The War in Heaven (Eternal Warriors Book 1)

by Vox Day

  The fallen angel gestured towards the devil-girl and explained.

  “Like myself, Melusine is an angel, a rebel fighting against Heaven. However, she has had a personal interest in you for a long time.”

  Her green eyes were shining bright, but not with anger now. “From the day you were born!”

  “Melusine is what you might call your guardian angel,” Kaym said. “Your welfare has been her sole concern for the last sixteen years, and until I sent her away earlier tonight, she has been at your side, keeping watch over you and saving you from harm.”

  Christopher looked from Melusine to Kaym, and back again. He took in the devil-girl’s sexy outfit, a black bustier made out of some stretchy material paired with a tiny leather skirt. Her clothes were designed to show off, not conceal, and the effect took his breath away. The silk stockings that encased her slender legs were decorated with a strange, rune-like pattern that radiated an overpowering wave of sexuality. As he felt his blood heating up, Christopher found it extremely difficult to take Kaym at his word.

  “No way, Kaym. She’s too hot to be an angel. She looks like something out of a Lords of Acid video.”

  Kaym was not offended by Christopher’s unbelief. He only laughed as Melusine’s red lips curved downward in a pouty frown.

  “I do not lie to you. She is responsible for the safety of your physical self, not the virtue of your soul. How you live your life is wholly up to you, for unlike our enemies, we do not interfere with your free will.”

  “Unless it was going to get you killed,” Melusine corrected. “Christopher, do you remember the time you were throwing rocks at the train with Charlie and Brendan O’Neill?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure. I was ten. Why?”

  “When the train stopped moving and that awful Brendan dared you to cross the tracks by crawling under it, I reminded you of Joe’s dog. You remembered the dog, and you refused to crawl under the train, although he taunted you with being a coward.”

  Christopher shook his head, as if to disagree. But he remembered, and her description was all too accurate. He could almost feel the hot sun again, the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and the smell of the melting tar on the wooden tracks.

  “You’re playing some kind of trick on me. Either you guys are mind readers, or someone was really, really bored.”

  The devil-girl’s amused smile was brighter than the sun, blinding in the darkness of the nightclub. Kaym angrily pointed a long finger at Christopher.

  “There is no trick, Christopher. Do you think I have nothing better to do than to investigate your profoundly uninteresting life? No, and that was not the only time she has interceded for you. Many times there were when you might have perished were it not for her watchful eye.”

  Melusine’s green eyes were coy as she shot Christopher a sidelong glance.

  “Oh, you do not need to thank me, darling boy. Love knows no debts.”

  Christopher’s own eyes widened with surprise, and he wanted to ask if she was serious or not, but the anger that still darkened Kaym’s face made him think that was a bad idea. He sought a safer subject instead, and glanced about their dark surroundings.

  “So tell me,” he said, “what’s a nice girl like you doing at First Avenue?”

  “There are places of power where the spiritual realm and the material realm intersect more strongly than is the norm,” Kaym explained as he made a face and returned his glass of cheap red wine to the table. Their small party had moved upstairs and was sitting at a table overlooking the dance floor, just a few feet away from the DJ’s booth. “This is one such place.”

  “Here? But they filmed Purple Rain here!”

  Christopher looked down at the packed dance floor, the elevated stage, and the backlit curtains where the most daring dancers showed off their silhouetted moves. From what he could see, he didn’t think that they were wearing anything. It didn’t feel very spiritual to him.

  “Didn’t you love it?” Melusine asked eagerly, nearly knocking over the poisonous-looking, bright blue drink sitting before her. “Prince has such an innate understanding of the Tantra. You can feel it in his music.”

  “The what?” Christopher’s head was spinning, only partially because of the dark red drink that Melusine had insisted on ordering for him. Her energy was exciting, but it was also a little overwhelming.

  “The erotic impulse at the core of Man. It is often used as a source of occultic power.” Kaym glanced at Melusine and shook his head. “Your guardian, I’m afraid, can be obsessive on the subject. But to return to your question, the two realms synchronize most strongly in places where worship is taking place.”

  “Worship?”

  “Of one sort or another, yes. The form that worship takes place here is very different, of course, than the kind performed in the churches of our Adversary. Heaven demands outright submission, and slavish, overt flattery of the kind you hear in its hymns. ‘A Mighty Fortress is Our God’ may be effective, but subtle it is not.”

  “You call this worship?” Christopher looked down at the people packing the dance floor. They seemed completely self-absorbed, their bodies moving and jerking to the pounding rhythm like a thousand helpless frog legs zapped by an electric charge. Only a few men seemed immune to the spell, as they circled the perimeter of the floor like wolves outside a sheep fold, waiting for the right moment to home in on their prey.

  “What else would you call it? Look around, and what do you see?” Kaym’s voice was strong with authority as he pointed to the people below. “A bacchanal of whirling dervishes, wholly abandoned in the single-minded pursuit of the highest Dionysian principles, the very principles, in fact, for which we rejected Heaven. In the erasure of the All and the celebration of the Self, the heavy chains of Heaven are broken and cast aside. You say there is no worship here, but I tell you, you could not be more wrong. Here every man and woman may worship at the altar of the self, an altar as distinctly personal as the individuals themselves. That is the freedom we of the Fallen enjoy, and the freedom we seek to bring to the world. In this place, this place of worship, we have created a temple of light and beauty where every man knows no god but himself.”

  “And every girl is a goddess?” Christopher murmured, glancing at Melusine, who was still watching the dancers. “I think Jami would like that idea. She already thinks she runs the world. But even if this is worship, like you say, I still don’t see what it does for you. I mean, they’re just dancing.”

  “It strengthens and confirms our beings, even as it forbids this place to our foes.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe I can explain,” Melusine broke in. Her face was serious for once. “A few years ago you read a book that you liked very much. At one point, there was a character who was an ambassador to the human Emperor, an alien who breathed methane or something instead of oxygen, and had to be placed in a tank just to survive. Do you remember?”

  She waved her hand, and an image took form before Christopher’s eyes. A giant glass tank, wheeled in before a throne amidst the angry hissing of hot steam. Inside the massive aquarium, instead of fish, was a grotesque dark-skinned being that looked like a horrible genetic accident between a sperm whale and an unborn baby.

  “Of course,” he said, remembering. “Only that image you gave me came from the movie, not the book. How did you do that mindreading thing anyhow?”

  “Never mind,” she said, grinning. “Answer the question.”

  Christopher frowned and tried to concentrate. He found that it was hard, with Melusine leaning towards him. “I get what you mean, but I’m still not buying it. You’re saying that the environment here is like the oxygen for the ambassador, which the, ah, angels from Heaven can’t stand.”

  “Believe it or not, but it is so,” Kaym replied. “Nor can we abide the oppressive air, the methane, if you will, that permeates the atmosphere in places where Heaven and its King are lifted up. It suffocates us, and only the strongest among us can resi
st it for long.”

  Christopher nodded thoughtfully. It was crazy, of course, but it almost made sense once you got past the part about the angels and all.

  “So why did you bring me here? What were you scared of?”

  “Nothing but interruption. I wanted a place where we could talk without being rushed, without being interrupted by the minions of Heaven. This is a favorite haunt of Melusine’s, and when she suggested bringing you here, I agreed.”

  “Speaking of interruptions, why doesn’t anyone seem to be noticing anything.” He glanced at Melusine. “I mean, everyone was staring at me downstairs just ‘cos I was wearing a blue shirt and khakis, but guys practically step on your little tail, but they walk right past you without even blinking. I mean, with the way you’re dressed, I’d be noticing you even without the tail and all!”

  “Why, thank you, Christopher” she replied happily, pleased at the implied compliment. “But what Lord Kaym allows you to see and what everyone else sees is not the same. For instance, it seems to have escaped your attention that no one has noticed you since we came upstairs.”

  “Actually, I did notice.” Even as he spoke, two white-faced Goths walked past him without a comment or even a questioning stare. “What’s up with that?”

  “Let me show you.” Melusine glanced at Kaym, who nodded.

  The devil-girl passed a hand in front of his eyes, and the scene around him shifted. The changes were subtle, but they were definitely there.

  The crowd on the dance floor still moved and swayed to the music, but it had been thinned out somewhat, and the crush of people surrounding the bar had lessened too. Melusine’s spectacular beauty had disappeared, her face had aged and developed lines, forming the picture of an older, lonely woman, one likely to be bypassed by the hunt in favor of younger, more attractive prey. Her tail and horns were also gone, and the provocative outfit replaced by a drab, black dress, faded and marked by cigarette burns.

  Christopher looked down and saw that he was now wearing a black jacket, similar to Kaym’s but of cheaper, less durable denim. His khakis were now blue jeans, worn with time and fraying at the knees. Only Kaym had not changed, and even in the darkness of the club, his impenetrable eyes were encased behind black plastic.

  He blinked, and the image was as before, Melusine young and flaunting her sensuality, while he himself was back in his school clothes.

  “Okay, I get it. A lot of angels here, huh? Okay, well, I don’t doubt you’re who you say you are, both of you. But Kaym, you still haven’t told me why I’m here. Do you do this often, sticking your nose into people’s business?”

  “More often than you might think,” Melusine said. “Seven hundred years ago—’’

  But before she could finish her sentence, a tall man wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off approached the table and tapped Kaym on the shoulder. Kaym whirled around with an angry look on his face, but the tall man, whom Christopher correctly guessed was not a man at all, bowed apologetically and whispered in Kaym’s ear.

  The fallen angel listened a moment, then nodded his head and sent the tall messenger away. He turned back towards Melusine and pointed towards the window.

  “I don’t know if we’ve been tracked here or if it’s just a coincidence, but a small Host of Divine was seen over the river, and Rathakkul believes they are coming this way. I’m inclined to agree with him.”

  “Is that a problem?” Christopher asked.

  Kaym smiled confidently, exposing his perfect teeth again.

  “Not particularly. But if their purpose is what I think it is, I’d rather not settle the matter in combat. Even though we’ll win.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re after you,” Melusine pointed out.

  “Me? Why?”

  “I told you that the Prince would like your help, Christopher. I’d hoped to explain matters to you here, but it seems we’re pressed for time. Perhaps it might be better if the Prince made his case to you in person. If you’re willing to trust me, I will bring you to the Courts of Light.”

  “The Courts of Light? That sounds kind of cool. Kind of funny, though, what with that whole Prince of Darkness rap and all.”

  “You will soon see the truth for yourself, Christopher.”

  “Lord Kaym, may I accompany him?” Melusine asked, looking hopeful.

  “Your place is here, Melusine. He shall return to you, I promise.”

  “But—’’

  “I said no.” Kaym’s voice brooked no argument.

  Christopher reached out and touched her hand. It was soft, and unlike Kaym’s, very warm to the touch. He shook his head. Of all the impossible things, she was the most impossible. She was so hot he couldn’t believe it, hotter than Anna Caldwell, even, and much hotter than Julie Kells, who’d laughed right in his face when he asked her to Homecoming last fall. He thought about what Julie’s face would have looked like if he’d shown up at the dance with Melusine on his arm. It was a very satisfying picture.

  “I’ll be back, you know, Melusine.” He looked away from her piercing green. “I’d really like to hang out with you, and, um, get to know you better.”

  “I would like that too. Very much.”

  “Enough,” Kaym said abruptly, cutting off their conversation by rising to his feet. His outline seemed to blur, and suddenly he transformed into a lordly angel, tall and imposing, with powerful black wings, shimmering grey robes, and a cloak of stars that seemed less like a piece of cloth than a window to the night sky. “Take my hand, Christopher, and we will be on our way.”

  “Oh, fare you well, Phaoton!” Melusine cried as she blew him a kiss.

  Christopher felt his face growing hot as he waved to her with one hand as Kaym firmly held the other within his icy grasp. As the image of the nightclub began to dissolve into a mist and the pounding music slowly faded into silence, Christopher turned to the angel, puzzled.

  “Why does she call me Phaoton?” he asked amidst the grey void that surrounded them.

  “There are many roads a man may walk,” Kaym replied cryptically. “And on each of them, he may bear a different name. But in the end, we are only who we are, Christopher, unless we become that which we choose to be.”

  Chapter 4

  The Courts of Light

  What will be withdrawn

  Is first bestowed

  What there will be thrown over

  Is first raised up

  —KMFDM, (“Blood”)

  Christopher blinked, and as the feeling of being trapped in a pitch-black closet began to fade, the outlines of a massive palace took form before his eyes. It was huge, much bigger than the domed stadium where the Vikings played, even bigger than the Megamall. Christopher didn’t know much about architecture, but he knew there was nothing like this on Earth. It was as if the obviously psychotic architect had dropped the Taj Mahal on top of a giant medieval castle, then covered the whole monstrosity with molten gold.

  “That’s the biggest thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathed. “It’s, like, crazy!”

  Kaym grinned and arched an eyebrow. “I’ll pass your compliments along to the builder. I’m sure Mulciber will be pleased.”

  Christopher nodded as Kaym pointed out Gothic arches and Muscovy-style onion domes. He laughed at the hundreds of tiny, freaky gargoyles inset high into the walls, and at the giant tower thrusting skyward that was topped by a ridiculous silver pagoda. There were Byzantine tiles and what looked like Babylonian friezes. It was a mad construction of impossible beauty designed by an insanely brilliant mind.

  For as Kaym demonstrated, despite its deranged amalgamation of style, the giant palace was a thing of beauty. Though each individual part seemed out of place when focused on, seen in its diverse totality, it was magnificent. This is really impossible, Christopher thought, as he followed the fallen angel towards the great front gate of the palace.

  He wondered at the sight of hundreds of red, green, and blue jewels embedded into the arched entryw
ay, arranged in careful patterns that looked like magical runes. Could they be real? Their rich hues reflected the light brightly, and reminded him of Ulthuan, the great city of the Warhammer High Elves, only live and in three dimensional color. It could not be real and yet it was, and for a moment, he felt a dizzy wave of madness threaten to sweep over him. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, making his nose itch, and he sneezed twice.

  He looked up, his eyes watering, and the great palace was still in front of him. Well, that settles it, he decided as he ran his sleeve across his eyes. No one ever sneezed in a dream, as far as he knew, so odds were that this was reality of one form or another. Maybe it was a strange alternate universe, or maybe Kaym was telling him the truth about God and the angels. Either way, he realized, it would be best to take this fantastic world at face value.

  “Hey, who’re they?” he asked Kaym, indicating five tall figures standing in front of them under the jeweled archway. He could not see their faces, hidden behind heavy silver armor, but he could feel their unearthly gaze staring down at him.

  “Silent!” Kaym hissed, as they drew nearer the gate and one of the guards stepped away from his post. Christopher nervously stepped closer to the angel as the guard barred their way with a long metal rod with blue jewels on either end.

  The tall, silver-clad warrior gestured toward Christopher and a blue jewel flared dangerously bright. His eyes were like glowing embers.

  “I know you, Lord Kaym. What is the manner of your strange companion?”

  “A human.”

  “Human, you say, not angel? I see a spirit burning within.”

  Burning inside, burning inside…. Christopher almost laughed out loud as the song slipped into his mind. There weren’t any voices in his head, at least not yet, but he felt a little crazy all the same. Maybe Mom was right and he was spending too much time on the Net.

  “You have not seen his like before.” Kaym drew himself up to his full height, and his voice seemed to deepen as he spoke with authority. “I come in the name of Baal Chanan, and am charged to bring this one here into the presence of the Prince himself.”