The Third Heaven: The Rise of Fallen Stars

by Donovan Neal

  It is not fair! We both should be basking in the glory of service and helping to prepare this world for its next stage of creation. Instead, I find my mind consumed with anxiety and thoughts of what could have been. Lord El, hear thy servant's plea. Why did you not prevent this tragedy?

  Lucifer at least cares. He recognizes that it as an error. He knows. Why God? Why is my mind filled with doubts and criminations of my actions? I saw the planet: reached for it, and Sol reached with me. How could I have known that this would happen? I just want to go home, to speak to You. You will give me words for this situation. Not the babble of nonsense Lucifer delivered to me earlier. El will, but, El, why did you not save me?

  Tears fell from Apollyon’s eyes, and he reached down toward a bench to steady himself. Grief soon overwhelmed him, and he placed his large hands on his face. He was Arelim, and Apollyon looked to notice if anyone had seen him. He composed himself, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

  It was then in the midst of his moment of sadness, in the instant where the weight of his actions filled him with heartache that he heard the spiteful words uttered to him for the first time.

  “What? A mighty one cries? Does the Destroyer shed tears?”

  Apollyon winced at the remark. Slowly he rose and turned to face Ashtaroth who stood behind him; his disdain evident in his stance and face. His hands were on his hips, and his eyes conveyed to Apollyon that he was being given a visual dressing down.

  “You would dare speak to me in such manner?” said Apollyon.

  “I do, Son of the Dawn. You are a testimony to all that Elohim aspire not to be: a failure to your race, a shame to your prince, a Destroyer. How El would even consider manna on one such as you baffles me. How a noble, such as Saesheal, ever would call you friend is beyond fathomable. Leave this place, Destroyer, for destruction indeed follows you, and I would have none of it in Athor.”

  As Ashtaroth turned to leave, Apollyon quickly looked upon this outspoken and contemptuous angel and reached to seize his arm.

  “You will never utter Saesheal’s name again in my presence, Astarte––never! Yes, I called you Astarte. That is what Lucifer called you, is it not? I see he values you so little that he does not bestow you enough honor to speak your full name. And you, servant of the High Prince, have not enough value for yourself even to object. You are indeed a vassal designed to serve.”

  Ashtaroth flung his arm away to break free, but Apollyon’s grip was sure.

  “Unhand me immediately, you buffoon!” Apollyon removed his hold from Ashtaroth's arm only to grasp his throat and lift him from the ground.

  Ashtaroth struggled to breathe and speak, his speech gagged from the hold of Apollyon. He grabbed Apollyon’s forearms and struggled to wrest free from his captor’s grasp.

  Apollyon raised his figure to his lips. “Shhh, hush, little angel.”

  His eyes narrowed, and Apollyon looked upon him as a cobra might view a coiled mongoose as prey.

  Ashtaroth squirmed in discomfort, his vocal cords constricted by Apollyon’s grasp.

  “I wish to thank you, Astarte. You have made me aware that not all would praise my elevation as Archon of Sol, a position of honor that I know you sought as well. Indeed, little angel, I may be a simpleton, as I overheard you say earlier, and yes, I did hear you, but intelligence aside: between the two of us, I am Archon of Sol.”

  Apollyon smiled and glared at Ashtaroth. “How it must gnaw at you, to be relegated to serve the tables of Lucifer while this simpleton, who grasps your throat, commands the very stars. You, Astarte, are not worthy to be Archon of flatware: you, little angel, are chief-administrator and archangel of nothing––nothing but Lucifer’s tactful derision. For too long, I have been the butt of your ridicule and spite.”

  Ashtaroth squirmed and tried to raise his voice, but he released only a squeal of a sound.

  Apollyon smiled. “What was that? I cannot hear you. Perhaps, you would care to speak louder?”

  Apollyon looked with disdain upon Ashtaroth: his control of Ashtaroth’s throat absolute. He released his grip, and Ashtaroth fell to the ground, wheezing and gasping for air. Apollyon spit on the ground where Ashtaroth lay and leapt into the air: he summoned a Ladder and turned to face him a final time. “You would be wise not to approach me again, Astarte, and do not think that your position with Lucifer will cause me pause if you do.”

  The giant Elohim then stepped onto the Ladder and was gone.

  Ashtaroth’s need to fill his lungs overpowered his ability and desire to make immediate reply; he looked up in humiliation and resentment as the Ladder carried Apollyon away. Thoughts quickly turned over in Ashtaroth’s mind, and plans within plans formulated, as he slowly regained his composure.

  “This is not over Arelim––far from it.”

  ********************

  Gabriel and his fellow princes looked in awe as the body of Saesheal rose into the air. Lightning crackled, and thunder clapped. A cylinder of light surrounded Saesheal, and the Holy Spirit hovered, his wings outspread, his eyes focused on Saesheal’s body.

  Jerahmeel leaned toward Michael and quietly spoke, “What is He doing, Michael?”

  “I know not,” Michael replied. “I stand as puzzled as you.”

  The charred flesh of Saesheal slowly began to heal, and even the smell from his remains began to fade.

  The ground quaked, as the colossal wooden doors of the palace flung open. All eyes shifted to the illuminated figure that stood in the archway's midst.

  Michael lifted up his eyes and behold a certain man was clothed in linen. His loins were girded with fine gold, and his body was like beryl; his face was as the appearance of lightning, his eyes as lamps of fire, his arms, and his feet likened to polished brass in color, and the voice of his words like the voice of a multitude.

  “Verily, I say unto you…”

  Immediately the citizens of Heaven knelt, the host of Heaven went prostrate as the Logos second person of the triune God, had determined to speak, and all of Heaven was hushed, eager with an ear to hear.

  “Saesheal has honored me. Thus, he speaks even before the beginning: the things that shall be. For with faith, he hath quenched the dart of Sol and so prophesied of darts yet to come. For as Saesheal gave himself that others might live, so too shall the Son of Man lay down his life that the world might be saved.”

  Perplexed, the Elohim looked upon each other at a loss for comprehension; their shoulders shrugged in confusion as the depth of Jehovah’s word plumbed their minds. He continued, and none spoke.

  “Saesheal is not lost but away in the wilderness that I might have voice in all things. To be first among many that would do my will, and thus it must be suffered him that all righteousness might be fulfilled. He shall stand with his lot at the last day. For indeed, He that loveth his life shall lose it, and he that hateth his life shall keep it unto life eternal.

  I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead yet shall he live. Saesheal believed in his God and shall be given a throne, and these things are done that those to come might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing they might know that life is through his name.”

  Like the crash of waves upon a rock, Jehovah’s voice echoed throughout the realm, and as suddenly as He had appeared, He was gone, the palace doors shutting fast behind him.

  All rose, and Saesheal’s body was now fully healed of all injury and slowly lowered to the ground. From each vial, water began to pour, and the waters weaved a maze like course into spouts that put out the smaller flames.

  “The sacrifice is accepted,” spoke the Holy Ghost. Lightning crackled, and thunder boomed overhead. Suddenly, a wall of flame erupted in front of Saesheal’s body and obscured all from view, a dark barrier of smoke engulfed the altar, and a searing curtain of fire erupted and created an impenetrable wall of flame.

  Talus, who was closest to his charge, stepped back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the seething
heat. Gabriel and his brethren also backed away, and the immediate area of the emporium emptied until the smolder of the altar cleared away.

  All stood in silence at the image before them. None of them knew whether to weep or to break forth in cheers. Those close enough moved towards the altar hands outstretched and raised their hands to grasp the image of light.

  The image of light stood––100 cubits high, surrounded by six other smaller pillars: one of violent, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red. Each pillar shaped to form an Elohim and each pointed to the innermost figure. A translucent image of Saesheal appeared, but Saesheal seemed engaged with another Elohim. Michael and his brethren made out its features; its ram's head and hoofed feet were unmistakable. It was an Arelim.

  Beneath them, were two small creatures huddled and cowered under the protective stand of Saesheal. Each had two arms and two legs, and one was shapelier in the hip and torso than the other. Neither had scales or flesh as the Elohim, and a mane of hair flowed from the crown of one creature’s head to its shoulders; both grasped one another for comfort and was on bended knee as if in fear. Each image represented the seven species of Elohim, and inhaled and exhaled as if alive. They all moved and breathed except the two small bi-pedal creatures at the base. They were motionless, inanimate in their state of cower and worship.

  Talus looked at Michael and then back at the sculpture of light, which lived yet, did not.

  “What are those words on the base?” Michael glanced and knelt down read a golden plaque hung from its base and words written in angelic script were emblazoned in fire.

  ‘S-e-p-h-i-r-o-p-t-h’

  Michael finished reading and his hand stroked his chin, puzzled as to the term's meaning, and in the instant of his wonderment, he rose and turned his head at the voice in the distance that thundered across the emporium; the irate roar of a tormented and anguished soul.

  Apollyon had come home.

  Chapter Three

  I Am the Potter, You Are the Clay

  Day Six

  “Saesheal!” Apollyon screamed out. Saesheal’s features were easy to distinguish even from this distance. The monolithic breathing sculpture sat near the brass laver and altar at the foot of the mountain of God. Apollyon flew towards the object franticly and moved those who barred his path. The other Elohim made way for the giant as he approached.

  Gabriel and the rest of the princes eyed Apollyon as he landed before their presence. Too overcome with grief, Apollyon abandoned protocol and failed to bow. There was no regal welcome, no sign of submission in his posture: only confusion rested in his voice as he spoke in interrogation.

  “What has been done to him? Prince Michael? Why is he thus?”

  Michael walked towards him. Michael’s frame was similar to Apollyon’s and in a show of compassion, Michael rested his hands on Apollyon's shoulders to comfort him. Apollyon looked closely at the breathing monument. Apollyon’s eyes squinted in response to his mind's curiosity as he attempted to comprehend how a structure of light was alive but was not. He passed his hands through the illuminated form of his friend, and his hand-grasped ether, but there was substance to the eyes. The monument gave off an aromatic sweet smelling savor: fragrant and intoxicating to all present, causing Apollyon’s confusion to rise even more.

  “Please, Lord Prince. How is he thus?

  Prince Talus came forward. Michael looked at him to answer on his behalf, and Talus spoke.

  “Saesheal is yet alive Apollyon. We know not where nor do we understand how. This is his body recreated by the Holy Spirit of God Himself. We all stood to see our brother restored in flesh. El has spoken by his Spirit concerning his person.”

  Talus paused and looked upon the great emporium of assembled Elohim, each still fixated at the sculpture. The mighty Cherub lifted his voice and spoke as if to the wind. “Grigori of Heaven, you who have witnessed what has been seen and done here today. Speak the record that our brother may hear. A Throne Prince of Heaven commands you!”

  There was no immediate sound or action for a moment. A sense of indecisiveness and expectation hung in the air. Soon visible mists of air moved and stirred, and by the thousands the Grigori uncloaked. Their hooded and veiled forms became visible for all of Heaven to see. A group of shimmering ghostlike personas rarely noticed, but whose presence was always there. Each flew without wings and stood next to its assigned Elohim of record. Their dark cowled figures flooded both the emporium and the sky round about. With a voice never before heard in Heaven, the Grigori spoke as one man.

  “Saesheal is not lost but away in the wilderness that I might have voice in all things. To be first among many that would do my will, and thus it must be suffered him that all righteousness be fulfilled. He shall stand with his lot at the last day. For indeed, He that loveth his life shall lose it, and he that hateth his life shall keep it unto life eternal.

  I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he was dead yet shall he live. Saesheal believed in his God, and shall be given a throne, and these things are done, that those to come might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing they might know that life is through his name.”

  Then when the record of El’s word was spent for all to hear: the Grigori faded from view and returned to their state of hidden observation. Their tomes and styluses faded with them. Then they were gone; an entire race of angels invisible to the naked eye.

  Apollyon looked upon his prince and spoke. “Lord Prince if Saesheal is alive have you word on this ‘wilderness’ El spoke of? How might I see my brother again?”

  “I know not my friend. This word is beyond me, but I trust in El. There is nothing covered that shall not be made known, and nothing hidden that shall not be revealed. However, Son of the Dawn you are here while Sol is left attended by another. Speak your reason for coming to Jerusalem.”

  “My desire Lord Prince is to speak with El to determine the meaning of the word I have received by his Lord, Prince Lucifer. I am also come to see to my charge of Sol.”

  Talus looked upon his friend, smiled, and took him by the shoulder. “Walk with me.”

  The emporium slowly emptied as angels returned to their respective duties. Talus and Apollyon walked to a more private area of the steps away from all earshot.

  “Archon of Sol, and yes I called you Archon; and Archon you shall be unless you determine that you are no longer qualified for the post. I see within you enormous potential my friend. God did not name you Son of the Dawn for naught. Thus with his wisdom I have named you Archon of Sol. Twas not a foolish thing to appoint one such as you, for you have the stout heart necessary to execute the will of the fires of Sol.”

  “Thank you, my liege yet—”

  “Do not interrupt your Prince. I do not pretend to know the fullness of your grief. I know not what would cause you to question the very goodness of El. Yes, your Grigori does indeed record all, and El is aware of your thoughts concerning Him, as are the Lumazi. Yet he has not repented of his command to position you Archon of Sol, and it is not my place to question his decision. If you must question it, then do so. However, know this: that you question alone, and take comfort that the gifts and calling of the Lord are without repentance. You are Archon. You shall remain thus until either you or El determine otherwise.”

  Apollyon bowed in submission, grateful for his prince’s words. “My Lord Prince, I request that my station be held by another until and if I may speak with the Master.”

  “Permission granted my friend. Remain within the capital until word is given of thy petition.”

  Apollyon once again bowed to his Prince and turned to take his leave. Talus left his charge and returned to the rostrum near the laver to see Gabriel, Michael, and the others still staring at the new monument El had erected in Heaven.

  “All right how long will you all gawk? Enraptured by the smell I take it?” Talus laughed

  Michael looked at him, but there was no humor in his face: just a sadness t
hat seemed to portend grim news. “I think you must come and see this,” said Michael.

  Talus walked towards his friends and stopped to observe what they were looking at.

  “What is it?” he said.

  Gabriel pointed to the figure of Saesheal.

  “Aye, it’s Saesheal. This I already know. There is nothing of interest here, so why the to-do?

  "Look here," said Michael.

  Talus then followed Michael’s pointed finger and realized that no eyes were on the figure of Saesheal at all, but of the unidentified Elohim of whom he wrestled. The cloven feet and ram's horns suggested that it was an Arelim. The monument's features were not quite complete; still developing even as they spoke. Talus looked upon the breastplate of the Arelim in mortal combat with Saesheal.

  “You see it now?”

  "Aye, but I do not believe it," said Talus.

  Talus looked upon the breastplate of the warrior who was attacking Saesheal, and at whom the small figures underneath him cowered. God had given all Elohim a stone or sigil with their names embedded in it, a symbol that could not be duplicated. This sigil held one name only.

  Abaddon the Destroyer

  “Who bears this sigil?” asked Gabriel.

  “I know not,” said Michael, "yet I find it incomprehensible that that one of our kind might raise himself against another.”

  “Agreed, but the combatants are unmistakably Arelim,” said Jerahmeel.

  Talus breathed deeply, visibly disturbed by the sigil.

  “I have seen this symbol before, yet I know of no Arelim or Elohim with the name of Abaddon. I must meditate on this.”

  Michael spoke. “In all of Grigoric history, there has never been a record of an Elohim engaged thus with another. It is unthinkable to me. We stand in the shadow of a grave portent.”

  “Aye, and no Elohim hast ever been brought to not. We walk in new times,” Sariel spoke.

  Michael nodded.

  The palace doors opened, and the sounds of the Seraphim’s chants of “Holy, Holy, Holy.” came from the throne room and escaped into the open air.