by Vox Day
“No, not really,” Jami lied. “What do you mean?”
“Well, whatever they’re doing seems to be working. I can’t feel anything outside anymore.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not quite as scared now,” Jami admitted. “And like you said, at least they’re not trying to kill us.”
“I got a verse for you, church,” the black man shouted as the preacher hammered out a breakdown. “And I know you can tell me what it is!”
“Romans 16:19,” the congregation shouted back, hooting and hollering as the electric guitars kicked back in with a howling vengeance that was as righteous as it was deafening.
“This is crazy, but it’s kind of fun, too,” Holli yelled at Jami over the thunderous din.
But Aliel heard her and shook her head.
“No, this is how we fight our war,” the angel said.
And the God of Peace will soon crush Satan.
Yes, God will crush him underneath your feet….
Chapter 6
The Gates of Heaven
And the key of the house of David will I lay upon his shoulder; so he shall open, and none shall shut;
—Isaiah 22:22
The first thing that Christopher noticed about Heaven was that the Pearly Gates were actually pearly. Trimmed by a white substance which he could not identify and hinged with gold, the famous Gates towered over him, daunting despite their soft, gleaming appearance.
Fortunately, Christopher was the right side, which is to say, he was inside them. How this had happened, he had no idea, because one moment he’d been standing next to Kaym inside the Courts of Light, and the next he was standing here, alone, before the very Gates of Heaven.
He shrugged, and in doing so, noticed that a pair of large feathered wings were attached to his back. He waved them experimentally, and was delighted when he found himself rising from the gold-bricked street. The sensation of wings was an odd one, but it was not unpleasant, and he waved them more firmly, flapping, really, until he was nearly one hundred feet from the pavement.
One hundred feet is a long way down, he realized when he made the mistake of looking down. He gulped, and almost panicked, but the delightful feeling of flight quickly overwhelmed his fear and he relaxed, spreading his wings wide to float upon the gentle air currents. He soared towards the Gates, then away from them, building confidence all the while. Once he felt comfortable again, he dared to look down, taking in a bird’s eye view of Heaven. Angel’s eye, he corrected himself, laughing with the sheer joy of it all. Heaven was all right! Best of all, he didn’t even have to die in order to get in!
Heaven itself was a large place, a walled city built upon the peak of a massive mountain. It was so big that he could not see its end, but from the position of the sun he guessed that he was near its western edge. The walls were thick, as wide as a football field, and from his vantage point he could see only the single set of gates.
If that’s the only gate, I wonder where St. Peter is? He could see angels moving busily below, but none seemed to notice him or even to look around at the magnificent beauty that surrounded them. I guess you can get used to anything, he thought. How depressing. How long would it take before Heavenly perfection itself grew boring? He remembered a trip to Florida he’d taken two years ago. It was a two week vacation, and by the end of the second week, he’d been quite ready to leave the beaches and the eighty-degree weather for the snowy comforts of home. Then again, why were the angels so busy if there was nothing to do? It was a good question, and he thought about it as he sailed through the cloudless blue sky.
The sun was warm on his face, and he idly considered trying to reach it, like an angelic Icarus. Then he realized that the warmth did not come from the sun, but from beneath him, apparently radiating from something towards the center of the city. In fact, despite the bright light all about him, there was actually no sun in the sky at all!
Just as he turned to investigate, a booming voice called out to him.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“What?” Forgetting that he was almost a mile above the ground, Christopher whirled around, startled. His wings twisted awkwardly, and he lost control of them. He began to fall, a perilous tumble that quickly turned into an even more dangerous spin.
But strong wings reached out and arrested his fall, holding him fast while he caught his breath. He and his unseen rescuer were suspended in the sky for a long moment together, until his wings began beating again. Sensing the motion, his savior released him from the feathery embrace.
“Thank you,” Christopher said in an unsteady voice.
“You are welcome, surely,” said the being. It was an angel, but a very strange one, with four sets of brightly colored wings. Set within every feather were several eyes, most of which were focused on him. It was an unpleasant sensation, and when one feathery green eye blinked at him, he shuddered with disgust.
“What were you doing up here, all alone?” it asked.
“I was… ah… well, I…”
“Ah, there you are, little Kristorial! I was searching all over the Temple for you, but you were nowhere to be found. I should have known you’d be trying your wings out and about up here.”
Christopher gaped at the newcomer. The interloper was an angel about his size, with a sharp, ferret-like face and an abrupt, impatient manner.
“Your pardon, great Throne, but this one does not know his way about the Eternal City as yet. He was only born yesterday, you see.”
The Throne pursed its lips, then made a shrugging motion with its upper set of wings.
“I did not know the King was still creating angels. Since Raduriel fell, I have seen no new creatures in aeons.”
“Yes, well, we can’t have too many angels with those cursed Fallen lurking about outside now, can we?”
While Christopher was glad that he didn’t have to try explaining himself, there was something annoying about the newcomer. He wondered if his rescuer shared his feelings, because most of its many eyes appeared somewhat skeptical.
“No, surely not,” the Throne agreed. “So this stray is Kristorial, you say? What is your name, little one?”
“Jeqon, great sir. I have the honor of serving the Lord of Hosts under the command of Ar-Sidriel, first Heaven, seventh Host.”
“Sidriel, ah yes. I know him. An archangel now, is he?”
“Yes, great Throne. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re running late for our duty. If we don’t get back to the Gate soon, there’ll be hell to pay!”
The Throne snorted disapprovingly, but his lips twitched. Christopher himself was too startled to laugh.
“Guard your tongue, now, Jeqon. But it was kind of you to look after your fellow. It shall be noted.”
Jeqon bowed obsequiously.
“You are too kind, gracious sir.”
The Throne nodded in farewell. Without further ado, the mighty angel turned away and beat its powerful wings eastward, towards the center of the city.
His new companion grabbed his arm, hard. He was surprised to find that it hurt.
“Ouch!”
“What were you doing up here, fool! You were told to wait at the gate.”
Christopher protested weakly, but he knew he had no real excuse. His new wings were so much fun that he’d almost forgotten why he was in Heaven.
“Curse you!” Jeqon’s weasel-like face was red as he vented his fury at Christopher. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment, fearing all the while I’d be found out for a traitor, knowing they’d cast me beyond the Beyond? Maybe you’ve had it easy down there, lounging about in the Courts until now, but for the next six hours, you’d better keep your eyes open! If that Throne wasn’t so stupid, you would have ruined everything!”
Christopher blinked several times, surprised to learn that even his accomplice did not know he wasn’t an angel. He was surprised, too, at Jeqon’s unexpected outburst. Christopher had never thought much about angels before, but even if he had, he
never would have imagined that they’d behave like this. There didn’t seem to be anything noble, or holy, or beautiful about Jeqon, certainly, and even the great Throne was a little less lordly than he would have thought. He felt let-down, somehow. If these creatures really were angels, then he didn’t see what was so great about them. Well, there was the flying thing, that was pretty cool, of course.
“All right,” he said, raising his hand. “Shut up! Just tell me where I’m supposed to go, and what I’m supposed to do.”
Jeqon stared at him, taken aback by his sudden change of manner.
“We’re scheduled for guard duty tonight at the Twelfth Gate. But I haven’t been told what we’re supposed to do, other than get the Gate open. I thought that was your job, though I don’t see how an angel who can barely fly is going to unseal the Gate. Prince Michael himself sealed it, you know.”
“Just leave it to me,” Christopher said. Jeqon was really starting to get on his nerves. “Is there anyone else on guard with us?”
“Of course,” the angel replied. “There are always twelve guards in every guard detail.”
“It figures, I suppose. Twelve gates, twelve guards, one hundred and forty four… whatever. Almost makes you think that God is a mathematician with a numbers fixation.”
“What?”
“Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.” Christopher shot a superior look at the traitorous angel. “Have you ever danced on the head of a pin, by the way?”
“What?”
“Oh, forget it, just lead on and show me this gate of which you speak so highly.”
In the three hours it took them to make the long flight to the Twelfth Gate, Christopher learned more about angels than he had in a lifetime of reading. He learned they were indeed immortal, but that they could also feel pain and suffering like any other being. They could be petty, greedy, envious, ambitious and spiteful, indeed, Christopher was prepared to throw Jeqon’s name in the hat if anyone was looking for an official Angel of Spite. He learned that there were nine ranks in the angelic hierarchy, ranging from lowly angels like Jeqon at the bottom to the mighty Seraphim at the top. He learned which angels Jeqon liked, (there were few enough of these), and the legions he didn’t. The leagues passed beneath them as Christopher listened to a long litany of complaints against an endless series of unfamiliar names.
“Ar-Sidriel himself isn’t too bad, but you know, I do think I could do a better job of organizing the guard detail. Of course, Coranithel and Bar-ezriel are both muscle heads, dumber than rocks, but you always need a few of their sort around in case there’s going to be a fight….”
Christopher manfully repressed a yawn.
There were a few nuggets of gold amidst the dross of Jeqon’s droning though. Christopher learned that while angels could not be slain, they could be cast out for a time into what Jeqon darkly referred to as beyond the Beyond. It was similar to death, apparently, but it was not the same as mortal death, because the destroyed angels always eventually returned from the darkness. But the experience must be a bad one, because no angel returning from beyond the Beyond ever spoke a word about it.
“How do you get sent Beyond?”
“There’s many ways,” Jeqon replied. “For some of the great ones, the Thrones and the Cherubim, it is a simple matter of just speaking an angel’s true name. I mean, them speaking it, not the other way around. Of course, lesser angels like you and I need a little help, which is why we carry swords.”
“Swords?” Christopher looked wildly around his robes and failed to find one. “Shouldn’t I have one then? Where’s yours?”
“I left it in the barracks when I went to meet you.” Jeqon scowled at him. “I wasn’t planning on spending half the afternoon looking for you.”
“Yeah, well, sorry about that.”
Christopher ignored Jeqon’s grumblings and wondered if one of these swords were capable of harming him. It probably would, especially since he now carried the spark of Kaym’s angelic power within him. The thought of Kaym made him wonder where the fallen angel ranked in the hierarchy.”
“Have you ever heard of an angel named Kaym? Is he one of the great ones?”
Jeqon shook his head.
“I’ve never heard of him, and I know most of the Cherubim and Seraphim, Divine and Fallen. Not personally, you know, but I know who they are, what they look like, all that kind of thing. Now hush, we’re getting close to the Gate. You keep your mouth sealed and let me do all the talking.”
“Like I’d have a choice,” Christopher muttered to himself. He added self-obsession to his catalog of angelic flaws. After three hours of Jeqon, it was an extensive list.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
As they began a gentle descent, Christopher began to worry. What if the other angels didn’t believe Jeqon? What if the guard detail was split up and he was paired with some other angel than Jeqon? Worst of all, what if he blew the landing and crashed headfirst into the wall?
The other angels of their detail were now in sight, and the sight of swords belted to their sides gave Christopher a new cause for concern. He had no weapon, and he knew Jeqon didn’t either. How were they going to overpower their companions, unless they too were secretly in league with the Prince. He was pretty sure they weren’t, though, or Jeqon would surely have mentioned it.
Christopher lagged just a little behind Jeqon, and watched how the angel spread his wings and flapped gently to slow himself as he came to an easy rest upon his feet. His own landing was a little on the awkward side, but he covered for his clumsiness by pretending to turn his ankle as he came down. The ruse worked, apparently, for aside from a few solicitous questions about his foot, none of the angels seemed suspicious.
He looked up from his faked injury to see a tall, stern-looking angel glaring at him. Not an angel, but an archangel, he corrected himself, noting the silver feathers Jeqon had described to him earlier.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” the archangel asked in a commanding tone of voice. “Jeqon, where is your fellow, Israfel?”
Christopher sighed. It seemed as if Heaven was a giant Swiss clock and he was a little rat scurrying around inside its perfect mechanism, constantly attracting unwanted attention by accidentally interfering with its immaculate precision.
“His name is Kristorial, sir, and Israfel is no longer with us,” Jeqon answered easily. “There was an attack by the Fallen near the First Gate. Israfel and I happened to be walking nearby at the time…”
“An attack, really?” The other angels, most of whom had been ignoring the latecomers, were interested now. “Near the First Gate, you say?”
“What were you doing at the First Gate?” the archangel demanded, waving the others to silence.
“Did I say the First Gate?” Jeqon coughed. “I’m sorry, I meant the Fifth, of course.”
The stern expression on Ar-Sidriel’s face vanished, replaced by an interested curiosity.
“The Fifth Gate, then. An attack by the Fallen? What happened?”
“There must have been thirty of them, led by an angel of utter darkness named Belphiel. He wasn’t a Great One, but he was big and strong.”
“Belphiel… hmmm… the name sounds familiar,” mused Ar-Sidriel. “A Domination once, if my memory serves me correctly.”
“Yes, well, it was Belphiel himself who cut Israfel down. A mighty warrior prince, with four arms and each of them bearing a giant blade. I tried to stop him, but he brushed me aside as if I were nothing! It was then that I lost my sword, as it was torn from my grasp after I buried it in the Fallen one’s leg.”
Christopher sniggered, and Jeqon looked at him sharply. Christopher only rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh as the traitorous angel continued with his fictitious story of the Fallen raid. A raid that was stopped only by the heroics of the story’s teller, who kept his head when all the angels about him were losing theirs and flew to find the great Cherubim, Qamael. And though it was Qamael who finally ro
uted the evil intruders, Jeqon left no doubt about who the real hero had been.
Christopher watched, dumbfounded, as the angels swallowed the ridiculous story, hook, line, and sinker. Only Ar-Sidriel seemed skeptical.
“That’s quite a story, Jeqon,” he said. He turned to Christopher. “Did you see Lord Qamael battle the Fallen one, Kristorial?”
“I saw the Great One, sir,” he answered truthfully. “But I did not know his name.”
With no reason to doubt his word, the archangel was reluctantly forced to accept Jeqon’s unlikely tale.
“It is not for me to argue with a Great One,” Ar-Sidriel pronounced as he ordered his angels to their stations around the Gate. “Jeqon, Kristorial, since you are both weaponless, you will share the first watch with Uzaziel and me in the south tower. I would hear more of today’s battle.”
And so Christopher was forced to listen to more of Jeqon’s extravagant lies. By the time Jeqon finished telling the expanded version of the story, he’d also claimed responsibility for destroying two fallen angels, (although he hinted that they might have actually been archangels), as well as saving Christopher from one of Belphiel’s terrible swords.
Christopher soon lost interest in Jeqon’s lying fantasies and turned away from the group to look out over the edge of Heaven. The view was spectacular. The rosy golden rays of the fading light spilled out across the clouds beneath him like melted jewels, dripping little splashes of ruby, sapphire, and emerald in an incredible, candy-bright waterfall of light.
As the light at the center of the Eternal City disappeared and the last rays of brilliant color were swept away, the sky darkened but did not fade to black. There was a warm glow circulating through the city that reminded Christopher of a midnight bonfire at summer camp, a soft radiance that engulfed Heaven in a peaceful haze. He did not like it, though. It was smothering, like a wool blanket in summer. It made him feel trapped and uneasy, as if the glow might somehow sense that he did not belong here.
Beyond the walls was only the cold comfort of the dark. It was soothing to look out on a place that the eerie warmth did not touch, could not touch. He could almost feel the army of invisible warriors waiting for him, the legions sworn to a light that did not glow, but shined gloriously instead. He grinned suddenly, thinking of the devastation they would wreak upon the sleeping city. The night sky would be lit by flames, lovely red and yellow flames. Kaym’s power was growing inside him, swelling, urging him to action. Yes, he thought, oh yes. It was time to act.