A sulfur smell burned his nostrils.
Squatinidale clung to the wall, trying not to look at the flaming book fluttering below him. The pain saturated his spirit like before—the pain of betrayal emerged once again.
Smoke filled the entire structure. Angels scurried out of the niches and corners of the Bibliotheca. They must know. The cape no longer hid his true essence as a traitor.
Azarias was sure Baal-Zebub was one of them. The angel had left the Lord’s Spirit and now navigated using his own will in Smyrna’s great race. Surely the spectators grasped this. Surely they understood also that there could be no other reason for this but to defeat Gabriel.
He hoped Michael understood this also.
Where was he?
Still able to watch from the stadium, Azarias could see two distant specks grow larger as they drew closer. Baal-Zebub appeared to have a lead over Gabriel, but Gabriel’s great speed closed the gap between them.
The crowd cheered louder and louder.
As Gabriel passed the outer reaches of the arena, Baal-Zebub landed on the arena surface. The defiant angel raised his fists. His furrowed brow, grinning and clinched teeth exposed his evil.
Asmodeus ran over to him.
“No, this can’t be,” pleaded Asmodeus.
His flummox was obvious to the crowd when they cheered for the hero.
“My fellow angels, please give me your attention.”
The crowd ignored Asmodeus. Their cheers increased to a chanting roar.
“Please, may I have your attention?”
The noise died to a rumble, shouts still randomly trailing.
“It is obvious to us all, by the lack of visuals from the Lord, that Baal-Zebub violated the rules and Spirit of the game. This is unprecedented. I have no choice but to…”
Baal-Zebub stepped forward, shoving Asmodeus to the side. “My dear friends. You all know me and what I stand for. Do not be misled by Asmodeus’s objections to my methods.”
The crowd applauded this statement. Meanwhile, Gabriel landed quietly five paces behind the two.
Azarias clenched his fist. What was happening? He focused on Baal-Zebub’s face.
Baal-Zebub eyes looked strange, a glossy film covered them. As he spoke, it appeared that his mouth movements didn’t fit his spirit—like another spirit was speaking through him.
“My fellow Smyrnans, as members of the Great One’s new order, you are all aware of self-realization by using your own wills as opposed to the Will of the Creator. I easily demonstrated this to you today. I won the race because I was in control of my destiny and the Creator was not. This demonstration is just a small example of the power that can be realized when you are the decision maker, you are the planner, and you are the Lord.”
Azarias jumped to his feet. “A trap. Michael. Gabriel. O Lord, please let them hear me. Get out of there.”
“Silence, Baal-Zebub.” Asmodeus interrupted. “You speak of treason, and I will not…”
Loud, imposing boos jabbed at the impotent host.
Baal-Zebub turned on a sinister smile. “But the reason I am here today is not to win a race. No, that is a small accomplishment compared to our greater plan. We have here two spies of the Lord: my worthy opponent, Gabriel, and his companion, Michael. They are here to stop us, but it is they who must be stopped.”
Shouts pounded Azarias’s ears. What should he do? He unfurled his wings. He had to rescue them, but how? He could not fly to Smyrna so quickly.
Gabriel, his face glowing with confidence, opened his hands and stepped forward. “My worthy adversary, why do you challenge the Lord your God? At His moment, the Lord will pour out His Spirit on all his loyal angels. His commanders will see visions, and He will show wonders in Heaven, which will result in fire and billows of smoke on those who oppose Him. The Lord will cast the souls of those who oppose Him from Heaven forever. However, those who are loyal will have everlasting peace. Therefore, my soul is glad, and my mouth rejoices because He will not abandon me.”60
Baal-Zebub raised his hands to the crowd. “You see. By his own mouth, he has opposed you and your desire to be great. What other proof do you need? Let us show him and his companion how inept His God is.”
The crowd jeered. Like water running over its dikes, angels poured into the arena. They ran and flew, blending their words into one message of contempt.
Azarias fell to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes. “Fly, Gabriel. Michael, please. Lord, please save them.”
Squatinidale knew he had to escape from the Bibliotheca. But where was he to go? He knew both the rebellious and loyal angels would be coming after him.
These angels, whether from God or the Great Cherub, had reasons to subdue him. He belonged to neither and had knowledge of both sides; that made him a target. The rebellious angels sought him because he witnessed their leader’s method of seduction. The loyal angels wanted to quarantine him because he could identify the Septemviri and their location.
He had to escape, but how? He would use the smoke as a cover. Angels were emerging from everywhere. Screams had replaced the serene singing, adding to the eeriness of the smoke.
Squatinidale glided down from the ledge to the far side of the building. He landed with a slight whoosh, blending into the running masses. The smoke covered him for the moment. Rushing angels echoed as they sounded the alarm.
How did this happen?
What did he do wrong?
He obeyed the Lord. Obeyed him!
He could turn to no one now. He was alone.
This was supposed to be his quest, not the destruction of the great Bibliotheca.
He squinted in both directions. To his far right, filtered light beamed through an arch. An odd occurrence in Heaven, since the Lord’s Spirit glowed equally within every space.
This was his chance. The echoes confused him, but he was certain the unintelligible voices were getting closer. They had to know it was him. Why else would they be searching?
It sounded like legions, yes, legions of angels summoned throughout Pergamum by the Great Cherub. He was the top of their list. They were coming to confine him in the ring again.
He couldn’t let that happen.
He looked to the light beams. Maybe God was sending him a sign. This must be it, a beacon for the way out.
He turned and ran straight into the beam, passing under the archway.
His feet stammered as he slid to a stop. The fear engulfed him like an old menace. His knees weakened as he once again stared into the arched glass with stained panes and Abaddon’s image.
He looked, blinked his eyes, and looked again. His old friend’s eyes had changed. They were drilling into him with a menacing brow. Squatinidale could hear his sinister laughter. The image mocked him, taunted him, and condemned him.
But the image couldn’t have changed. It must be his imagination.
Music. Music from where? He looked around, but only mist surrounded him.
He knew this music too well, the hideous twelve-tone music of the rebellious ones. The dark memories of his fateful journey with Abaddon came back. Millions of angels singing in their strange and inharmonic tones seared his head.
“No. Please.” He dropped to his knees, holding his head between both arms. He looked up. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He could hardly mutter the words. “My Lord, where are you?”
Squatinidale’s eyes opened again to the tall arched glass. He could see the glass circle on top, now. He gasped. The circle was a black star encased in a triangle of black, white, and red lines…his vision. It had followed him and became a reality.
The music grew louder, but strangely, it didn’t echo off the walls. Where did it come from? From within? A noise within? He clutched his head tighter and rocked forward on his knees.
“Make it stop,” he shouted.
Weeping turned to wailing. He could not tell where the singing originated, everything became blurry. The singing became choppy, almost a chanting, as the singers punched their words deep into his soul. Squatinidale looked up at the stained-glass window. His mouth dropped open.
He focused, trying not to believe what he was seeing through the mist. Abaddon and the other seventeen images were moving their mouths. They were singing and casting their judgment upon Squatinidale.
He was discovered.
Two pairs of hands grabbed him from behind. He turned to see two hooded angels. Faceless angels—reaching, probing, penetrating his being.
“No.”
“My friend, please,” a voice pleaded. “You must not be alarmed.”
“Stop it. Stop the music, clear the smoke,” Squatinidale whimpered.
“Music?” one of the hooded hosts replied.
“What smoke?” replied the other.
Squatinidale shook off their grip. He stumbled back and then launched high toward the ridge. He looped in circles like a bird in an enclosed area.
A high-pitched whine slipped through his lips. It echoed throughout the smoky structure. The rapid pace of his breathing filled his ears, mixing in the rhythm with the hideous song.
How? How could he get out?
The arched openings above the bookshelf. Yes, that was it. He heard others scampering on the floor. They must not catch him.
He pitched his wings and flew to where he remembered the smaller openings. Finding one, he escaped.
The horror strangled Azarias’s faith. Thousands of angels assaulted the Smyrna arena center, surrounding the apparently stunned Gabriel. Their circle tightened around the prize.
How could the Lord lead them into this trap? Wouldn’t the Lord’s angels have an advantage over these rebels, with Him as their commander? If the Septemviri had anything, it sure wasn’t an advantage of any kind.
Azarias leaped to his feet, powerless to instruct his team, let alone save them. His eyes riveted on Gabriel’s eyes. Was this the last time he was to see his friend? Where will they take him?
Where was Michael? The ensuing tide seemed to have engulfed him.
Azarias sucked shallow breaths. “Gabriel, do something. Anything.”
With a swift motion, Gabriel wrapped his arm around and picked up the unsuspecting Asmodeus. Running at top speed toward the onslaught, he leaped into flight. Holding the frightened angel like a giant scroll, Gabriel barreled toward Baal-Zebub, who was encouraging the attacking angels. Asmodeus screamed and put his hands over his eyes. Gabriel leveled his shoulder into the back of Baal-Zebub’s head, sending the traitor smashing to the surface.
The attacking angels’ gnashing teeth closed his direct escape.
But Gabriel honed a deadly aim and increased his speed.
As the distance closed, one angel charged ahead of the aggressors. He was impatient, wanting to claim the prize first.
It was Michael.
The two friends rocketed past each other just ahead of the aggressors. Passing on the right, Gabriel tossed the screaming Asmodeus to Michael, who scooped the frightened angel over his right shoulder. Michael accelerated in the opposite direction, smashing into the recovering Baal-Zebub, but this time slamming him on his back.
Michael’s path was clear. He blew out of the arena and soared over the rim. He glanced back slightly and creased a small smile.
Gabriel banked directly upward, as if hitting an invisible wall just inches from his attackers. Engaging the power of the Lord’s Spirit, he blasted straight up out of the Paestra, leaving a fiery white trail. Several angels tried to alter their course to pursue him, but it was too late. Confusion had scrambled the enemy’s ranks.
Michael, Gabriel, and Asmodeus had escaped.
Azarias collapsed, trying to catch his breath. His faith, it was weak.
It had failed him again.
* * *
59 Luke 1:19-20; Luke 1:26-28
60 Psalm 97:3; Psalm 16:9; Acts 2:26
Chapter 12
Laughter volleyed between Michael and Gabriel during the journey back to Al Birka. Asmodeus didn’t look amused.
Gabriel turned upside down and met Michael’s eyes. “Two against two hundred thousand. It was so unfair.”
Michael snickered once. “Yeah, I think they needed more angels to better the odds.”
They laughed again in unison, but not Asmodeus. “My first Angelus Pennae. How could this happen to me? I have always fantasized about judging an event.” His eyes lowered in shame. “Very few get that opportunity.”
He paused.
“A revolt, in Heaven of all places. Why me?”61 He stared into the distance. “I never would have imagined…”
Michael didn’t answer. He knew it had to be hard for him.
Asmodeus continued, “I couldn’t believe that contestant, Baal…whatever his name was. That angel broke the rules, defied the Creator, and started a massive rebellion…and his speech. He said so many things I didn’t understand.”
Asmodeus turned to Gabriel, “What did they mean about you being spies for the Lord? That is preposterous. Why would the all-seeing Lord need spies?”
Michael touched his hand. “Asmodeus, my friend, we won’t answer your questions. But what we can tell you is that the irreverent behavior of the crowd in the arena is becoming more common in Heaven. We, however, are and always will be servants of the Lord.”
Gabriel and Michael flew on.
Azarias and the others watched as the three specks in the distance burst towards them.
Despite the consolation of their safety in Al Birka, Azarias’s depression lingered as the angels landed in their sanctum.
Michael stood before the group. Oddly, he didn’t look like he failed the mission. He seemed to smile with enjoyment. “This is my friend, Asmodeus.”
Azarias tried to mask the gloom that had consumed him just a short while ago. “Welcome to our district, friend. I am aware of your recent trial.”
Asmodeus cocked his head to one side but said nothing. He then turned and walked over to the others sitting alongside the profundo stream.
Azarias, following, placed his hand on Asmodeus’s shoulder. The stream ran slower now, or at least it seemed to.
Asmodeus stared at the stream. “I am not sure how you know what happened to me, but anything is possible in Heaven.”
He paused and then looked at Azarias. “I don’t understand.” He bit his lip. “What were they trying to do? They have uprooted and churned my spirit into little pieces. I thought my mission was to be judge, but instead, they thwarted my authority and compromised my safety.”
He turned to Michael. “Please tell me what you are doing, and what I can do to help.”
Michael sneaked a look at Azarias. The smile melted to a look of intrigue. Azarias’s eyes fixed on Asmodeus. He turned and paced away. “We do not know what His Will is now. So please return to your district. As for me and my cohorts, we will serve the Lord according to His commands.”62
Asmodeus, pressing his lips together, opened his hands and stole a step closer. “You think I’m one of them, don’t you? Do you really think I would be working outside the Lord’s Will by challenging these renegades? I could help you in exposing their diabolical plan.”
Azarias did not break stride. He knew the Lord picked this team.
“I could serve as a source of intelligence for you since they are not aware that I am working with you,” stuttered Asmodeus.
Azarias turned back. He looked deep into Asmodeus’s eyes. “Asmodeus, we, too, are tempted sometimes to do things our own way. However, even the greatest wisdom of angels is mere foolishness compared to the Lord’s wisdom. I bid you a speedy and Spirit-filled journey.”
Asmodeus frowned. He bid farewell, turned, and departed.
&n
bsp; Azarias turned to Michael and Gabriel. “Please tell us what happened in Smyrna. I know what I saw, and what I heard. But I don’t know what you were thinking.”
Michael and Gabriel joined the others and sat on the bank of the profundo. They started with meeting Asmodeus and moved forward, describing the mission as they saw it.
Gabriel didn’t mention the purple amborlite.
Azarias walked around the group. He rolled the events over in his mind, comparing his observation with Gabriel and Michael’s accounts. The same conclusion kept plaguing him—the Lord seemed to have led them into an ambush. Why?
After Michael and Gabriel finished, Raffaela stood and scanned the group.
“I suggest we retire individually into our respective prex précis to examine our gifts and ask how the Lord wants us to use them in this expanding rebellion.”
Azarias agreed. Maybe he had disconnected from the Lord. The events didn’t make sense. They were not advancing their mission but falling into the enemy’s strategy. How could that be?
Raffaela grabbed Azarias’s arm and whispered into his ear, “Meet me at the map, now.”
The unwanted urgency jolted Azarias. He had hardly recovered from the last disaster, and now an urgent secret meeting?
Her words echoed in his ears. The tone didn’t unmask her intentions.
Well, maybe she saw something that made sense of these events.
Azarias pondered as he turned the corner. He stared at the strategy map.
How did the Septemviri fit into the whole scheme? His eyes darted to Smyrna. The troubling district intersected two lines of the star and was part of that lower triangle with Ephesus and Thyatira. What did it mean?
“Azarias,” a soft voice cut into his world.
He turned. “So, Raffaela, why the secrecy?”
Raffaela looked over her shoulder as if she was being followed and then approached. Her soft blue eyes locked into his. She folded her hands under her chin.
“Azarias, we are very close in spirit, aren’t we?”
Angelic Wars- First Rebellion Page 12