Angels of War (Angels of War Trilogy Book 1)

by Andre Roberts

  2

  Joan pulled away from her shattered faith as a distant voice echoed in her soul. Gooseflesh spread across her soft skin. She lifted her head from the stranger’s chest and stared into his eyes, old eyes. Distant worlds flashed and gleamed within them. Yet deeper still lurked the ferocity to kill.

  “I want something to drink.” With reverence Joan set the cross upon her desktop and dried her eyes with her fingertips. She walked to a smaller side room equipped with a kitchenette, coffee table, and sofas. “Let’s talk. I need to talk to you.”

  Joan wanted a hot drink to calm her nerves and decided to make coffee. Michael entered the room and sat on a green overstuffed sofa against the far wall. Her hands trembled as she used a small spoon to dip inside a tin can filled with ground coffee beans. Fine grounds spilled over the counter. Five minutes passed by the time she started the pot to boil.

  Joan turned and studied the stranger. The man sat underneath the bright wall mounted lights. A smile played across his face. He wore well-worn cowboy boots joined by a cowboy belt buckle, gold and as big as a dinner plate.

  The heated water started to froth in the coffee pot when she turned towards him. “I wanted you out of my office when you claimed to be the archangel Michael. How am I to believe you?”

  She pulled a mug from an overhead cabinet. “You sit like a typical man. You’re sprawled out on my couch. The only thing you’re not doing is holding your balls.”

  Michael grunted as Joan sat at a coffee table across from him. “What did you expect?”

  “I expected someone more angelic with wings, armor, and a sword. The typical stuff.” She laid an arm over her midsection. Her left hand played with the yellow happy face printed on the coffee mug. She delivered him a long stare.

  “I own those, but I prefer civilian clothes to keep you calm.” He bent forward. “Do you know who you are, Joan?”

  Joan rose from the chair and poured hot coffee into her mug. “Who am I, Michael?”

  Michael pointed a calloused finger at her. “You are an angel.”

  Choppy laughter escaped Joan’s throat. She sipped the hot coffee and tried not to spill any as she fought for composure. Disbelief closed her mind. A sudden urge to run overcame her. She wanted to bolt for the door in fear, while curiosity kept her fixed at the counter.

  “I loaded the gun with duds.”

  Michael shook his head. “Don’t lie to me, Joan. Don’t change the subject either.”

  Joan sipped her coffee. She padded forward like a skittish cat and sat on the love seat across from him. “Why? Why me? I’m a sinner who wanted to deny God.”

  “You’re not the first one to lose family, Joan. Also, I am not here to judge your weak faith.” His brown eyes fell to the carpeted floor. He glanced up as fresh tears rolled from her eyes.

  “You accepted this a long time ago, when the earth brimmed with fresh life and Satan took several million angels with him to Hell. You fought at the uprising, at the Battle of Seven Gates in Heaven.”

  “I don’t believe you, this is ridiculous, you need to leave before I call the cops,” she said.

  Yet, Joan understood Michael spoke the truth. His words sat perched in her mind like an exotic animal.

  Michael’s eyes remained passive.

  “An angel,” she said. The word hung on her tongue. She tried to bring a reality written in the Bible to her reality. “How am I an angel, Michael? How do you know my thoughts, my loss, my pains, and my wants?”

  Joan placed the cold coffee mug aside. “…my fears.”

  “What you lack is faith and purpose, Joan.”

  “Why doesn’t God give us faith to use, and show us purpose when our life is flushed down a toilet?”

  “He also blessed us with freewill.”

  Joan leaned back in the loveseat and threw up her hands. She clicked her tongue at the conversation. “Well, the answer to all answers? God killed my husband and my son, not freewill.”

  Joan paused. Michael did remove her pain. He showed her a powerful love she never experienced in her lifetime. Yet her mind did not accept what unfolded before her eyes. Her thoughts divided between her loss and pain and the reality she confronted. “Humor me, Michael.”

  Michael’s face reddened, he leaned forward. “You took this upon yourself, knowing your actions, knowing the pain you would face being human. You took this oath at the gates of Heaven and I need you to wake up. Now.”

  “Show me, Michael.” She rose from her chair and slammed her fist upon the tabletop. The coffee mug bounced and spilled its black contents on the rug. “Show me who I am.”

  Michael bolted to his feet and closed the distance between them. He placed both hands on her small face. “Remember.”

  Joan’s body went slack.

  Her soul reeled away into darkness and light alike, into an ancient past beyond her imagination. White lightening graced her eyes as she fell. Majestic voices filled her ears, bright tears burst from her eyes. Bodies fell beyond gates made from gold and diamonds. War trumpets blared as horses charged from those magnificent gates.

  Joan’s hair flowed long, black, and shiny. She wore pure golden armor. Above her in the white sky, angels fought each other. Large powerful wings sat upon their backs as they rode warhorses into battle upon white clouds. The warhorses, heavy with armor, made the walls built around Heaven tremble.

  One angel in particular caught her attention. He raced away from Heaven with angels numbered in the millions behind him. She slowed her warhorse Basil to a gallop as the archangel Michael sank to his knees with tears in his eyes. Below her, the angels who rode towards earth twisted into horrors for their rebellion against God. Profound sadness filled Heaven at their fall.

  God, whom she worshiped and adored, stood behind her. His hand outstretched as He hurled the rabble from Heaven and to the earth below.

  Michael raised his sword above his head. He called for five warrior angels to protect the earth and take a vow to forget their lives in Heaven and become mortals. They would experience the mortal pains for centuries to come. Their purpose, to guard the back gate, and insure those who dwelled within the darkest place in the universe never escape. A place Michael once called the basement of Heaven, a realm God now called Hell.

  Joan sheathed her sword and stepped forward along with four others who volunteered. They left Heaven to live amongst the mortals. To join in their pain and joys, to die and return many times over, many centuries over, and they would never recognize each other by name or sight until called upon by the archangel Michael.

  “A war is about to erupt upon the earth. Satan wants to start the Apocalypse. We need your help, Joan.” Michael released her.

  Joan fell to her knees and tried to catch her breath. Her world took a weird twist, as if all she once appreciated on the planet seemed old, like a play repeated with different cast members. Her knowledge expanded like an explosion. She cried out in surprise at the sudden clarity. “Forgive me.”

  Michael pulled Joan to her feet. “Not to me you bow, but to God in Heaven. Joan, you can lead the others. Remember your past. Wake up, Joan.”

  Joan slumped in his arms. Her old strength poured into her like sweet wine into a fresh wineskin. The newness made her weak. She remembered the battle in Heaven, every violent detail.

  “Oh I remember,” she said. Her vision fogged until the light narrowed and enveloped her in darkness.

  3

  Joan opened her eyes and found herself laid out on the couch in the coffee room. A light blanket decorated with powder blue flowers covered her. The memories Michael brought back struck with enough power to overwhelm her mind. Joan sat up on her elbows.

  Through the room’s open door, rain pelted the office windows from a sky packed with clouds. The clear morning weather fled but her despondency lingered on. She swept the blanket aside, lifted herself from the sofa and stood. Her eyes scanned the room for the archangel Michael.

  She stepped from the kitchenette to find the ar
changel facing her office window, head tilted skyward. His gaze held on the heavens.

  “Missing home,” Joan said.

  Michael turned to her and smiled. “Yes I do, but I need to get you started. Time is running out, Joan.”

  “Time is running out for what?” Ugly fear rose from a dark corner in her mind. Within the past hour, she fought to stay sane. She needed all her focus to accomplish the task God assigned her. “And get me ready for what?”

  “Ready for battle, and you must find the other four angels,” he said. He approached her in a slow stride. “Please don’t be afraid. I understand your fear. A long time ago you fought a battle and took to the skies as an angel. Your skills will be questionable.”

  Joan’s eyes rested upon the window and the unpleasant weather beyond the tempered glass. She recalled the Battle of Seven Gates and the horror brought upon such a beautiful kingdom. “I remember some things, but not everything. The centuries is covered in thick dust and the cleaning in my mind is too slow.”

  “Your full awareness will take some time. The long centuries dulled your talents, your thoughts are muddy, but you do realize who you are?”

  Joan pursed her lips. “Almost, as if I’m emerging from an old passage so ancient my brain is having a hard time comprehending this reality. I am. An angel.”

  Michael’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re coming around?”

  Joan shrugged her tiny shoulders. “I think so, Michael. I have died so many times on this planet. I remember pain, joy and being born. My past life is a blur. I remember being happy.” She shook her head. “I remember my families, the children I bore. I remember growing old.”

  “You remember those things here on earth. You must remember your true self and your oath.” His voice became smooth and hypnotic. “Recall the angel from your past.”

  Joan closed her eyes. Pure power surged through her soul as if electricity struck her with a blue bolt. She opened her eyes and stared at the archangel. “I do this now, and wish never again to be mortal.”

  Michael remained silent.

  “I love them all and want to protect them all.”

  “Do so,” Michael said.

  Joan approached the window and faced the city washed in rain. The hidden past pulled together from her memories. She explored the old attic in her mind. She stumbled upon dusty relics lost in an almost forgotten past. “I do so now.”

  She spread her small fingers apart. The tiny hairs on her arms lifted as blue electrical power rose within her. A power made from love and hardened by faith. The energy crackled as if she stuck her finger in a socket powered by the universe. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  Joan lifted and opened her right hand. Golden light stirred and throbbed in her palm. A sword appeared in her mind. Her heartbeat quickened as the light narrowed and rose up from her palm to twenty-eight inches. A six-inch hilt made from gold and decorated with colorful jewels appeared.

  She balanced the hilt upright as a silver blade formed above the jeweled handle. The blade’s honed edge vanished from view.

  She turned her hand. The hilt dropped into her grasp. The sword’s lightness amazed her, as if she held a tennis racket. She lifted the blade to her face. Its silver gleam threw a reflection against her brown eyes.

  “I remember you,” she said. The blade flashed as she took in its beauty. “I also remember the blood we spilled.” The gladius faded from her hand. “Tell me what I need to do, archangel.”

  4

  Michael pulled up a chair, spun the seat backwards, sat down, and rested his arms on the backrest. He gestured for Joan to take a seat. She sat atop her huge desk.

  “In Hell at this moment, Lucifer’s top general, whose name is Temeculus, is leading an army to earth. For some reason, Satan became impatient for the Apocalypse to start. So he’s taking the first shot,” Michael said.

  He leaned forward. “Satan wants to escape from a side gate. Not the main gate we secured for so many centuries. Lucifer assumes with the wars and violence across the earth, the time is right.”

  Michael licked his lips. “General Temeculus is coming to earth with half his powers he owned in Hell, along with a small legion, about one hundred thousand troops. At this moment they are headed to Los Angeles.”

  Joan’s stomach fluttered. “We are supposed to stop a legion, one hundred thousand demons headed for L.A., with five angels?”

  “You will not be doing this alone, Joan. You will enlist human help along with the four angels.”

  Joan lifted her right eyebrow. “Beg your pardon, but one hundred thousand inhuman things, against humans. The enemy army is stronger than any mortal army.” She recalled the Battle of Seven Gates. Sword strikes reached her ears with a faint echo.

  Michael nodded. “Temeculus is betting on making everyone on this planet afraid. He is going to use death and money, and glory if they defeat the good. He wants to release the Dragon from the side gate.”

  “Satan, with all his powers restored. Why can’t you send angels to protect this gate?”

  “We are. We’re sending five of you.” Michael rubbed his big hands together. “Lucifer’s primary goal is to dictate the Second Coming, and we cannot allow him to accomplish his goal.”

  “He wants the advantage?”

  “Yea.”

  Joan ran her fingers through her black hair. “I don’t understand why you and the other higher ranked angels can’t stop him? Engage him in battle yourselves.”

  “If we do, our hands are forced and the showdown would be devastating. God enters the battle, and we refuse to respond to Satan’s heavy handedness. God dictates the Second Coming, no one else. We want earth, we want souls saved before the Rapture, and we are far below our numbers, Joan.”

  “Our numbers are low?” Joan clapped her hands. “So the decision is to keep the war a localized engagement, Biblically speaking?”

  “This is a small battle Biblically speaking. However, thousands or millions will die, Joan. Some on earth will swell Temeculus’s numbers and ours, but not enough to grant us the victory we need. Not all in Heaven can be warriors, Joan. Same as here on earth, not everyone is expected to fight.”

  “How do we fight them?”

  “Steel only, blessed steel only. Modern weapons cannot destroy what is coming to earth. The mortals may kill a few with their bullets and bombs, but not enough to win a battle. You must train them to win. The armor and weapons from Heaven will bless them with a power needed to defeat the enemy.”

  “Men on earth are too quick to grab a rifle, or launch off a missile to destroy their enemies,” she said. “They won’t believe me.”

  The dim blast from an ancient battlefield horn rose in her head, the dismal call emerged from a deep pit underground. Her eyes widened for a moment.

  “Yes, the enemy’s battle horn,” Michael said. “No, they won’t believe you. Therefore, here is what we need you to do. First, protect the Key from being captured.”

  Joan took a breath to steady her nerves. “Where’s the Key?”

  “In Mexico City, she lives in a tiny house on the city’s edge.”

  “Is Temeculus aware she’s in Mexico?”

  “No, but he will send his heralds to hunt for Lucia. The only way they can capture her is if she starts to sing. If they do take her, they can’t use her until the time is right.”

  “Until the moons are aligned?”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed at Joan’s facetiousness. “No, until they destroy the city above the back gate and this is not a joke.”

  “Ok. What city will suffer this terrible fate?”

  Michael shook his head and took Joan’s hands. “Denver. Below the Rocky Mountains, at the Garden of Angels, lies the back gate into Hell. They must secure the city to ensure their rear is fortified. You must also protect Lucia, the Key. She’s so innocent.”

  “She’s not the only innocent child in this world,” Joan said. “Why this little girl than any other?” Why not my son?”

  “God
sent her here for this purpose, Joan. Her voice reaches a pitch so strong and lovely the back gate will open.”

  Joan crossed her legs at the ankles. Her eyes fell upon the gun across the room on the floor hidden in the shadows. The rain outside abated.

  “Why now, Michael?”

  Michael hunched his shoulders and glanced skyward. “Not my will.”

  He moved his hands from Joan’s tiny hands, stood from the chair and faced the window. “They are coming, Joan. They are on their way here. Their stench is like a million corpses and their calls are grunts and curses.” Michael lifted his head, his nostrils flared as a frown crossed his face.

  Joan slid off the desk and moved beside Michael to gaze over the slate colored city. Doubt rushed in on her. The big job she volunteered for over millennia ago became real. Perhaps this old Joan, the warrior angel, will arrive before the battle. “What first?”

  “They are coming to California, to Los Angeles. The trip from Hell is long and arduous.”

  “I’ll go to Los Angeles and stop them.”

  “No,” he said. His voice rolled like a lion’s growl. “Not alone, they will kill you.”

  Joan canted her head. “Michael, I thought I couldn’t die. Am I not an angel?”

  “We suffer pain and heal fast, if you’re decapitated you’ll be sent back to Heaven until the Second Coming. Waiting and training will be your punishment for being reckless with your talent.”

  “Oh…okay,” Joan said. “So what do I do?”

  “Go to Washington D.C. and tell the president Hell is coming and he should help you prepare an army.”

  “We are talking about President Wallace. He’s a stubborn leader, Michael.”

  “He prays every morning and night. He should believe you. If not, when you fight a herald he will accept your offer.”

  Joan folded her arms. “Who are they, the heralds…or what are they?”

  “Monsters, whose purpose is to spread fear and death on earth. You must fight them. One will be heading for the east coast to meet the president, to try and scare him into allying with General Temeculus.”