The War in Heaven (Eternal Warriors Book 1)

by Vox Day

  Christopher was alarmed by the harsh tone of the Prince’s warning. Nor did he understand its possible implications until a commotion at the back of the room caught his attention. He turned around, and was surprised to see the Archon Verchiel standing behind him in human form with a furious look on his face.

  “How can this be, O Prince? It may be that this one has served you well, and thus it is just that he be rewarded. But he is not an angel, nor, even as a named Power, does he have the authority to command the Ben Elohim. He does not have the right!”

  “Wretched angel, dost thou think to question Our will?” If the Prince’s whispered words had been harsh, they were doubly so now. His azure eyes flared red with fury, and the angels gasped.

  “No, Great Prince!” Lord Verchiel, his face blanching, fell to his knees. “I do not question Your will, Bright Shining One. I only speak aloud what is secretly in the minds of every angel in these Courts, O Prince. I speak the truth! Look into my mind, and see that it is so!”

  The Prince leaned forward and looked deep into the archon’s terrified eyes.

  “Aye, it is so.” He grinned coldly. “And We see thou thinkest thou hast been slighted, that is also so.”

  Verchiel’s eyes opened wide, horrified that his hidden thoughts had so readily betrayed him. He started to protest at first, but then his eyes flashed angrily and he responded with open indignation.

  “Yes, my Prince, I do. I, too, have served You well. Ask Baal Chanan. Ask Lord Kaym. They were there, and they will tell you that without the valor of Verchiel and his cohort, the legions of Baal Phaleg would never have come in time!”

  The Prince glanced over at Kaym, who nodded reluctantly. Despite his dislike for the archon, Christopher had to admit that Verchiel had a point. He might be stupid and vain, but he had fought well in helping Christopher and Kaym’s run to the Tenth Gate.

  “Let it be so,” the Shining One decided quickly. “We shall not revoke Our Will, but We give thee leave to challenge Phaoton, if that be thy wish.”

  What? Christopher couldn’t believe that Prince Lucere was going to throw him to the lions like that. The Prince had to be kidding! He looked desperately to Kaym for help, hoping the fallen angel would speak up for him, or somehow get him out of this, but Kaym just stood there with his arms calmly folded.

  “Yes, Great Prince! Thank you, Great Prince!”

  Lord Verchiel bowed deeply before the throne, and turned to face Christopher. His jealous eyes were burning with unveiled satisfaction as he looked Christopher over from head to toe.

  “You can call yourself whatever you like, Phaoton, but it will take more than a name to help you now!”

  At the Prince’s command, a circle was drawn up in the middle of the chamber. Runes were inscribed at four points around the circle, and Christopher, his stomach starting to tighten, glanced nervously over at Kaym.

  “Kaym, what are they doing?” He felt as if an entire herd of butterflies were stampeding around his insides. No, not a herd, but a flock. Gaggle? What was the stupid word anyhow? A swarm, maybe? Christopher desperately tried to think about anything other than the upcoming fight.

  “It’s part of the challenge ritual. Once you enter the circle, you cannot leave until one of you has submitted to the other. It’s similar in some respects to the earthly tradition of the duel.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Oh well. I didn’t really think angels were into sumo wrestling.”

  Kaym laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not possible to get thrown out of the circle.”

  “That isn’t what I’m worried about.” Christopher grimaced. “What I’m worried about is what happens when I lose? Can he kill me? Send me Beyond? Would I die?”

  “It is permitted, yes, though you will not die, in the earthly sense. No weapons are allowed, and since he’s only an Archon, I doubt Verchiel is strong enough to send you Beyond on his own. He can, of course, drain you of most of your power if he can force you to submit. That is surely his desire.”

  “My power? You mean, the power you gave me?”

  “Yes.” Kaym didn’t look too concerned about it, but Christopher was horrified by the thought.

  “But, wouldn’t that be bad?”

  “Very much so,” Kaym agreed. “I’m told it’s very painful, so don’t let him beat you. But remember that he isn’t expecting much from you, so you might be able to take him by surprise.

  “Okay, I guess.” Christopher looked across the glowing red line that demarcated the circle at his opponent. “What’s he doing now?”

  Thirty feet in front of him, Verchiel was undergoing a series of bizarre transformations. First he swelled, dropped to all fours, and displayed the Aspect Christopher had seen before, the ferocious winged lion of battle. Then his shape flattened, and plated arms extended from his sides as his front legs stretched out and developed large pincers. His tail curved over his head, and a poisonous barb appeared at the tip. The scorpion turned into a monstrous bull-headed human, then back into the form of a tall, ridiculously handsome man. Finished with his display, Verchiel stood there smiling at him, full of malicious intent.

  “So what was that all about?”

  “It’s a taunt, an insult,” the fallen angel said. “He’s demonstrating to everyone that he can beat you even if he shows you his best tricks beforehand.”

  “Oh.” Christopher raised his left hand to his forehead.

  “What was that?”

  “The sign of the L. I’m demonstrating to everyone that he’s a loser.”

  “Brave words,” Kaym laughed approvingly. “Then you are ready?”

  “I hope so. I don’t want to fight, but if I have to fight somebody, I’m glad it’s Verchiel. There’s something about him that just pisses me off!” He reached inside his robes, and was reassured by the familiar touch of the key. “You said no weapons, right? So, do you think that a certain something-something I might have with me counts as a weapon?”

  “I don’t know.” Kaym looked at him seriously. “I don’t know if that little trick will work for you again. I think it would be much better if you didn’t use it, not if you can help it. Prince Lucere won’t like it.”

  “Why not?” Christopher felt that he needed any advantage he could get.

  But before Kaym could answer him, the trumpets sounded, indicating the start of the contest. Christopher felt hands at his back, pushing him forward, and before he could resist, he stumbled inside the red lines.

  He jumped, startled, as a wall of flames erupted behind him. The circle was now a line of blazing fire, but strangely, the heat did not affect him. Nor did it affect his opponent, who had entered the circle wearing his favorite Aspect, the Lion.

  Verchiel roared and leaped at him. Christopher tried to dive sideways, but the speed of the attack took him by surprise and the Archon’s long claws raked his unprotected back. He barely managed to roll clear of the sharp-toothed jaws, and after quickly spinning around, he kept a wary eye on the grinning lion as he rose painfully to his feet. The striped wounds burned beneath his torn robe, until he remembered his new powers.

  With a brief thought, he healed the deep scratches and transformed into a Roman gladiator. Suddenly, he was no longer a defenseless Christian waiting to be devoured, but a Retarius, a burly warrior armed with a corded net and a trident. When Verchiel leaped again, Christopher was ready. He cast the net directly in the path of the onrushing lion and stepped to the side. The Archon slammed into the net and was ensnared, snarling and snapping as he fought desperately to free himself of the thick cords. Christopher laughed triumphantly, raised the trident high over his head with both hands, ready to strike a mortal blow.

  But as he struck, Verchiel transformed. Instead of being buried into the lion’s soft side, the trident’s iron barbs were deflected from the hard armored back of a giant scorpion. Armed now with razor-sharp pincers, Verchiel quickly cut himself free of the net and scuttled towards Christopher, waving his poisoned tail. Too fast to be seen, the barbed tai
l lashed out and pierced Christopher’s side, and Christopher gasped as the venom spread throughout his body with a terrible feeling of cold numbness.

  Christopher dropped the trident, and it disappeared as soon as it fell free of his hand. He fell to the ground, clutching his unfeeling side. With a great effort of will, he managed to force the poison from his body, but the strain left him feeling weak and unfocused. By the time he could lift his head, Verchiel was towering over him in his great bull-demon form, bellowing in triumph. A clawed hand reached down for him and palmed his head like a basketball, its sharp talons jabbing deeply into his scalp. As the pressure grew stronger and the sharp pain became almost unbearable, he could barely understand what the Archon’s bestial muzzle was shouting at him.

  “Submit, fool! Submit, or I crush your head, and send you screaming into the Deep!”

  It hurt so badly that Christopher would have happily done so, if he could have found his tongue. But the shock of the excruciating pain was so great that he could do little but suffer as Verchiel’s powerful grip grew tighter, and drops of blood began to trickle down his face. He could see nothing, only a blinding haze of red that was growing darker by the second.

  He knew that the key was his only hope, his only chance for salvation. He fought to block out the pain and the increasing darkness as he desperately sought to find the little piece of metal. Finally, his fingers closed upon it, and with the last shards of his flagging will, thrust it blindly upwards.

  Immediately, the terrible pressure disappeared, and Christopher fell back on the floor, gasping for air. His vision began to clear, and he could just make out the fallen bull-demon only inches away, curled in an awkward ball with both claws clutching at his knee. His ears ringing from Verchiel’s agonized howls, Christopher wearily pulled himself upright and saw that the key had embedded itself into the Archon’s left leg, in the form of a tiny dagger.

  He crawled quickly over, and with one hand gripping the writhing angel’s throat, grasped the jeweled haft of the dagger with the other.

  “Do you submit?” he demanded.

  “Never,” hissed Verchiel.

  “Are you sure of that?” As he spoke, he twisted the blade, provoking even louder bellows of pain from the wounded Archon.

  The bull Aspect shimmered and disappeared, replaced by an angelic form as Verchiel’s weakened will began to collapse. His handsome, haughty face was now twisted with pain and impotent rage.

  “Yes, yes.” the Archon wailed. “I submit!”

  But it was too late. Christopher knew how to hate; he’d been a reject and an outcast as long as he could remember. In Verchiel’s arrogant beauty, he suddenly saw Kent Peterson and Julie Kells. He saw the jocks and the cheerleaders. He saw the face of every boy who’d ever taunted him, every girl who’d ever laughed at him. The dull embers of his helpless, long-held hatred abruptly ignited into a white-hot flame.

  “I didn’t hear that,” Christopher said coldly as he withdrew the toy-like blade from Verchiel’s leg and drove it into the archon’s heart.

  Verchiel abruptly disappeared in a huge flash of red, and the encircling flames climbed higher, until they formed a sphere towering nearly twenty feet over Christopher’s head. The jewels in the dagger’s handle flashed brightly in response, and he saw that upon each of the five jewels were carved the same runes he had seen before on the key. A moment later, the dagger was again a harmless key, and the flames surrounding him died down enough that he could step carefully over them without being burned.

  He closed his hand, hiding the key inside his fist as the watching angels began to loudly cheer him. They seemed surprised, but not disappointed by his victory. Only Kaym and the Prince himself were silent as he raised his fist upright in triumph and the assembled angels roared their approval.

  “Ave, Phaoton!”

  “Thou art mighty!”

  “Thou hast conquered!”

  He felt like a giant, or a conquering king. Now he could understand why the football players were always so cocky at school; it was hard to remember you were only human when people screamed and shouted for you. But he wasn’t only human anymore, he was a Power!

  Kaym stepped over the flickering remnants of the flames and approached Christopher. His dark eyes were unreadable as he placed an arm on his protégé’s shoulder and spoke quietly into his ear.

  “You have won a great victory today. Never before has a newly-raised power defeated an archon in the Circle of Fire, much less sent him Beyond. The gathering demands a sign from you, a symbol of your destiny.”

  “A symbol? I don’t understand, what should I do?”

  “Manifest,” an angel cried, and soon the crowd joined his call. “Manifest, Phaoton!”

  Oh, that was it. He had to show them an Aspect. Christopher shook his head, trying to think of an appropriate symbol for himself. He looked at Kaym, hoping for help, but the fallen angel shook his head.

  “I cannot help you. This choice is yours alone to make.”

  As the waiting angels continued their noisy chant, Christopher looked towards the front and his eyes met those of the Dawn Prince. Adonai Lucere did not look pleased, and the expression on His face frightened Christopher to the depths of his soul. He was extremely aware of the key concealed in his fist, and he hoped against hope that the Prince could not see it. His mind raced frantically, leaping from one image to another, his creativity inspired by his desperate fear of the Prince’s wrath.

  Hiding the key inside his shredded, bloody robe, he took a deep breath, then assumed a new Aspect. His feathered wings disappeared, as did his clothing, and he stood naked before the assembly, tall and beautiful, an unflawed specimen of humanity. His face mirrored the Prince’s own, but it was beardless, and the hue of his short, golden hair was the exact shade of the Prince’s flowing locks. Only the color of his eyes was different, the rose-gold of the morning star instead of the sea’s deep blue. Displaying the ultimate embodiment of human perfection, Christopher slowly lowered himself to his knees, and abased himself before the Dawn Prince.

  The angels abruptly stopped cheering, and he closed his eyes, not daring to look upon the Prince. There was a long, excruciating moment of haunting silence, finally broken by Adonai Lucere himself.

  “Rise, Phaoton.”

  Christopher obeyed at once, but did not dare to lift his head.

  “Look at Me.”

  Reluctantly, Christopher lifted his head. He was shocked to see that the Prince was smiling broadly, with genuine amusement dancing in his azure eyes. Then the Prince stepped forward and caressed Christopher’s cheek as he spoke quiet words intended for Christopher alone.

  “Thou art too clever for thine own good, dear Christopher, dear Phaoton. Too clever by far. But thou art all Kaym hath promised Me and more. It is well that thou knowest thy place. Remember it.”

  He smiled reassuringly at Christopher, then raised his voice and addressed the assembly.

  “The claim of Lord Verchiel hath been settled. Is there any other that disputeth Phaoton’s claim to his place in the Order of Sammael?”

  This time, there was no protest, only a few scattered cheers.

  The Prince nodded, satisfied.

  “Then We declare that Phaoton, of the Rose Sefiroth of Sammael, shalt take command of Our legions on Ahura Azdha, where he shall serve as a lieutenant to Our legate, the Lord Matraya. Such is Our will.”

  “Let it be done, O Shining One.”

  As Christopher began to step down from the dais and into the adulation of the crowd, he did not see the Prince exchange a glance with Kaym. He did not see the wordless query in Adonai Lucere’s shining eyes, nor Kaym’s returning nod of affirmation.

  Chapter 11

  People of the Dawn

  How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!

  —Isaiah 14:12

  Rahab was a large world of vast oceans divided by three large continents. It was
called Ahura Azdha by its inhabitants, a tall, handsome people that reminded Christopher of his High Elves, only without the pointy ears. The People of the Golden Dawn, as its people were known, were a proud, haughty folk, devoted to pleasure above all else, and because they were encouraged in this by their undying ruler, Lord Matraya, they loved him greatly. Lord Matraya was a mortal king that Adonai Lucere had possessed on this world thousands of years ago, long before his exile from Heaven. Now, there were thousands of temples dedicated to the Son of the Morning, where the People of the Golden Dawn worshipped their shining god-king.

  News of their god’s great victory over Heaven had reached Ahura Azdha quickly, traveling as it did upon an angel’s wings, and had occasioned days of riotous celebration that were only now subsiding. The pleasure-loving People of the Dawn were prone to revel on the slightest pretext, and they threw themselves with great abandon into revelries celebrating their much-loved God.

  “What’s this Lord Matraya like?” Christopher asked as they walked, in unobtrusive human form, in the general direction of the ruler’s palace. “I thought he was just a man, but some of the angels talk about him like he’s one of the Great Lords.”

  They had arrived on the planet in the middle of Aurora, the city that was the capital of Prometheon, the greatest kingdom in all Ahura Azdha. It was here in Aurora that Adonai Lucere had first shown himself to man, and it was here where his most fiercely loyal worshippers were found. Aurora was a vast walled city of stately stone buildings interspersed with grassy parks, where nearly every square was decorated with a light-reflecting fountain, a monument that mirrored the sun, or a beautifully-sculpted statue. Its delicate architecture was fantastic, almost to the point of being surreal. Christopher liked it very much, except for the strange yellow sky that arced ominously overhead.

  “Matraya? Oh, he’s human enough. He’s the Prince’s creature, but now that the Prince has left this place for Heaven, Jehuel guides him. That’s what the Prince intended by naming Jehuel his Legate. We do not rule openly in the world of men, but through mortal instruments, and Matraya is the greatest of these, a powerful vessel of the Prince’s light.