by Vox Day
“When the Enemy presses you hard do not fear!”
The other angels replied with voices that rumbled through the clouds like thunder.
“The battle belongs to the Lord.”
“Take courage my friends, your redemption is near!”
“The battle belongs to the Lord.”
Lokhael raised something high above his head as the three angels raised their voices in a triumphant chorus.
“We sing glory, honor,
Power and strength to the Lord
We sing glory, honor,
Power and strength to the Lord….”
As she stared at the warrior angel, wondering why in the world he was stopping to sing, Jami realized that Lokhael was holding the key to the Tower in his bronze hands. It was bright red now, glowing hot like a fiery coal. As the angels finished their chorus, he snapped the key in two.
The snap was echoed by the distant sound of cracking glass mixed with the unmistakable wail of human screaming. Jami whipped her head around just in time to see that the clear crystal of the Tower had turned blood red and was splintering into millions of pieces. The cries came from the enemy troops climbing its sides, screaming with fear as they realized that the Tower was about to collapse.
But before the shattered Tower fell, one of the angels withdrew a trumpet from its robes, and its brassy cry was echoed moments later by a mighty blast that shook the earth. Even the sky seemed to shake. Jami clung to Jhoforael’s mane, stunned speechless, as the splintered Tower exploded, hurling thousands of glass fragments in all directions, slicing through the attackers like a blender destroying a tomato. In a single heartbeat, there was not an enemy soul left standing. It was amazing. Moments before, there was a tower and an army, and the next moment there was… nothing, nothing. Nothing but a few fluttering shadows, circling in confusion above the terrible ruin of the battlefield.
“Oh, Jami, I think I’m going to be sick!” Holli cried, and a moment later, she noisily proved herself right.
That didn’t help. Jami had to swallow hard a few times herself before she was sure she wasn’t going to throw up.
“Our God is mighty,” Jhoforael said solemnly. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
“Oh, but how can you say that?” Holli asked, looking more than a little devastated herself. “It’s so terrible, so terrible.”
Lokhael heard and answered Holli.
“He did this so that all the peoples of the earth might know that the hand of the Lord is powerful, and so that you might always fear the Lord your God.”
“But I thought God was supposed to be, like, a loving God,” Holli protested.
“He is. But he is also just, and this shall be a warning to the Son of the Morning, and to Matraya, who is his slave.”
“A warning?” Jami closed her eyes, hoping to forget what she had seen. Some warning.
“The Lord is merciful and slow to anger, but when his anger comes, it is sudden, like the whirlwind,” Lokhael said.
“The Son of the Morning must repent of his rebellion,” added Khasar. “Or he will drink the bitter wine of the wrath of the Almighty. As will those who follow him.”
Jami saw her sister shake her head. She looked sad and miserable, but Jami thought she got some of what the angels were telling them. She felt a jerk as Jhoforael started moving his wings again.
“Maybe that’s what the Lady meant,” she said out loud as they resumed their journey.
“What the Lady meant?” Jhoforael asked.
“About the fear of the Lord being the beginning. Of knowledge, or whatever.”
“Wisdom.”
“Okay, well, wisdom then.” She started to glance back at where the Tower had been, then stopped herself. She had already seen what God could do. Fear of the Lord wasn’t going to be a problem in her book. “Is there a difference?”
“There is. Wisdom is supreme, therefore seek it, you. Though it cost you all you have, seek understanding. Esteem her, and she will exalt you. Embrace her, and she will honor you.”
It was the first long statement she had heard from the white Archon in the short time that she’d known him. He didn’t seem to be very talkative, so she thought about his words as they flew, riding the wind, towards the dangers waiting unknown in the east.
Chapter 17
Sons of Pride
We have heard of the pride of Moab; he is very proud: even of his haughtiness, and his pride, and his wrath:
—Isaiah 16:6
Through Lord Matraya’s mortal eyes, Kaym surveyed Asmodel’s newly manufactured legions of ur-mortals with satisfaction. The Anakhim, or Sons of Pride, as Asmodel proudly named them, stood in row after row of red-clad warriors, their lines stretching out as far as the eye could see. The rosy rays of the rising sun cast a bloody hue upon their unsheathed weapons, a favorable omen before battle. The ur-mortals were eager to fight, their blood fired by the angelic power coursing within them and they slavered after his promise of the divinity that would be bestowed upon them after the battle.
Each group of twenty was captained by a real angel, most of who were exhausted after the carnal activities of the previous day. The preparations had gone on until the wee hours of the morning, when the last of one hundred thousand mortals had been infused with the angelic flame of the eternal.
Lord Asmodel had favored the last mortal himself, an attractive woman with red hair whose features reminded Kaym of the lovely Seraph, Raphael. Kaym had suspected that the Zodiac Lord had gone too far, given her too much in his bullish enthusiasm, and now he watched as her exotic features were distorted with pain as she fought to keep the Bull’s chaotic power from shifting her form again. Already, she had taken on some of the aspects of Asmodel’s Sign, as horns curved outwards from her forehead and her boots were split by the cloven toes that peeked out from amidst the ruptured leather. Godhood, Kaym decided, was not an easy task for mortals.
The fallen angel shrugged indifferently and turned away from Asmodel’s creations. He did not like them, but he had need of them, two for every angel in Asrael’s Host, and that was all that mattered. All that mattered until the battle actually started. He had no doubt that the true spirits of the Divine Host would brush aside the Anakhim like a flood uprooting a new grown sapling, but Asmodel had done his part and Kaym had what he needed. He would do his part, and if Christopher could help him by removing that narcissistic idiot Jehuel, then this makeshift Legion might stand a decent chance of winning.
The sun had risen less than an hour before, an auspicious time for an army that fought in the name of the Son of the Morning. The yellow sky was clear and the winds were still, but Kaym knew that the respite was only momentary. Sure enough, trumpet blasts echoing from the nearby hills gave the first sign of the approaching Divine Host. Soon Asrael’s vanguard was within sight, speeding high over the southern plains, a vast array of white wings beating together in a rhythm that sent a sweet-smelling breeze cascading over Kaym’s waiting army. Kaym wrinkled his nose and spat, and moments later, the rest of the Host appeared, an incendiary cavalcade of fiery chariots, flaming swords, and flashing wings.
It was an awesome sight, but Kaym was pleased to see that the Anakhim did not flinch before the Divine display of force. With weapons held ready and nostrils flaring with anticipation, they waited for his command. He did not give it, though, even as a trumpet blew three notes and a thousand archangels began to hurl thunderbolts down at his unshielded army.
He watched, impassively, as the deadly bolts of lightning exploded within his ranks and five thousand Anakhim were blown to pieces, their mortal frames too weak to withstand the power of the spiritual bombardment. The ground shook under the massive detonations, and the surviving ur-mortals wailed as they were spattered with the gory remnants of their companions.
“He’s not mixing his ranks, Lord Kaym,” Asmodel told him, wearing a fierce Aspect of a fearsome four-armed, bull-headed minotaur with wings. “All his archangels are on the right.”
&
nbsp; “There were only a thousand in that last blast. He should have twice that,” Kaym pointed out. “Let’s wait and see if he’ll try another crack at us. He’s already confused, because he thought we’d only have one legion.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” The Bull was no coward, but passive endurance was not his way. “If the Anakhim break, we’re finished, and there’s no sign of Prince Jehuel yet.”
Kaym smiled to himself. If things went well, there never would be. But Asmodel didn’t need to know that.
“That’s why I need to wait. Even with our numbers, we’re not going to win this battle without Leviathan. The longer we can wait before my hand is forced, the better off we’ll be.”
The Bull grumbled, but he had no counter-argument ready at hand. He stood beside Kaym and together they watched the flaming skies in silence. The Divine trumpet sounded, and again the Host cast forth a terrible bombardment. This time, two thousand bolts of lightning fell, accompanied by five hundred massive fireballs launched from the left side of the Host.
This second attack was far deadlier than the first. The huge balls of fire, hurled by Asrael’s mighty Powers, blasted deep craters into the earth, sending shards of rocky shrapnel hurtling through the Fallen ranks. Twenty thousand more ur-mortals were slain in one horrid moment of thunder, screams, and bloodshed, and eighty of their angelic captains perished with them. Weak from exhaustion, their flames were snuffed out by the righteous wrath of the Divine.
Now the Sons of Pride truly quailed, as they began to understand that their godlike strength was not enough to withstand the power of the Beni Elohim. Shouts of fear and panic filled the air, and as Asmodel feared, the ranks toward the rear of the Fallen army began to break away and run towards the protection of Aurora’s high stone walls.
But even as thousands of ur-mortals ran and tens of thousands more considered the possibility, Kaym refused to change his plans. As he expected, just moments later, two towering walls of flames appeared between the panic-stricken Anakhim and the city, cutting off the deserters’ escape route. The Archon Mahalidael was stationed with the rearguard, and the zodiacal Lord of the Ram had done his duty exactly as instructed.
Kaym grinned at Asmodel as one deserter, more desperate than the rest, dared to essay the fire. He burst through the first wall with his skin ablaze and stumbled into the second, the flames of which quickly enveloped him in their fatal embrace. His piercing screams of soul-searing agony were enough to convince the rest of the deserters that they had no choice but to return, where they were met by a small force of angels who quickly directed them back into fighting ranks.
“There, you see?” he pointed. “They will not run.”
“No, they won’t,” Asmodel agreed, shaking his horned head ruefully. “Good, you were ready for that. But what are you waiting for?”
Kaym didn’t bother to reply, preferring instead to watch as Mahalidael’s angels efficiently restored the shocked rearguard to good order. In the main body, his captains were trying to do the same, and their angry shouts and curses drowned out the cries of dying Anakhim as they repaired the gaping holes in their ranks created by the Divine onslaught. Slowly, but surely, order was restored
“It’s time!” Asmodel bellowed at him, his red eyes swirling angrily. “They won’t stand another strike! They’re ready, curse you, now let them loose!”
Kaym nodded slowly, noting the Divine formation. The Bull was right. It was time.
“Hit their middle, but if you manage to break their line, try to move through to the right,” he commanded. “Stay as far from their Powers as you can, and I’ll try to keep their archangels from flanking you.”
“Selah!” Asmodel roared. “What about Jehuel?”
“Mahalidael knows what to do if he shows up. Go, thou, and slay, in the name of the Shining One.”
“Fiat!”
The bull-headed Archon nodded and spread his wings, hungry to lead the Fallen attack. He lifted a gilded ram’s horn from his belt and blew a short series of angry notes. As if in answer, there was a rumbling sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within the earth, and the ground began to violently shake. The very rocks undulated beneath the Fallen army, causing more than a few ur-mortals to lose their balance and fall, as the Auroran plain did a fair imitation of an uncertain sea.
But Asmodel’s belligerent call gave heart to the embattled Anakhim, who were hard-pressed just to maintain their ranks as the ground beneath their feet continued to roll and shake. They roared their defiance of Heaven as the Bull leaped into the air, and hurled a blue-tinged fireball up towards the waiting enemy lines. It was the sign that the Fallen army had been waiting for.
As Kaym watched, Asmodel sped towards the enemy, with the Anakhim right behind him, seventy-five thousand strong, swarming up from the ground like a huge flock of deadly, black-winged birds. Kaym was pleased to see that the ur-mortals did not shrink from the imminent conflict, indeed, the call to abandon the treacherous ground where they were helpless before the Divine thunderbolts seemed to come as a relief. Released into action at last, they howled with fury, eager to revenge themselves upon the angelic forms of their Divine foe.
As they saw that his army was finally moving to attack, Asrael’s powers and archangels launched another barrage of lightning and thunder, but this time, Kaym had no intention of allowing them to shred his forces. He drew upon the massed power of the thousand angels he’d been holding in reserve and unleashed a prepared spell. The stars of Taurus glowed hotly red as a vast inky net shot across the sky, filling the gap between the rapidly closing armies for a brief moment, and absorbing the full force of the Divine assault. Then, without a sound, it disappeared again, as quickly as it had come. But Kaym was satisfied, for the spell had served his purpose.
A few thunderbolts had found their way through his dark net, and several Fallen warriors, stricken, dropped from the sky like stones. But before their tumbling bodies even hit the ground, Asmodel and the first of the Anakhim were already engaging Asrael’s vanguard. They smashed into the Divine lines like a black blade slashing through white silk.
The struggle in the sky was a fierce one. The very presence of the Anakhim had upset Asrael’s plans, while their greedy lust for battle made them strong, stronger even than Kaym had hoped. The savagery of Asmodel’s initial assault had come close to breaking the Divine middle, but Asrael’s rear guard stiffened and Kaym realized that the breakthrough he had planned for was not going to happen. It was not long before the greater strength of the Divine angels began to tell, and inexorably, as the Anakhim weakened, the tide of battle began to turn against the Fallen.
Kaym frowned and cursed himself for a fool as he saw Ra’shiel, the twice-traitorous archon, lead five thousand flaming chariots away from the Divine right, moving in a swift arc that would send them hammering into Asmodel’s unguarded left flank. Ra’shiel was trying to divide the Fallen force in two, panicking the rear half into retreat while engulfing the rest, trapping them for wholesale slaughter. Kaym knew he should have placed his reserve force between Ra’shiel and his target, but the angels were still weak from his great spell and the Divine archon had moved faster than he’d expected.
Kaym folded his arms and thought upon which would be the worse of his two apparent options; perishing in battle or reporting failure to the Dawn Prince. His chances were better in battle, he decided, when he realized that the ground was still shaking, even more violently than before. It seemed to be coming from the south, and sure enough, there was a hill ten stadia away, one that had not been there when he’d surveyed the ground that morning.
Mahalidael rushed towards him, and the Ram’s face was filled with wonder and fear.
“What is that?” he asked Kaym, pointing unsteadily at the ever-growing hill.
“It’s the King of Heaven!” a nearby angel cried. “Come to curse us and send us all Beyond!”
Kaym threw back his head and began to laugh. Whether it was Christopher or Jehuel, their timing coul
d not be better. Ignoring the battle in the sky, he pointed to the bulging ground, as the giant mound grew wider and higher before his angels’ amazed eyes. Filled with joy at the thought of the coming victory, he triumphantly shook his fist at them.
“Your salvation, fools, an I mistake it not!” he declared, enthusiastically slipping back into the archaic. “Spirits of small faith, unleash thy swords, for in Chaos shalt salvation find!”
Before him, the hill swelled into a mountain, pregnant with the awful expectance of an uneasy volcano. Before the stunned eyes of the Fallen rearguard, it erupted, vomiting forth a huge, black monster amidst a boiling shower of shattered rocks and magma.
Christopher felt like he was riding a rollercoaster, as Leviathan rose ever higher into the sky, lifted by the powerful blast of the eruption. The force of the blast was an unsteady support, and he could feel the dragon straining with all of his mighty strength to keep from tumbling tail over three heads. It was terrifying, but exciting too, and he didn’t even have to pay for admission!
Melusine shrieked and clung to his waist so tightly he could hardly breathe, which was just as well given the ash and poisonous gases that surrounded them in a dark-grey cloud of death. Fortunately, his mostly immaterial state rendered it harmless to him, while Melusine, of course, was immortal.
They finally reached a height at which the deadly cloud stopped rising with them, and Christopher was able to see the battlefield, if that was the right word for the chaotic violence that filled the sky before him. They were nearly half a mile away from the action, which was mostly below them, but Christopher’s game-practiced eye saw immediately that the Fallen army was in serious trouble.
His idea of using the Auroran mortals must have worked, because the Fallen army was clearly larger than the Divine Host. But its main wedge was buried in the Divine center, and its advance had stalled, while a small reserve guard waited uselessly on the ground. Meanwhile, the Divine forces were advancing on both sides in a pincer movement. A large detachment was moving openly towards the wedge’s left flank, as a smaller group advanced on the right, using the huge Fallen wedge as cover. From his vantage point in the sky, Christopher could see that the second detachment’s target was the unsuspecting Fallen rear guard, which had to be protecting Kaym and the Fallen command.