by Steven Brust
Michael shook his head. “No. Does it have to do with the gathering of angels I’ve been hearing about?”
Yaweh nodded.
“All right. You’d better tell me about it, then.”
“All right. But first—did you see Raziel, by any chance?”
“I saw him near the battle, just before it began. He asked me a few questions about Satan’s attack on Abdiel.”
“Good,” said Yaweh. “Now let me tell you what your task is to be—if you are willing.”
Michael nodded sharply.
“You will be leading a new order of angels that I am creating. They are to number one thousand. I have, in the last few days, created an order of which the archangel Yahriel is chief. They number five hundred. They are called Dominions. They will be in amongst the angels we are gathering, to make sure there are none within who wish to disrupt the assembly. Your order is to be called Virtues. You will keep your forces at the edge of the gathering and watch for anyone trying to disrupt it.”
Michael’s brows came together. “Before I answer you,” he said, “I want to hear what this is about.”
“Of course. Sit down, and I’ll explain.”
Yaweh motioned to a Seraph, who brought a chair for Michael.
“Now, here’s the idea. . . .”
NINE
So spake the Omnipotent, and with his words
All seemed well pleased; all seemed, but were not all.
—Milton, Paradise Lost, v:616-617
“I’ll speak for about half an hour,” said Yaweh some days later. “Then you and Abdiel will begin.”
“Begin what, exactly?” asked Raphael.
“The first step will be to unify them, to get the energy from all of them flowing to me, through you.”
“I think I can do that.”
“And what,” said Michael, “will I be doing?”
“As I told you before, Michael, you and your Virtues—do you have them yet, by the way?”
“Yes. One thousand angels, with swords.”
“Good. You will encircle the gathering and look for any danger from outside.”
“You’re worried about Satan, then?”
“Somewhat,” admitted Yaweh, looking uncomfortable. “Also Lucifer and the rest.”
“I see.”
“Good. As to the details of the casting,” he told Raphael, “you must speak to Abdiel. I will be holding in my mind the image of what I want to appear, and I will always have control of the energy. I can direct it, but Abdiel knows best how to gather it.”
“All right. I’ll go speak to him then.”
“Good. And when you’re done, tell him I’d like to see him.”
“All right.”
Raphael swept gracefully from the room.
“Yaweh?” said Michael.
“Yes?”
“Is this . . . necessary?”
“Yes, I think it is.”
“All right.”
Michael left. Yaweh stared straight ahead. Necessary? Yes, exactly as necessary as the Plan itself. Unless Raziel had found something. That one “unless.” But where was he?
Yaweh was shaken out of his reverie some time later by Gabriel announcing Abdiel’s arrival.
“Come in, Abdiel.”
“Thank you, Lord. You wished to see me?”
Abdiel took a seat near the throne. Yaweh studied him as if looking for something in particular, then spoke.
“Yes. I take it all went well with Raphael.”
“Yes, Lord,” said Abdiel.
“Good,” said Yaweh. He shifted his position, gripping the arms of the throne. “I’ve been thinking about the speech I’ll be giving.”
“Yes, Lord?”
“Your idea was for me to make these statements as if they had always been true.”
“Yes, Lord. I think that is best.”
Once more, Yaweh shifted. “But Abdiel—I am not at all sure that it is the case.”
Abdiel’s eyebrows came together. “But—” he stopped, and considered things for the space of a dozen heartbeats. “You aren’t sure, you said. I don’t understand—how could it not be the case?”
Yaweh shook his head. “It isn’t exactly wrong, but—it’s a new way of looking at things. I’m not used to it. I’ve always looked at it as something that just happened. I’m not saying that another interpretation is untrue, merely that I see it differently.”
“But why do so, Lord? If you present it as I suggest, it will help our project. And, as you just said, it isn’t wrong to look at it this way. At worst, you are being more positive about things than you normally would. But you are doing this in order to help. What is wrong with that?”
Yaweh chewed his lip for a while. “I’m not sure, Abdiel. I’ll think it over.”
“Thank you, Lord.”
“Now here’s another thing. . . .”
“Good afternoon, Lord Satan.”
Satan spun and dropped to one knee, his hand going to the emerald at his breast. Beelzebub whirled and bared his teeth. Satan stood then, and nodded. “Good afternoon, Mephistopheles. Have you been following me long?”
“This conversation suddenly sounds familiar.”
Beelzebub growled.
Mephistopheles shrugged. “Not more than an hour or so.”
“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For what you did for me—back there. With Michael.”
“I don’t remember doing anything with Michael. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Have it that way then.”
“Mind if I ask where you’re going?”
“Not at all.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Where—oh. Very good.” Mephistopheles chuckled. “Where are you going?”
Beelzebub began, “Milord, methinks—”
“I know, Beelzebub. I’m heading toward the center.”
“Oh. Then you’ve heard about it. Well, what are you going to do? Do you think you can influence it in any way?”
Satan shrugged. “You know me. What do you suppose I’m going to do?”
“I’d say that you’ll try to stop it, unless you know what it’s really about.”
“What makes you think I don’t?”
“Do you?”
“Maybe.”
“All right. But you have a few days to decide. Maybe you don’t know.”
Satan smiled but didn’t answer.
“Or it could be,” continued Mephistopheles, “that you hope for a chance at Abdiel. While everyone is standing there, listening to Yaweh talk about whatever it is he’s talking about, maybe you think you can find Abdiel. After all, not everyone knows you. You could find him, do whatever you do, and be gone before anyone notices.”
“I like the way your mind works, Mephistopheles. But I don’t want to dominate the discussion. What brings you out here?”
“Much the same as what brings you. I want to get there a day early to see what’s going on, and who’s saying what. The same as you, I imagine.”
“You have a good imagination.”
“Thank you.”
They looked at each other, Satan in his green and gold standing a bit taller than Mephistopheles in his black. Beelzebub looked back and forth between them, aware that they were communicating on some level that he couldn’t reach.
“You know what my problem is?” said Satan at last.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t, Lord Satan.”
“I have trouble making up my mind.”
“Hmmm.”
“I do. After all this time, I still haven’t decided whether to oppose Yaweh’s Plan. I’ve been wrestling with it for hundreds of days, now. Isn’t that something?”
“It’s something, but—”
“You, on the other hand, are different.”
“Yes?”
“You won’t make up your mind. You spend your time tea
ring other people down, and exercising the power of your mind and intellect over them, more for the delight of doing so, it seems, than to accomplish anything. Because there just isn’t anything you want to accomplish. You have friends, and you help them, and you think that that is enough. It isn’t.
“There are lines being drawn, Mephistopheles. And the lines can cut across friendships as though they weren’t there. If you try to balance in the middle, you make enemies on both sides.
“You’re clever, all right. I’ll give you that, and then some. But that isn’t enough. I hope that I’m going to be allowed to make up my mind, in my own time, in my own way. But if I’m not, I’ll commit myself. You won’t, though. You’ll wander along, taking potshots at everyone, and when the roll is called you’ll be alone in the middle, with both sides looking at you. And the best you can hope for is that they’ll only spit.”
He looked down at Beelzebub. “Let’s go.”
They turned their backs on Mephistopheles and continued toward the center.
After a league or so, Beelzebub ventured, “Milord?”
“Yes, Beelzebub?”
“Thou spake on some event at the center of Heaven, of which I knew not.”
“Ah, yes. That. There is to be a gathering of all the hosts near the Palace. Yaweh is going to speak to them, and there may be more to it.”
“I knew not of this, milord. How didst thou learn of it?”
“Why, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles just told us. Weren’t you listening?”
They continued walking in silence.
“Well, my friends, that’s all that I know. What do you think, Lilith?” “I don’t know, Asmodai. It is certainly important, and it must be connected to the Plan in some way, but I don’t know how. Lucifer, have you any guesses?”
“I don’t know what it means, but I think we ought to be there, whatever it is.”
“I agree.”
“And I also, but—what do we do there? Just watch?”
“Why not?”
“I think we have to be ready to do something. Who knows what is going to happen? The way the talk has been going, he’s liable to announce the beginning of the Plan right now.”
“He wouldn’t!”
“Why not, Lilith?”
“Well, because of us.”
“He might decide that’s the best way to deal with us.”
“I’m not sure that I like the idea of being ‘dealt with.’”
“None of us does, Lucifer, but—”
“What I mean is that I’m beginning to agree with Asmodai. We should be ready to do something, if we have to.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Neither do I, to tell you the truth. Asmodai?”
“I think you and I ought to get to work. We still have a couple of days; I’d like to see how much the two of us working together can do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think I know. He means weapons, Lilith. He wants to go there carrying as many as we can, so if we find ourselves in a situation where we wish to arm large numbers of the hosts, then—”
“Rubbish.”
“What do you mean, Lilith?”
“You’re talking nonsense. Arm the hosts? Large numbers? How?”
“Well, we declare ourselves—”
“Oh, come, Lucifer. Who is going to listen to us?”
“We’re archangels and Firstborn. They’ll listen—”
“To other angels. We’re the ones who’ve been coming up with these plans, and scheming against them.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Plan itself, Asmodai. To the hosts, this is the work of the Firstborn and the archangels.”
“ We haven’t been doing it; it’s Yaweh and—”
“What is there to separate us from them in the eyes of the hosts? How many have you spoken to? When did you make it clear to the hosts of Heaven that we oppose Yaweh?”
“Well, I. . . .”
“Right. There is only one of us who’s done that, and he never set out to.”
“Satan.”
“Exactly.”
“Then without him, we have nothing?”
“Basically, Asmodai, that is exactly what I’m saying.”
“He’s awfully hard to convince, as I’m sure you recall.”
“But that’s what we must do, if we’re going to do anything. We either convince Satan to join us, or we wrest from him the leadership of the hosts who fear the Plan. Anything else is a waste of time.”
“But the weapons—”
“Forget them, Asmodai. If it comes to a need for weapons, we’ll have them because the hosts that Yaweh has already armed will be on our side. If the hosts aren’t on our side, then all the weapons you could invent won’t make a bit of difference.”
“I see what you mean.”
“So do I. But Lilith, I’m not sure you’re going far enough.”
“How do you mean that?”
“I’m not sure that we should be trying to convince Satan at all. I think we should be trying to undo the damage we’ve done.”
“Damage?”
“Damage caused by inaction. We should be showing the hosts that we oppose the plan, and that, if they oppose it as well, they can trust us to lead them.”
“How do you propose doing that?”
“In the first place, I think we ought to be at this gathering Yaweh is calling. And when he gives his speech, maybe we can give one of our own.”
“Hmmmm. Not a bad idea at all, lover.”
“Thank you. Asmodai?”
“Well, I still like the idea of building weapons.”
“But?”
“But . . . all right. I’m convinced.”
“Good. We have a couple of days. I want to rest.”
“And I.”
“And I.”
“You’re back!”
“What’s wrong with it, honey?”
“What? Oh. You’re jesting.”
“Sorry.”
She gave forth a laugh that sent the waves reeling. “Don’t be. It’s been so long since I’ve heard anyone jest that I was afraid we’d all forgotten how.”
“It’s all right.”
“Well, Harut, how did you fare?”
“Not well, honey, but I’m all right now. Lilith rescued me.”
“I’m grateful to her. And to many others.”
“Yeah. But don’t worry. You’ll pay ‘em back.”
“Maybe. Harut?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Could you play me a song?”
“I can’t. My instrument was lost.”
“No!”
“I could sing you one.”
“But your cithara!”
“Asmodai will build me another one.”
“Then I’ll be grateful to him, too.”
Harut smiled and shook his head. He seated himself on a rock and began slapping his hand on his knee, his eyes closed. After a moment, he began to sing.
From the four Regencies of Heaven, they came. Tens of thousands of angels, hundreds of archangels, all gathering on the hill beneath Yaweh’s Palace.
At the top of the hill was a platform with great horns set next to it. These, it was said, would carry Yaweh’s voice to everyone who was gathered there.
Some had been there two days, some three, and some were just now arriving, weary and footsore, to cast themselves down on the ground and rest for a time. It was only a matter of hours, now, until he appeared. The restlessness and feelings of expectation spread through the crowd and infected each angel present.
It was curious to note that there was no division or separation between angels and archangels, as if the coming presence of the eldest of the Firstborn was enough to make any other division among them trival.
They looked up the long expanse of greenery and waited, and the tension grew.
Soon, they told themselves, soon.
“Abdiel!”
“Yes, Lord Yaweh?”<
br />
“I’ve just heard from Yahriel.”
“Who?”
“Yahriel. Chief of the Order of Dominions.”
“Oh. Yes, Lord?”
“He says that he needs help. There are more angels out there than his Dominions can cope with. Are all of your Thrones back?”
Abdiel swallowed. “Yes, Lord, but—”
“Is there any reason why they can’t help keep things orderly?”
“No, Lord, but will a mere two hundred make a difference?”
“Maybe. We should try, at any rate.”
“As you wish, Lord. But am I not needed elsewhere?”
“That’s true. Is there someone among your Thrones that you can trust to lead in your place?”
Abdiel breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Yes, Lord. I can find someone.”
Zaphkiel walked along the perimeter of the crowd. From time to time an angel would begin shouting at an angel next to him over a place in the grass to sit. Then Zaphkiel would look at one of the Thrones, and indicate with his eyes, and the Throne would go and speak quietly until the trouble was settled.
That each Throne carried a naked sword in his hand may have helped somewhat.
At one point he met Yahriel, who was engaged much the same way. They nodded without speaking. Sometime later he met Michael, who was watching the area beyond the edge of the gathering. Zaphkiel bowed low.
“Who are you?”
“Zaphkiel.”
“These seem to be Abdiel’s angels.”
“They are.”
“Yet you seem to be leading them.”
“I am.”
“Well?”
“He’s busy.”
“I see. Well, I’m sure you’ll be of help to Yahriel.”
“I hope so.”
Michael cocked his head and studied the other.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
“No.”
They stood looking at each other. Michael felt uncomfortable. If Zaphkiel felt uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. After a moment, Michael moved on.
Zaphkiel continued, his eyes always moving. Suddenly, there was a low rumbling sound. Zaphkiel identified it as the sounds of thousands upon thousands of angels, all sighing or muttering at the same time. The sound began near the top of the hill and spread backwards.