord Abdiel!”
“Very well. Send him in.”
Abdiel entered, looking full of doubt and worry. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Lord Yaweh, but—”
“What is it, Abdiel?”
“I have just spoken with Michael, and he related something of what had passed between you.” (This wasn’t far from the truth. Actually, Abdiel had hidden himself in a cloakroom, from where he had heard the conversation.)
“What of it, Abdiel?”
“I think you are being too harsh on the Lord Satan, Lord.”
“I appreciate your thoughts, Abdiel, but I don’t feel that I’m being harsh. It’s just that I’m worried.”
“I think Lord Satan is just as firmly committed to the Plan as you or I, but he has some doubts on exactly how we ought to do it. I think you ought to speak to him directly, Lord, so all of these questions can be answered. Forgive me for being so presumptuous—”
“No, that’s all right. I feel that it is he who ought to come to me; that’s all it is.”
“But—as you wish.”
“How go things otherwise, Abdiel?”
“Well, Lord Yaweh. I’m working on an idea to solve the problem that the Lord Satan is concerned with, but I’d rather not tell you about it until it’s complete.”
“Excellent. But don’t take too long. I’m becoming impatient to begin. It won’t do to have another Wave begin just as we’re about to start.”
“I understand, Lord.”
“Page!”
“Yes, Lord Yaweh?”
“I need a message delivered to the Southern Hold. Prepare yourself for a long journey.”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Tell the Lord Satan that I am anxious to speak with him as soon as possible. Present my respects, and say that I would be grateful if he would journey to the center and speak with me. I think it very important, and urgent.”
“I will set out this evening, Lord Yaweh.”
“It isn’t that urgent. Make it the morning. Get a good rest first.”
“Yes, Lord. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, Gabriel.”
He waved the page away and returned to his reflections.
“Welcome back, Beelzebub.”
“Thanks, milord.”
“Did Yaweh say anything about the rumors?”
“My message seem’d to displease him, yet he had naught to say to’t.”
“I hadn’t thought he’d be pleased. But he didn’t give an answer?”
“I was to say he’d think on’t. And yet, milord, there was somewhat in his tone that did make me to feel unease.”
“Hmmm.” “There is more, milord.”
“Yes?”
“I spake to Michael, and he did say that he and others would come to speak unto us.”
“Who? About what?”
“I know not, milord.”
“Hmmmm. Guesses? Speculation?”
“Perchance some have heard of thy questions on the Plan and wish to question thee on them, or to convince thee that thou art wrong.”
“Interesting.”
“Verily.”
“Well . . . suggestions?”
“Be sure of the wine stocks, milord.”
Four archangels walked along the Southern Road, which dwindled to a path, and then a trail, and finally disappeared altogether. As one got closer to the Hold, a trail or two emerged as if from nowhere and came together to form another path, and this became a full road again, several leagues from the Hold.
But these archangels were still near the center, walking steadily southward. Two of them wore gold cloaks. Such a sight was enough to excite great interest in those who saw them go by. None spoke to them, but many spoke of them.
They walked all four abreast, for this part of the Southern Road, passing through flat and rolling farmland, was wide. Michael walked to the right, Asmodai next to him, then Lucifer and Lilith. These latter touched hands from time to time. The braver among those they passed would step out for a better view of her walking away.
“It has been awhile since I’ve traveled,” said Michael.
“And I,” said Asmodai.
“What will we say to him?” asked Lucifer.
Michael shrugged and said, “We’ll tell him—whatever we tell him.”
“I’m sure of that,” said Lilith.
“Wait till we get there,” suggested Asmodai.
“Do we know why we’re going?” asked Lucifer.
Michael opened his mouth and closed it again. Asmodai said slowly, “Because he has to be confronted with what he’s doing— creating doubt and dissension. If he’s right, he should bring his arguments to us. If not, he should remain silent. This state is intolerable.”
There was silence for several paces. Then, “Quite a speech,” said Lucifer.
“Thank you,” said Asmodai.
Mephistopheles sat with his back against a stone, his feet stretched out in front of him, and his head resting on his hands, which were locked behind his neck. If Mephistopheles looked relaxed, he was. He could easily have waited there half a day. This was good, because it was nearly half the day before Leviathan happened to look over at that rocky opening in the cliff and saw a figure seated there.
“I thought you’d left already
,” she said, swimming up.
“I came back.”
“Where is Ariel?”
“I expect he’s around, looking for a four-footed tercet or something.”
“Or something. Did you want something?”
“Not especially. Did you want me for something?”
“Why, yes. How did you know?”
“A little bird told me.”
“Ariel? How did he know?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“He’s sensitive, that one.”
“Yes. The soul of a poet.” He smirked. “So, what can I do for you?”
“How long since you’ve been to the Southern Hold?”
Abdiel wondered why he was walking. His feet took him further and further away from the center, as if they knew they had a mission. He was fully a day ahead of the page, whom he had overheard Yaweh send this way, and that was certainly interesting, but how could he use it?
Perhaps, he decided, the best thing would be to wait until the message had been delivered, then find out what the answer was.
But he knew what the answer would be. Satan would certainly go along, and he and Yaweh would talk, and either settle their differences or not. Was there a way to make sure it was not?
No, he decided, there wasn’t. As soon as the two of them got together, it was out of his hands.
He stopped in the middle of the road.
As soon as the two of them got together. . . .
Slowly, a smile spread across his face. He closed his eyes and stood while he worked out the details.
After several long moments, he started up again, briskly. He had a long way to travel. It wouldn’t do for the page’s trip to be too short.
THREE
For neither man nor angel can discern
Hypocrisy—the only evil that walks invisible. . . .
—Milton, Paradise Lost, iii:682-684
Thrumb thrumb thrumb.
“Do you hear it, Asmodai?”
“Hear what, Lucif—oh, yes.”
Thrumb thrumb thrumb.
“Where is it coming from?” asked Asmodai.
“Around the corner, I think,” said Michael.
“Do you know what it is?”
“No.”
Lucifer and Lilith smiled as the sounds got louder, but didn’t enlighten the other two. Presently they turned a corner and saw the small, dark-skinned angel seated by the road, his back against a tree. They stopped and listened for a while. Soon the music stopped. The angel continued to look straight ahead, but said, “Who is it?” in a low, raspy voice.