Chapter 7
Squatinidale glanced to the mesas. They offered no answer, just the reminder of his barren soul. How long were they going to hold him in this golden ring? A long time—but even so, he refused to relinquish his faith again. He would not re-join Abaddon’s angels, no matter how long they waited for him to do so.
They sat and watched, just watched. Did they think time was on their side? Did they think they had the advantage by just sitting and waiting? What patience they showed. He wasn’t a special angel, a grand prize. In a perverse way, they made him feel special.
Finally, Abaddon kneeled down next to his face. “My dear friend, why fight it? We know you want to join us and find the god within you. We want to remove the ring, but right now we see a need for it. It binds you to the truth, the real truth, the only truth, the truth that you define for yourself.”
Squatinidale did not respond. He closed his eyes. “Lord, let your Will be done, but please forgive me for what I have done. In your hand, I entrust my spirit. I will no longer…”
A noise from above interrupted him.
“Let the angel go.”
Abaddon jumped to his feet.
Squatinidale started. What—more Abaddon stooges? Wasn’t a dozen enough to capture a distraught runaway angel? Maybe these were some of their commanders, disapproving of these prisoner tactics. It’s about time.
Shimmering white robes descended from the brightened part of the sky and landed around Squatinidale.
Abaddon’s mouth dropped open. Was this an answer to Squatinidale’s pleas? Couldn’t be. The Lord had no ears for the likes of him.
An angel walked over and kneeled down next to Squatinidale. He placed his hand on his shoulder, sending a warm sensation throughout his spirit.
Confusion jostled with relief. Someone had come to rescue him. But who?
Squatinidale looked at Abaddon, who smirked.
“Well, Squatinidale. I see you have one, no…seven friends. How angelic.”
Sinister laughter echoed among Abaddon’s co-conspirators.
The angel patted Squatinidale on the shoulder and stood to face Abaddon. “I am Azarias, and we are the Angels Septemviri.”
Abaddon’s haughty eyes glared. “I am Abaddon. And these…these are some of the new enlightened ones.” He stepped forward, his snarl menacing. “I love the name. Shouldn’t you have an AS monogrammed on your chest or wings? It could also symbolize Almighty’s Slaves.”
His followers laughed, casting insulting glances at Azarias and the others.
Abaddon scanned the visiting angels. “I really expected something a little more…impressive.” He turned to Squatinidale. “I guess the Creator does love you…a little. He sent such a little band of saviors for you—.”
Azarias interrupted. “We represent the Lord and have been looking for you and your accomplices. You are no longer allowed in Heaven. We will escort you through the Siq and expel—.”
“Please, my dear friend,” said Abaddon as he held up his hand. “You treat us like an enemy. We are here to help all angels. We have no issue with you. In fact, we have no issue with the Creator. We are just realizing the potential of what He created. All angels have ignored the most wonderful gift of the Creator…the free will to choose their own destiny. Why do you fight that? It is not a bad gift.”
Azarias leaned forward, fists clenched at his sides. “That is just pride masquerading as free will.”
“Is recognizing the gift of pride in oneself a bad thing?” Abaddon jabbed back. “Why is it wrong to exercise this gift? Is the gift of free will wrong? Is it defective? Has the Creator created a defect, which He now wants to be eradicated before a greater number of angels learn of it? Now surely, you do not think the Creator is flawed?” He paused. “Do you?”
Abaddon, sporting the grin of a conqueror, stepped forward. “If the Creator is not flawed, then why would He create a gift that results in the loss of His control? Surely you see my point. Either the gift is flawed, the Creator is flawed, or both. I frankly can’t see it any other way.”
He moved within inches of Azarias’s face and whispered, “Are you with the living new order? Or are you with the decaying old order? The Great One has shown the way before us, but it is up to you whether or not to be left on the outside.”
Azarias locked eyes with him. “We do the Lord’s Will. We are unaware of many things the Lord has in store for us, but we have faith that the Lord will be faithful to complete it.”45
Abaddon threw up his hands. “Well, you only have seven angels, and I have thirteen. It looks as though the Creator made another miscalculation.”
A big angel stepped forward and grabbed Abaddon’s robe with one hand, picking him up. His voice boomed. “For a little angel, you don’t choose your words wisely.”
Abaddon seemed unconcerned. “Oh, don’t I?”
Abaddon clapped his hands twice in the large angel’s face. The darkened atmosphere moved above. Squatinidale’s head jerked up.
Over one hundred angels descended, landing in formation behind Abaddon, faces determined and defiant.
What was happening? He was just laying prostrate a little while ago, crying in loneliness, and now angels were dropping in from anywhere. Was he really ever alone?
“Well,” Abaddon sneered, “I guess we are going to have eight guests to take back to the Great One.”
Azarias brandished a rock-hard stare. “Abaddon, your spiritual insight is about as dark as your soul.”
“Excellent!” Abaddon clapped his hands. He yelled, “What a wonderful parting statement from a failed commander. I hope the heavenly scribes hear about it and record it in their records accurately.” His smile faded. “Now let’s not waste anymore of my time. Surrender has no options.”
This time Azarias stepped closer and whispered, “Look to the mesas, my prideful winged friend.”
Abaddon pondered. He turned his head, as so did Squatinidale. Posted on the mesas to the left were thousands of angels. Their fierce looks were only surpassed by the Tobiano horses towing fiery chariots. The horses billowed smoke from their nostrils as they waited for their riders’ commands. The charioteers cast a deep cyan glow, and colorful currents flowed slowly over their faces like liquid. These colors blended and transformed into new colors as they ventured into the clefts of their chins and peaks of their noses and cheekbones.
And yet, despite their apparent power and ability to strike quickly and decisively, they stood absolutely motionless.
A warm wind whistled among the mesas and came to rest on Squatinidale’s face. Abaddon stared at Azarias as his robe fought this warm breath of the Lord.
Azarias did not shift his eyes but stared through Abaddon. “Michael, please lower him.”
“But, Azarias, we could do the Lord’s Will now and cast them through the Siq. We have the advantage,” Michael said. When no response came, he sighed hard and then lowered him.
Abaddon, too, hardened his glare but spoke without turning. “Let’s leave.”
He turned to walk away but then stopped again. “As for you, Azarias, eternity is on our side.”
He motioned to the others and they disappeared into the darkened part of the atmosphere.
Michael carefully removed the ring around Squatinidale, but as soon as that was done, he whirled around on Azarias, frustrated. “Why doesn’t the Lord have us pursue them? We greatly outnumber them by thousands.”
Azarias gazed into the sky until the rebels disappeared. “Because I am learning that our mission is not to take prisoners, but to turn their hearts back to the Lord. Our time will come to extricate them from Heaven when they refuse to heed our warnings. Furthermore, the spiritual warfare ahead is much greater than this little band of bandits. We must be patient and ask for guidance.”
Michael, lowering his head, walked off. “Well, at least we have met our
enemy.”
Gabriel joined him in step. “Yes, we have, Michael. We have seen that the greatest enemy we have to confront is within each of us. And each of us will have to fight that battle alone.”
Azarias turned, too, and walked away, muttering, “I’m not sure if I am equipped to do so, are you?”
Azarias tried not to stare, but the scar left on Squatinidale by the golden ring reminded him of the enemy’s power, and strangely his guilt. He imagined the Septemviri’s return to the Al Birkan headquarters would be a joyous one since they had confronted the enemy and prevailed. But, had they?
Squatinidale sat alone on the bluff, eyes peering into nothingness. Azarias had hoped that the little angel would relax now, but he seemed to have brought the event back with him. The blistering red mark circumvented and dissected his body. He couldn’t hide it. It seemed impossible to ignore. The violation would attract the curiosity of any angel he encountered here forth. He was a marked angel.
Azarias tried to understand what he was thinking. He wanted to know what happened, every detail. Squatinidale survived as a victim of the rebellion. His insight could be valuable. But could Azarias ask him? Azarias thought it might be cruel to demand he recount the events leading to his rescue.
Maybe the Lord’s Spirit would prompt him to come over and open his soul. Obviously, Squatinidale was with friends now. Didn’t he know that?
Patience. Azarias knew that they just had to wait. So, he just sat next to the profundo brook with the others, listening to its rhythm.
Finally, Squatinidale rose. Azarias followed his eyes as he looked away to the distant mesas. A chill pierced Azarias. Was Squatinidale looking at the soft red horizontal band painted into the mesas? It reminded him of Squatinidale’s scar. How odd that he never noticed the faint rim before.
The profundo seemed to gurgle louder now, inserting its carefree cadence into such a tense situation.
Squatinidale came and faced the others. “Thank you.”
He lowered his eyes. “I—I didn’t know it would end up like this. It started so harmlessly, a curiosity. I—I just wanted to prove a point.”
Squatinidale recounted the story: the meeting with Abaddon, the journey, the multitudes of worshipping angels, and finally the self-exile. Each word seemed to ring with pain. This oratory, this confession, opened his soul to the Septemviri.
Azarias listened about how the rebellious ones tore at the center core, the fiber of the angel, exposing his most vulnerable secrets. How did they know? How could they dive into an angel’s most intimate feelings toward the Lord?
“I realized that I had become insignificant. I learned that when I was doing work in the Lord’s Spirit, I was in the Lord’s plan, and all Heaven bowed in reverence to His Spirit within me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Azarias.
Squatinidale stood and paced along the bank. “Well, for one, when I flew under my own power and will, the amborlite no longer swayed in the Lord’s Spirit. When I passed into it, it didn’t move. I passed right through it. It didn’t respond to the Lord’s Spirit within me.”
Squatinidale picked up a handful of silicium. He sifted it through his fingers, and it fell to the surface.
“As we flew, I felt so alone, even though Abaddon was right next to me. Then the terrain became desolate. The amborlite disappeared, and the Lord’s presence vanished from the atmosphere. I couldn’t describe the strange feeling that consumed me, but my spirit quickened.”
“The Lord told me it is called fear,” Raffaela interjected. “His Spirit spoke that to me when we came to your assistance. It is one of the new emotions affecting Heaven and is a byproduct of the circumstances…but, please continue.”
Squatinidale ran his fingers through his hair. “Even at the Great One’s throne, I stood alone and vulnerable. There were a million—yes, a million—seraphim acting outside the Lord’s Spirit, singing strangely.”
Michael jumped to his feet. “What?” His gaze cut to Azarias.
Azarias tried not to react, raising his finger to his chin. “This menace is growing.”
Squatinidale continued. “But the Great One quickly filled my loneliness. In spite of the fact that I was one of over a million seraphim, I feared him, but wanted him.”
Squatinidale paused as his eyes looked inward. He whispered, “He seemed to know me, I mean, really know who I am.”
He turned to Azarias with pleading eyes. “He was wooing me into his spirit—consoling my insecurity and quashing my fears.”
Squatinidale sat. His eyes glossed over as he stared at the silicium in front of him. “His beauty was so attractive, yet this internal feeling was devouring me. I wanted more.”
Azarias could not believe what he was hearing. The Great One not only knew Squatinidale’s most intimate feelings but worked to outright seduce him into self-destruction.
“I looked around at the seraphim—listened to their ululating mystic music, and my spirit groaned. Only, for what, I didn’t know. My spirit transformed into the desolate terrain around me. I was like the beautiful amborlite, starting to lose my substance, and wither away.” Squatinidale fought back tears. “The chasm widened between me and the Lord. The Lord appeared on one side, and I was on the other.”
He exhaled. “But I was fortunate—I fought off the temptation in one last leap toward the Lord.”
The seven sat in silence. Squatinidale seemed relieved to confess these feelings.
Pollyon motioned for attention. “So why did you go with this renegade?”
The sickened expression returned to Squatinidale’s face. He looked at the others and then placed his hands on his face. “It was Abaddon’s fault.”
He paused and his posture stiffened. “That angel deceived me. I would not have gone, except for my curiosity. Abaddon technically held me prisoner.”
Raffaela raised a brow.
Squatinidale lowered his voice. “I now see it was against my will to go.”
Azarias remained quiet. This change in demeanor intrigued him. Was Squatinidale still under the control of the Great One?
Squatinidale exhaled and looked at Azarias. “I am not sure where I am supposed to go or how stands my relationship with the Lord.”
Squatinidale turned and walked away toward the Al Birkan district center.
Azarias wasn’t sure, but as the little stout angel disappeared off the knoll, he thought he heard him weeping.
Azarias allowed the Septemviri to remain seated in a quiet state. He waited on the Lord to move one of them to speak.
“I don’t trust him,” Michael started. “If his love for the Lord changes again, how can we trust him?”
Raffaela leaned back, placing her hands on the ground behind her. “Michael, we should be patient with him. He struggles with a new force in Heaven. Temptation.” She turned and looked off into the distance briefly. “There are other angels struggling with that force. Unless an angel has completely rejected the Lord, we must allow the Lord’s Spirit to woo him back into His love.”
A silence filled the group. Finally, Azarias chimed in. “I agree with Raffaela. There may be bigger disappointments in angels yet to come. We must encourage them to do the right thing and allow God to be the judge.”
Michael shot an imposing glance at Azarias. “Well, we should have confronted the enemy while we had the advantage. Now they’ll return to their Great One and regroup. How can we turn them back to the Lord when they don’t want Him?” Michael closed his fists. “It was a hundred—a mere hundred—and we failed. How could we now capture a million? The hundred would have given us information about their formations and areas of control.”
Uriel fidgeted with his fingers. “I could have worked in the Lord’s Spirit and implemented Michael’s plan to conquer them. Instead, we are left with no direction and no enemy.”
They fell silent, hearing the p
rofundo’s chatter. It seemed to laugh at them.
Azarias expected the frustration. He, too, struggled with the lack of information. “My friends, let’s not act rashly. We don’t know why the Lord has not released His wrath among these angels. If we act on our own accord, it could mean our doom, along with theirs.”
Azarias hoped this hindrance would not perpetuate throughout the mission. It reminded him of his own lack of faith.
“Friends, what we have learned from Squatinidale is that we are fighting an enemy that can use an angel’s internal struggles to turn him or her away from God.”
He turned to Michael. “I understand your objection to not overtly attacking those angels, but that is not the only place the Lord will do battle. He must confront the enemy in the soul of each angel. That fight will not take place on the battlefields of Heaven, but in the trenches of each angel’s heart.”
Placing a hand on Raffaela’s shoulder, who looked up with worry, he ran his gaze across each of their faces. He knew he had to say this, the weight on his shoulders increased with each passing moment.
“This new development imposes a mission that is far above my ability to lead you.”
Raffaela’s eyes drilled into his.
Azarias lowered his own, ashamed. “I am not the leader you think I am. I am deeply flawed. I can only ask you to join me in seeking guidance from the Lord…”
His voice cracked. “Otherwise, I am going to have to plead with the Lord to release me from this monumental task.”
* * *
45 Philippians 1:6
Chapter 8
There. He’d said it. Did these words defy the Lord? He didn’t think so. He wasn’t running away from the Lord’s command. He thought that if there was to be a change in command, it should take place here at the headquarters. This way one of the other Septemviri could tranquilly assume the lead to battle the million renegades that Squatinidale described.
Their eyes bore into him.
But he also knew he had to leave it in the Lord’s hands. He sighed and looked down. “Let’s enter our prex précis.”
Angelic Wars- First Rebellion Page 8