Warring Angel

by Samantha L. Strong

  “Watch your head. I don’t suggest flying up or down these steps.”

  The staircase was narrow, spiral, and led down, down, down. I tried to count the steps, to figure out how many levels down we went, but I lost track soon after we started. Both the walls and the steps turned from polished stone to rough-hewn rock. Harbinger picked her way down gingerly, one hand on the wall, the other lifting the hem of her skirt. Zaponsla’s excitement bounced through our bond.

  When we reached the bottom, the Keeper turned a corner. I followed and abruptly stopped.

  Zaponsla said, “Get out of the way. We want to see too.”

  I moved aside.

  Stretching up in front of us were dozens of bookshelves filled to the brim with Book after Book after Book. They seemed to be haphazardly arranged—some gold-covered, some silver, and as I gazed up, some were covered in the strange translucence I’d seen when we returned from attempting to steal back the swastikas from Asorat. Spiral staircases led to small catwalks, upon which humans would just barely fit to reach all the books.

  “This explains a lot,” I said.

  The Keeper gazed up at the stacks with a reverent look on her face. “Every century or so, someone undertakes to organize this place. And every time, they fail.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “It’s as though the Books resist it. They want to be jumbled.”

  “Do you think the Aleph did something to them?”

  “Enael!” admonished Zaponsla.

  “Oh, stop, she’s already figured out why we’re here. You blurted it out up there anyway.”

  The Keeper said, “I don’t think that’s it. Some of these books were written by the Source Itself before Keepers even existed. Back then was a time of chaos. Over the millenniums, we created order. These are artifacts from a time before order existed. They’re wild, untamed. They want to be this way.”

  Harbinger stepped forward. “How are we going to… ?”

  The Keeper shrugged again. “I don’t know. You asked to see the Ancient Collection, so I brought you here. You can use that study area over there.”

  Off in the corner was a cozy-looking nook, with two sofas, a small table, and an empty bookshelf.

  “The books only resist once you’ve tried to organize more than several hundred. When I attempted it—” when my eyes widened, she smiled, “—I came back to find one out of place. I thought I’d forgotten what I did with it. But then when I arranged more, I found two, three, four, until entire shelves were mixed up. Alphabetical, chronological, it doesn’t matter. Any attempt to bring them under control results in the same thing.”

  “All right, then,” I said, “we have work to do.”

  “Don’t you have to get back to the Council?” Harbinger asked.

  “No. We’re waiting for the humans now. Parsiel and Heppeliam don’t need me.”

  I was starting to regret coming down here, but this room felt important. It fairly hummed with power. And if the Aleph was going to strike, it would do so when we were the weakest—when we were throwing all our forces against Asorat and couldn’t defend against whatever it was planning to unleash. Or maybe it would wait until we’d defeated him and rise up to overthrow us.

  Either way, Asorat had to be key in the Aleph’s designs. If not, it would have done whatever it could to prevent this war from happening. And somehow, I didn’t believe it was expending all its resources to prevent the war.

  “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” said the Keeper.

  “Peace to you.” I tipped my head upward. The shelves stretched toward the ceiling, probably five stories tall. “Zaponsla, start with the closest corner here. Harbinger, go to the opposite side of the room and start at the bottom. I’ll fly up to the top and start over there.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “I’m not sure, but you’ll know it when you find it.”

  CHAPTER 36

  The first book I picked up had a translucent cover with the numeral “182” written on it. I flipped open the page to find a solid block of text in an archaic human language:

  “… but the day after The Green Day was the last time Our humans tried to eat anything that grew on the side of The Trees covered with The Blue-Green Weeds although there was rarely a time before that when they did therefore the latest attempt was probably the worst of all the attempts they’d tried before due to their decided lack of interest in a diet of Blue-Green Things and…”

  My eyes glazed over after the first few lines.

  I replaced it and pulled out the next. It also had a translucent cover, but a thin stripe running down the binding shimmered rainbows across the shelves. The front cover read, “Attendant.”

  I opened to the first page, which read, “This book contains a records of the duties and abilities of an Attendant.” Excited, I flipped to the next page:

  “Chapter 1: Messages

  “The most important duty of an Attendant is to relay messages between various angels. Attendants have several abilities that aid them in this sacred mission. They can sense the life spark of any being connected to the Source, transition between locations on Heaven and Earth, and carry a static Book of Messages with attached quill inside their Astral Space.”

  The first two abilities I was aware of, but the final one I knew nothing about. And I’d never heard any angels speak of Astral Space. It must be the location where Nephilim stored their tridents or Reapers their scythes or knives. It wasn’t that we were creating our weapons or tools, it was that we were pulling them from an invisible bag on another plane of existence—much like how we existed on another plane that embodied humans couldn’t see on Earth. How did we lose this knowledge? But I knew the answer—the books were uncatalogued. It was a wonder I’d come across this one at all.

  Unfortunately, a book about Attendant abilities, although fascinating, would do me no good. I tucked it under my arm and continued to the next book on the shelf. It was gold-bound and sparkled in the lights glowing from under the shelves. On the cover was “Council of Seraphim, Session 13409, Book #4.”

  Now I’m getting somewhere.

  I opened it up and found it more readable but still dull.

  “Seraph #9 moved to designate the color of these frogs to be green, blue, or a combination thereof, as was outlined in the testimony of Muse #6007. Seraph #3 moved to defer the colorization to a later date, after Muse #1209 and #456 present their designs. A vote was held. 5 in favor of deferring, 4 in favor of holding the vote now. Vote has been deferred to one year from today, post presentation by Muses #1209 and #456.”

  So the golden books contained information about the Council’s sessions prior to the Earth’s creation. That was good information, but it also didn’t contain what I wanted to know: the names of the Seraphim.

  I replaced the book and sidled next to the bookshelf, craning at titles until I found one marked “Book #1.” Hoping for a list of the Seraphim or some kind of contextual information on what year it was occurring, I pulled it out and flipped to the front.

  The first page read, “This session has been transcribed by Seraphim #8, designated as the Keeper of the Artifacts for this year. This book will be filed in the Archives once complete.” The rest of the page was blank, and notes on the session—regarding a dispute between two Guardian Archangels over jurisdiction on Earth—began on the next.

  I found another Book #1 with the same opening sentences at the front. This time, Seraphim #1 was transcribing. It, too, contained no further identifying information.

  Zaponsla flew up to me. “Look, the silver books tell about the first Archangels. This one is rather interesting—whoever wrote it was really funny. Some of the other ones are dry—I mean, who cares about the exact placement of the flowers in front of the Praetorium? But here, I really liked how they…” She trailed off at my look.

  “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Yes, sure, sorry,” she said. “The problem is that no one recorded names. They’re
referred to by numbers, and I can’t find any books to tell me who might be who.”

  Harbinger, who was standing several shelves below, held up a gold-covered book. “I found the same thing. And the strange books are mostly nonsense.”

  I sighed. “Yes, that explains a great many things I’ve wondered. Did you find any other books like this one?” I held up the Attendant abilities book. “Maybe one with a gold stripe down it?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Why don’t we keep looking anyway?”

  Zaponsla nodded. “You go that way, and I’ll go this way.”

  Hour by hour, we crawled through the stacks. Shelf by shelf, we scrutinized the books. And minute by minute, I got more frustrated.

  “This is a waste of time!” I shouted to the rock ceiling above. “Why does the Aleph have to be such a big secret?”

  Zaponsla continued down the aisle, but I flew to the study area, threw the book on the table, and buried my head in my hands. We shouldn’t have come here. I need to get back to prepare for the battle. Even if I’d known about this place years ago, I could have spent all that time searching and never found what I needed. Why did I think I would find anything about the Aleph here, after thousands of other angels have failed?

  “Source, sometimes I just don’t agree with You,” I said out loud. Zaponsla was a dozen stacks away, flying along a shelf two stories up, and Harbinger, much closer, pulled out another book. “I don’t understand why You make things so difficult.”

  There is no growth without pain, It said.

  “But I’m not human. I don’t go to Earth. I don’t need to grow.”

  It chuckled.

  “Fine, you’re right, but can’t you just give me one tiny hint?”

  Look in front of you.

  I opened my eyes.

  Sitting on the table next to the Attendant book was a gold-bound one. “The Council of Seraphim, Session 409384, Book #1,” it read. I flipped open the cover and read the inscription. “The session has been transcribed by Seraph #11, designated as the Keeper of the Artifacts for the remainder of this year.”

  “Seraph #11?” I shouted up at the stacks, “Zaponsla, get down here. Harbinger!” I waved her over.

  Excited, I flipped to the next page. Harbinger settled on the couch next to me and leaned over. Together, we read, “Today, we discussed last week’s attempt on the life of the Cornerstone, Enael, by an Archangel who has since denounced his wings.”

  “Zaponsla! Get down here right now!”

  “I’m here, I’m here.” She flapped down to sit on my other side. “What did you find?” After reading the opening sentence, she said, “How did you find this?”

  “The Source.”

  “The Source?”

  “Don’t ask. Let’s read.”

  It said, “Today, we discussed last week’s attempt on the life of the Cornerstone, Enael, by an Archangel who has since denounced his wings. Additionally, two new Seraphim were appointed to fill the positions vacated by Seraph #3 (see addendum regarding Fall of a Seraph) and Seraph #8, who voluntarily abdicated. Seraph #10 and #11 ascended and received golden wings in exchange for silver in a ceremony attended by Seraphim #1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 9.”

  “Number three is Asorat, of course, but why did number eight voluntarily abdicate? Why didn’t anyone tell us that there was another new Seraph?” Zaponsla’s wings were flapping wildly again, and Harbinger put out a hand to still them. “It’s no wonder they created Keepers. The Seraphim are terrible at keeping records.”

  I skimmed through the details of the ceremony—words of blessing, wings turning golden, nothing of interest—and stopped at the next part.

  Zaponsla read, “‘Today’s votes were to determine what will be done to nurture the Cornerstone back to health (eight in favor of a prolonged stay in the Comfort Ward, one in favor of ascending her to Guardian immediately) and whether the Engineers will be granted permission to add another floor between the current floor 45 and 46 (no decision yet rendered). The need for additional room for Foresight Sessions is becoming apparent.’ No. That can’t be it. No!”

  She snatched the book and flipped through the pages. “‘Construction to begin… Muses weigh in on the design…’ Come on. Even this addendum on Asorat’s Fall is boring.”

  We read it silently. “Seraph #3 expressed anger regarding multiple Council decisions—and then a page and a half of Session numbers. When asked recommended strategy for addressing said concerns, Seraph #3 renounced Heaven. Energy from the Source was withdrawn, and wings were terminated due to lack of sustenance.”

  Harbinger said, “Maybe the information about Seraph #8 is in the previous book. Session 409383.”

  “Yes, but where is it?” Zaponsla gazed desperately at the stacks.

  I closed my eyes. O Source—

  Before I could complete my prayer, a resounding crash reverberated throughout the cavernous room.

  CHAPTER 37

  I opened my eyes. “What was that?”

  The crash sounded again, vibrating throughout every inch of me. Harbinger grabbed onto the couch, and Zaponsla flapped her wings to steady herself. “It has to be Asorat.”

  “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ve been down here for a while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “A day and a half, maybe?”

  “What?!” Suddenly realizing how much time we’d been wasting, I leapt to my feet. “The battle starts soon! I should have—”

  The crash sounded once more, knocking me back onto the sofa.

  “I have to get to the Praetorium, like, yesterday!” I exclaimed.

  “But what about this?” Zaponsla’s eyes darted to the Book. “We’re so close to finding out who the Aleph is.”

  I regarded the book. All right, Source, I need your help. Can you bring me the other book? The earlier one?

  But I received no response. The first book sat alone and unmoving on the table. Harbinger and Zaponsla peered at me anxiously.

  “It’s not working,” I said. “Either It’s not responding or whatever is happening above is interfering. Do you still feel the Source?” A moment of terror washed through me as I remembered how awful and lonely I felt when I was a demon. What if Asorat wins and then forces everyone who didn’t fight beside him to be severed from the Source? Can he do such a thing?

  “It’s still there. I can still feel It. But It’s muffled.” Zaponsla’s voice was anxious. I could no longer ignore the silver threads reaching through Zaponsla’s wings and into the sky as anything but real; however, now, after whatever those crashes had been, the threads of power had faded to mere glimmers. I wanted to twist around and look at my own, but I was fearful of finding the same thing.

  “I don’t like this,” said Harbinger. “I don’t like it at all.”

  “Do you think the Seraph that stepped down is the Aleph?” asked Zaponsla.

  It took me a moment to come back to what she was talking about. “It could be. But maybe they’re not related.” The certainty from before, which I’d gotten through the Source, was dampened along with my sense of It.

  “That means it could be anyone.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But no matter. We have to go. We need to get to the Praetorium. Leave the book. I don’t want anyone knowing that we were down here. We can come back later.”

  I didn’t bother to add the unspoken, if there is a later.

  Finding it impossible to fly over the twisting stairs out of the basement, Zaponsla and I climbed as quickly as we could, Harbinger hurrying along behind with her skirt gathered in her arms. Fading to another part of Heaven was a poor idea since we had no idea what we were entering into. Along with our plans for Normandy, we’d also created emergency gathering locations for every being in Heaven. Right now, I clung to the hope that they’d worked and everyone was safe.

  When we got to the top of the stairs, the door to the entrance hung open. We crept out.

  The receiving
desk was vacated, the Book the Keepers used to record visitors and communicate gone. The light was odd—dimmer than usual. I hurried to the door and pushed it open. Hanging ominously in the sky were huge, gray clouds. I’d never seen such a thing in the centuries I’d been alive—Heaven was sunny and bright or dark and cool with cheerful orbs to light the way. Heaven did not get storms.

  Outside, the air was hot and thick with humidity or… something. We weren’t embodied, so I had no idea what was happening. A bolt of purple lightning cracked across the sky, and the ground shook, knocking me into Harbinger. Zaponsla steadied us.

  Heaven was eerily silent. Day or night, angels always bustled from one place to another or lounged on benches, but now, the walkways were empty, the halls silent. Our emergency procedures had worked as quickly as we’d hoped.

  “Everyone must be inside where it’s safe,” I said. “Harbinger, you need to get to your rendezvous point. Zaponsla and I will meet the others at the Praetorium.”

  She embraced us each in turn. “Remember, Heaven believes in you. Not just the Seraphim. Many others have pledged their loyalty. We were going to tell you when it was time.”

  Zaponsla nodded solemnly. “And now it’s time.”

  Harbinger stepped back, dropping my hand. She turned watery and then faded. We waited a moment to ensure she didn’t return and then leapt into the air.

  Off in the distance, shouts and weapon clangs echoed, although I couldn’t be sure what direction they were coming from. We flew as fast as we could toward the Praetorium. The second circle of Heaven, where the Orchestra usually played, was strangely vacant, the cushions around the Nexus abandoned. The usually bright and sunny inner circle was dark from the clouds hanging overhead, the beam seemingly more brilliant than usual against the blackening sky.

  The Praetorium, however, was alive with activity. Two squads of Nephilim stood in the entryway. We pushed our way through the crowd, and none of the half dozen harried-looking Attendants at the receiving desk glanced up from the notes they were furiously scribbling or away from the heated conversations they were having.