by Steven Brust
“Somewhat.”
“I also, somewhat. Would you go back to that?”
“Not if I didn’t have to!”
“Is there nothing we can do, Kyriel?”
“Well, I suppose we could do nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well . . . look, Sith: We’re going to hear about this before it happens, aren’t we?”
“Well, yes. I suppose.”
“They have to gather us together, somehow or other, to go marching out into it.”
“Yes.”
“Well . . . what if we’re not there?”
“Huh? Where would we be?”
“Somewhere else.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hide! We go off somewhere—to the north maybe—”
“Where Belial is?”
“Not that far north. Just somewhere that we can hide.”
“Then what?”
“We wait until it’s over, then come back. They’ll never miss us, two out of the thousands.”
“Three.”
“Three?”
“Bath Kol.”
“Oh! So it’s true about—”
“Shut up, Kyriel.”
“Right. Three.”
Yaweh walked alone in the throne room. He walked around the perimeter, or back and forth across the middle. Sometimes he walked slowly, lost in reflection; other times he moved quickly, as if he actually had somewhere to go. He wondered whether Satan would return with the page. He thought so, but then he thought not.
Yaweh remembered the beginning—how the two of them had perceived each other, almost before each had perceived himself. During the first battle, they fought on and on, side by side, striving for their lives without understanding that that was what they were doing. Then suddenly discovering by accident that perhaps there could be more to existence than this struggle. He remembered how they had shared the joy when he who would later be called Michael was born of their battles with the flux, and then others.
He remembered the time, brief as it seemed now, after the First Wave, when they knew peace. He shook his head. Satan remembered these things too, didn’t he?
Yaweh walked about the large room. He wondered whether Satan would return with the page. He thought so, but then he thought not.
“ ’Twas painful, was it not, milord?”
“It was painful, Beelzebub. But they’re only doing what they think is right.”
“As art thou, milord.”
“I suppose. What about you?”
“Milord?”
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
They stood at the door of the Southern Hold, watching the vanishing figures of their friends. Beelzebub was silent.
“Well?” inquired Satan after a suitable time had elapsed.
“Methinks to speak to Yaweh is good, milord. Yet methinks ’twill not solve what thou hopeth to solve. ’Tis thyself thou must answer to, and none can do it for thee.”
“I’m afraid you may be right.”
The four figures before them dwindled into nothingness.
It was just a few minutes after Michael, Lucifer, Lilith, and Asmodai had passed by where Abdiel hid that he saw a lone figure walking toward him. About the right size, from the right direction—yes.
He concentrated on feeling a ball of white fire in his stomach.
“Gabriel!”
“What—? Lord Abdiel!”
“Ah! You recognize me.”
“Of course, Lord Abdiel.”
“I am pleased, Gabriel. What brings you here?”
“An errand, Lord.”
“Yes, of course. To the Southern Hold, no doubt. But I meant, what errand?”
“I’m afraid I can’t speak of it, Lord.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry, Lord.”
“That’s quite all right, Gabriel. I understand.”
“Thank you, Lord.”
“And please call me Abdiel.”
“Why, thank you—Abdiel.”
“And, as to your message, you don’t have to tell me. I can guess it.”
“You can?”
“Certainly. You are going to summon the Lord Satan.”
“How did you know?”
“I guessed. But I can save you the rest of the trip.”
“Lo—Abdiel? You can?”
“Yes. By giving you the answer. The Lord Satan will not return with you.”
“How—?”
“He feels he cannot be bothered just now. Lord Yaweh will have to wait. Perhaps in twenty or thirty days something could be arranged.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What is there to understand, Gabriel? You spoke to the Lord Satan, and that was the answer he gave you. Should I repeat it?”
“No, but—”
“Then where’s the problem?”
“But I haven’t spoken to him, so how—”
“Gabriel.”
“Yes, Abdiel?”
“I notice a certain tension in your shoulders and neck. Try to relax—you won’t tire so quickly.”
“And yet, Abdiel, it seems—”
“You’re still tense, Gabriel.”
“I don’t understand how—”
“Wait. Do as I say, now. Relax your shoulders. Breathe evenly and deeply. There, that’s better. Do you feel better?”
“Yes, but—yes, I do, Abdiel. But still—”
“Look at me, Gabriel. You have known me for a long time, haven’t you? Would I give you false guidance? Of course not! You are about to waste your time and energy, and I wish to save you from that. Also, the Lord Yaweh will want to learn this news as soon as possible. Don’t you trust me, Gabriel? Come, remember now, you came to the Southern Hold, and spoke with the Lord Satan in his great hallway, with his friend, Beelzebub, standing there. And the Lord Satan explained that he had nothing to say to the Lord Yaweh and directed you to inform him of it. You pleaded, remember? But he wouldn’t listen. Is it coming back? Think . . . do you see it? Think of his voice. Can you hear it? Now you are going to return to Yaweh, and report to him. You met no one on the journey, except for those four archangels. You will report to me, later, what Yaweh says. You will do this secretly. Until it is time to do so, you will not know that you are going to. You will remember no part of this conversation. Now go.”
Gabriel turned without a word and began the long journey back to Yaweh’s Palace. Abdiel tiredly watched his departing back.
FOUR
Some think they see their own hope to advance
tied to their neighbor’s fall, and thus they long
to see him cast down from his eminence;
Some fear their power, preferment, honor, fame
will suffer by another’s rise, and thus,
irked by his good, desire his ruin and shame.
—Dante, Purgatorio, Canto xvii:115-120
Abdiel got as close to the Southern Hold as he could.
“This is probably stupid,” he told himself. “There isn’t anything I can learn here, and eventually someone will see me.” He shook his head. “What did I come here for, anyway? I should be on my way home by now.”
Some feeling, after he’d finished with the page, had told him that he should see the Southern Hold. He could think of no reason for it, but his instincts had been good in the past.
He had gone slowly, recovering from the exhaustion that he’d felt after his efforts with Gabriel. His strength had returned now. He made note of how long it took, munching blueberries picked from bushes near the side of the road, occasionally wiping purple juice from his lips and beard with a white linen handkerchief.
He wondered what he was waiting for, and whether he would recognize it if it came, and how long he would wait before giving up and heading back.
Periodically, there would be travelers to or from the Hold, and he would strain to make out what they said. It was never anything important, though.
He s
ighed, continued his vigil, and ate blueberries.
“I’m not used to not being tired when I head back this way,” remarked a traveler to his companion.
“I know what you mean,” said the other. “It’s going to be nice to get home with some energy left.”
The corners of his mouth rose a bit as he said this. The first noticed and grinned.
“I see. What’s her name?”
“What’s the difference?”
He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder about you.”
The other shrugged.
“When will he be back?” asked the first.
“I don’t know. Beelzebub said we shalleth be informedeth. But look: we have enough oil done for fifty days, right? It’s twenty days each way to the center, if you’re not hurrying, so I’d guess he’s visiting Lord Yaweh, and it’ll be at least forty days.”
“Again? He was there a hundred days ago. . . .”
Abdiel cursed under his breath. Satan, going to the Palace! All that work, wasted. He bit his lips with rage, and mangled a handful of blueberries in his fist without noticing. Was there any way to stop him?
Abdiel ran through his resources, and decided that there was no way to prevent him from setting off. How about preventing him from arriving? Maybe. But how?
By getting him to go somewhere else? Where? And again, how?
He concentrated. Maybe he could do that . . . which would mean . . . hmmm. He wondered how fast a dog could run. On the path, or off ? Yes. . . .
He turned and began running toward the Palace. He was going to need at least a day or two. Probably two.
The thought of what he was planning made him a bit uncomfortable. But it would be stupid to pull back now, and he wasn’t really going to hurt anyone. Not exactly.
He pushed himself over the road that would become a path, and then a trail. . . .
Gabriel entered the Palace and went to see the Lord Yaweh before he had so much as dusted himself off from the trip. Yaweh being alone, Gabriel coughed. Yaweh looked up.
“You’re back.”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Alone?”
“Y-yes.
“I see.”
“He—he said he was busy, Lord. That perhaps in a few days he’d have time—twenty or thirty days, he said.”
“Twenty or thirty days.”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Did you speak to him personally?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“How did he seem?”
“Haughty, Lord. He said that he had nothing to say to you. I tried to convince him, but—”
“Very well.”
“I’m sorry I failed, Lord.”
Yaweh shook his head. “No, Gabriel, you didn’t fail. The Lord Satan made his choice.” Tears began at the corners of Yaweh’s eyes. Gabriel started to take a step forward, then caught himself.
“You may leave now,” said Yaweh, thickly.
“Thank you, Lord.”
Gabriel bowed and left, sick at heart. Behind him, Yaweh buried his face in his hands.
Under the open sky in daylight, in a place of long, thick grasses with oak and cedars commingling around and above them, they lay. They held hands without speaking, then she put her head on his shoulder, then he put his head on her shoulder.
They turned and held each other close. Above them the sky slowly darkened, and the winds around them grew still. They held each other through Heaven’s long, slow night, without speaking.
Sometime toward morning, they kissed, and it was an exchange of vows—promises and hopes. They looked at each other, and knew that before many days had passed they would be seeing something new. It was too soon to know what.
Their robes fell away, and they touched each other as they had taught each other, and there was movement beneath the trees.
“Comfort me,” they said without speaking.
“I will,” they said in the silence.
Beneath the trees, upon the grass, upon each other, they did.
It was a statue in the water, a statue of a great, monstrous head supported by a massive neck that was long and sinewy and scaled, and disappeared into the waves. The eyes of the statue, no doubt by some trick of jewel-craft, seemed to glow. The statue had appeared three days ago, emerging from the sea, staring at the cleft at the edge of the small cliff.
Mephistopheles walked into the cleft from the path on the other side and saw the statue at the same time the statue saw him. The statue spoke first.
“I’ve been waiting for you for three days,” she said.
“Sorry. It’s been a long trip.”
“Any luck?”
“Depends on what you mean by luck. I had a talk with Beelzebub. I don’t think he likes me,” he added thoughtfully.
Leviathan chuckled. “What did you do to the poor fellow?”
“I think I struck a nerve.”
“Oh?”
“I accused him and Satan of fomenting rebellion, and it seemed like a sore spot.”
“Why did you do that?”
“So that in denying it, he’d let slip their objections to the Plan.”
“Clever,” she said.
He shrugged.
“Well,” asked Leviathan, “did you find out?”
Mephistopheles summarized his discussion with Beelzebub. Then he said. “I met Yaweh’s page on the way back.”
“And?”
“He had a message for Satan.”
“Did you find out what the message was?”
“It was a summons. I got the impression that Yaweh wants to see Satan right away. I think Yaweh is angry about something.”
“I could take a guess about what, Mephistopheles.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what does this mean?”
“It means that something is going to happen.”
“Yes. I think I’d like to see Satan myself.”
“Before or after he speaks to Yaweh?”
“Either will do.”
“Good. My feet need rest. And, anyway, I doubt that I could catch up to him before he gets to the Palace.”
“I hadn’t asked you to.”
“Oh?”
“Could you find Ariel for me?”
Mephistopheles sighed. “My poor feet. Sure, I’ll find him.”
“Good.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Mephistopheles. . . .”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He bowed his head. Then he turned and went looking for Ariel, because he was uncomfortable showing strong emotions.
“Ho there, Sith.”
“Hello, Kyriel.”
“There’s more news, from Chesetial out by the Southern Hold.”
“Oh?”
“She says the Lord Satan is on our side.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s going to see Yaweh, to tell him off.”
“When?”
“He left from the South a bit ago. He could be here any day.”
“Do you think they’ll call it off?”
“They might.”
“Well, it’s nice to have one of them on our side, anyway.”
“Yeah. Maybe we won’t have to hide.”
“Maybe.”
It was early evening. Michael was sitting in an easy chair before the hearth, his feet bare, and resting from the journey. He heard shuffling noises outside, groaned to himself, then decided not to get up.
“Lord Michael?” came the voice, weak but recognizable.
“Come in, Abdiel,” he said without turning his head.
“Thank you.” Abdiel stepped inside and collapsed on the floor.
Then Michael was up, kneeling by his side. “Abdiel? What is it? Are you—”
“I’m . . . fine, Michael. Just let me . . . catch my breath.”
Michael nodded, got up, and brought wine. Abdiel, meanwhile, had heaved himself up to a sitting position and was breathing in gasps. He accepted the win
e and drank thirstily, nodding his thanks to Michael between gulps.
“What happened?” Michael asked when Abdiel’s breathing was about back to normal.
“Nothing happened—but something nearly did.”
“Tell me.”
Abdiel nodded and got to his feet, supported by Michael. He made it to a chair and collapsed. He closed his eyes, as if gathering strength, then said, “I was near the Southern Hold, just twelve days ago.”
“Twelve days!”
Abdiel nodded. “Something happened, and I didn’t know what to do, so I came here.”
“Well, what was it?”
“Satan,” said Abdiel, “is after me.”
“After you? What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid he may be chasing me. I’m not sure. He started to, but I escaped from the Southern Hold and ran. I looked back once and he had set out after me. I didn’t look back again.”
“I’m surprised Beelzebub didn’t catch you.”
“So am I! Happy, also. But I had a good start, and I guess Beelzebub can’t run as long as I can.”
“But, Abdiel, why was he chasing you?”
“Because I wouldn’t go along with his plan.”
“What plan?”
“He told me that he intends to overthrow Lord Yaweh and set himself up as ruler of Heaven. He explained that the Plan was folly, would never work, and that he wanted to end it once and for all.”
“I don’t believe it! He said—”
“I know. He told me that you had spoken to him, with Lucifer and Lilith and Asmodai. He said he’d managed to take you in, to convince you that he had nothing planned. But he wanted my help. He said that I had ‘Yaweh’s ear,’ was how he put it.”
“By the flux!” cried Michael. “Can this be true?”
“He tried to persuade me, but my ears were roaring and I couldn’t hear his arguments. I just stood before him and shook my head.”
“And then?” asked Michael.
“He tried to make me promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone what he’d spoken of.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Michael nodded. “Go on,” he said. “What did he do then?”
“He . . . grew angry,” said Abdiel. “He began walking toward me. I backed up, but he kept coming. Finally I turned and ran. I got out of the place, and when I looked back, he was running after me, yelling and shaking his fist.”