“You have a lot to learn, Raffaela. As I said, the first is last, and the last is first in service.” Dionysius held Raffaela’s hands and stared firmly into her eyes. “But who are you, my friend, and why do you come to me?”
Raffaela drew Dionysius’s gaze down to her arm. Dionysius raised her sleeve, unveiling the mark of the Septemviri.
Dionysius smiled, releasing her. He then raised his sleeve. He, too, bore the mark of the loyal ones.
Raffaela smiled and exhaled but just as immediately recalled that not everyone with that sign may be loyal.
Dionysius cupped her face in his hands. “I was asking for someone like you. You are one of the seven, aren’t you, Raffaela? The Lord has sent you here to help us.”
He looked as if he was holding back his exuberance. “Your group’s reputation precedes you with those of us who are loyal to the Lord.”
Raffaela bowed. “I am at your service.”
Dionysius sighed with a heavy spirit. “My district is under attack from a hostile spirit.” With apparent distress, he looked up, then lowered his head again and met her eyes. “That is why I was so reticent with you. I did not know if you were one of them.”
He started to turn, but Raffaela grabbed his elbow again. “Please continue.”
“There are voices; voices of deceit; voices of un-good that torment my angels. You saw an example just now with the angel I just sent out. They are suffering from within the deepest part of their spirits.”
“What do these voices say?” Raffaela asked.
“They tell angels to become gods. They say that the angels have within them to choose greatness, or they can continue to live in eternal submission to the Lord.”
Though Raffaela feared the answer, she asked, “How are they reacting?”
“They reject the hostile spirit, of course.” He pressed his lips together. “But I fear some of them cannot resist much longer. The temptation is very great. The voice has informed them that millions of angels have already made the choice—for greatness, they say.”
He turned towards the wall. “You see, a very tortuous, yet seductive siren keeps calling them, wooing them, bombarding them. They have such strong faith, but I wonder if their breaking point is near.”
Raffaela stiffened. “We are dealing with a formidable enemy that has no face. That enemy is the pride within us. The rebellious angels are feeding this enemy with deceit and lies. The enemy nourishes on these lies. That is why your angels are struggling. To defeat the rebellious ones, they must defeat their own pride. However, in spite of the fact that they may condemn their internal enemy, some will cling to it and succumb to the temptations of the rebellious angels.”
Dionysius rounded. “What do you suggest, Raffaela? I can’t stand by and watch my angels implode because of their own iniquities.”
“I suggest we call on the Lord. Without the Lord, they are helpless.”
Dionysius voice raised a pitch. “Do you think we should connect with all the angels’ spirits in Philadelphia?”
“The path to the Lord is always the right journey,” Raffaela said.
Dionysius hesitated before nodding.
The two angels convened in the position of the prex précis, heads bowed, hands turned upward.
Dionysius then summoned the angels. “Angels of the holy city of Philadelphia, please lend me your spirits so that we may become one with the Lord’s Spirit.”
At once all harmonious singing that had filled every crevice silenced.
“We acknowledge to you, O Lord, all our insecurities and weakness of faith. We are resolved to stand strong, but when this temptation percolates, we suffer great anguish and grief. At times, a very little temptation brings us to the brink of iniquity. Please behold our frailty, for only you know our innermost spirits. Have mercy on us, O Lord, and deliver us from the pride that seeks to destroy from within. The passions cultivated by the rebellious ones assault our allegiance to you. But this struggle is not unprofitable to us, since we are made aware of our infirmities, and are hardened into a brilliantly fired gem. Please strengthen us, O Lord, and convey to the rebellious ones that they are not wanted here and have no power or domination over your loyal servants. In the name of the tri-partite God, we believe.”74
Not a sound was heard except the distant drumming of the waterfalls. Raffaela relaxed her shoulders. This was such a serene place, a world in which she wanted to remain.
But in the next breath, this serenity was ruptured.
Something, rumbling, pitched Raffaela onto one knee.
Then, another rumble. But this one was stronger in force. It echoed throughout the cavern, rolling with a menacing intensity.
Dionysius’s head jerked up, his eyes widening.
“Dionysius!” An angel burst into the structure, losing his balance and smashing his shoulder against the wall. “I can’t believe what I am seeing.”
He turned, and Dionysius and Raffaela staggered behind him.
The angels rushed outside. Dionysius shot Raffaela a look, panicked and alarmed. The vinifera no longer flowed gracefully. Whitecaps now punctuated large swells moving through the canals. The once tranquil stream now raged like a torrent.
“Look out!” Raffaela screamed.
Dionysius jumped out of the way as a frightened angel smashed into the bank, propelled like debris in a flash flood. Dionysius grabbed him but watched helplessly as several others washed past him, screaming for aid.
The cavern dampness closed in on the servant. The cavern ceiling loomed fifty feet over his head, mirroring the surface below as two opposing bowls. No light existed in here except that which was emitted by the Great One; the Lord’s Spirit with its ever-present light was not welcome.
How did he get here?
The traitorous angel submitted himself, unable to hide the insecurity. He whimpered and laid face down. “I know that I have failed you.” He tried to smother the shaking, but it was no use. “I know I can manipulate the other Septemviri. They have my confidence and don’t suspect any betrayal.”
“You are wrong,” the Great One boomed.
The angel’s shivers mutated into spasms.
The ominous voice continued. “They are aware that one of you is communicating with me about their motivations and missions.”
The servant gasped, trying to control the rising fear. The angel tried to stand.
“Do they suspect me?”
“No. They are not sure who to suspect.”
“But how do you know what they suspect? I am your eyes and ears.”
The Great One laughed. The servant angel collapsed to his knees again.
The Great One’s cold breath cut through the obedient one.
The Great One continued. “I can infiltrate their spirits. I know their thoughts. I wrestle in their spirits with the Creator. When I focus on a specific angel or other being, I can influence decisions using the gift of free will.”
The servant muttered without lifting his head. “If you know their innermost thoughts, why do you need me?”
The Great One circled the prostrate angel, paralyzing him with fear.
“Because there are many roads into one’s soul. You are just one path that joins the unknowing to the self-realizing. Your friendship, trust, and example can serve as a beacon to draw the angels to our truth. Your beacon will direct them to the real light…my light. I am the road, the perception, and the star of the Heavenly Hosts.”75
Each pass frosted the servant’s spirit. Maybe nobody else ventured so closely other than the six lieutenants. The Great One glowed with beauty from afar, but not close up. His frozen wake pierced souls, with something that was the opposite of good, but the slave could not identify that feeling.
“But, how do I enlighten the Holy Order when the Septemviri push them away from me? They are all so driven to go out on missions
and bring the message of the Creator’s mercy and love.”
This time a sinister laugh hissed through the Great One’s teeth. “Those of the Holy Order of Angels are fools. We must feed them slowly with our knowledge. To feed them too quickly will create a rejection of the knowledge and a betrayal of our cause. We are here to help them realize who they are—carefully. Incrementally.”
The servant peeked. The Great One was looking at the distant wall of the cavern. “I remember when I first tried to convince others. I thought I could use love like the Creator, but I miscalculated my power. No. Why use the positive when I could use their weaknesses, their pride. Once I mastered the pattern of pride, I manipulated it to my own liking. I changed the pattern with my template, making each angel believe he was doing his own will. But he was doing mine.”
The servant furrowed his brow, his face was only inches from the surface. The words kept rolling in and out of his mind: his will, their will, his will, their will. He thought he was bringing other angels to enjoy the use of their own wills. This was supposed to be liberation, not domination. Maybe he misunderstood. Yes, that was it. He didn’t have the knowledge to fully understand, because if this was a form of domination, it wouldn’t feel so good.
The Great One threw open his wings. “We have been very successful in converting countless angels on many levels of the Order to believe in themselves. They now see that their bodies are the cherished ones, the temples. They must ask the question, Why should I consider what the Creator desires? We want them to arrive at the conclusion that their existence is too limited by doing only what the Creator asks.”
“The use of the golden rings as force is only a temporary remedy against those who trouble our spirit and prevent us from attaining our objectives. But those antagonists, too, will see our desired objective and will join after they witness the self-glorious conversion of many of their comrades. I will explain the purpose and the power of the ring to you at another time.”
The Great One returned to his throne, casting dancing shadows into the corners of the cavern as he hovered.
The Great One turned. “Your job is very important in wrestling with the spirits of these angels. Once you open the way into their spirit and they question their existence, I am able to engage in spiritual warfare against the Creator using their logic as my weapon, and their pride as my shield. I have won millions of battles against the Creator and will win millions more.”
At this dissertation, the servant fell again in humility and worship.
“When you bow down and praise me, you are praising yourself, because you too will be as great as…I am.”
* * *
69 Genesis 3:1
70 Genesis 3:4
71 John 8:58
72 Matthew 19:30
73 Philippians 1:6
74 Isaiah 35:3
75 Isaiah 14:12
Chapter 17
Malachy trembled under the thousands of eyes trained on her in the Ephesus Odeum. The chilling performance by the mysterious angel on stage had exposed her and Pollyon as servants to the Most High.
But where did he go? She needed his tall stature to combat these angels if she had any chance at all of getting away. How could he have abandoned her?
“Malachy,” a voice strained from behind one of the columns near her.
“Pollyon,” Malachy called back. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Nonsense. I was looking for a way to escape. The way I see it, our backs are to the spire that dominates the Odeum. We cannot escape by flying back away from our attackers. We have to go forward or up.”
She risked another petrifying glance below. The menacing crowd was moving to create a semi-circle.
He repositioned himself, his back to the stage, also upset by the turn of the crowd. “If we go up, thousands would intercept us and block our exit. They would expect that. So, let’s charge across the theater and try to burst our way through one of the exits. At most, five, maybe six angels will be trying to block it. I can take on six angels.”
Pollyon glanced over his shoulder quickly. “What do you think?”
“I agree,” she whispered.
Malachy hastily gathered the scrolls that contained the precious names of those angels still loyal to God. She didn’t know if the enemy angels would ever suspect a connection between the seven reliefs and the twenty-eight columns. Although they had probably existed in the Odeum for all eternity, no angel had reason to question their purpose.
There were so many things that angels didn’t understand in the infinite greatness of God’s creation. This reminded Malachy of when she was introduced to the material world. All but the Earth had been there before her creation76 but God’s purpose has yet to be understood by the angels. Since time does not exist in God’s mind, the creation of the names prior to their relevance is understandable.
The impressions of names had to be guarded at all costs.
The crowd began to jeer. Anger within the amphitheater grew. Eyes burning into Malachy, they followed her every move.
She grabbed Pollyon’s arm. “I don’t want to be caught in an uprising like Gabriel and Michael. Let’s do it your way.”
The two hosts broke into a run, crossing the far columns. They halted and looked down to the front of the theater. Angels erupted from the seats, flying straight up.
Just as Pollyon had predicted, a curtain of angry angels extended the entire width of the seating section.
Six angels guarded the exit below.
Malachy kneeled down.
Pollyon rounded. “What are you doing?”
“Here, hold these.” Malachy handed Pollyon all but one roll. She folded it in half, and then half again swiftly. She rolled the sheet tightly until hers compressed into an arm-length club.
She could hear the curtain of angels closing in and encircling them.
“Okay, follow closely behind me. All we need is to punch a hole to escape.”
The two angels bolted directly at the six angels blocking the entrance. As they drilled towards them, Malachy held the club in her right hand and whipped it over her head, dipping it down over her left shoulder and circling behind her head.
She was right. They had surprised the six angels, who seemed to freeze with fright. Accelerating the club now from right to left across her body, she struck all six angels on the left sides of their heads, sending them tumbling toward the stage.
The two Septemviri dipped quickly through the exit, escaping the other angels who had barricaded their path above the wall.
Skyrocketing from the plateau, Pollyon gawked at her, mouth open.
She faced forward again. “Oh, just another way I learned to use my research. I usually use it to hit othelites into the distance just for fun.”
Azarias strained to master his trembling. He couldn’t let Uriel know he feared Abaddon’s pack of rebels secreting from the frescoes. Uriel’s anxiety had laced the tone of his voice since they discovered Thyatira deserted, and he might easily crumble if Azarias showed any weakness.
He had reached the limits of his courage to manage both his fear and Uriel’s.
The battalion of angels stopped just behind Abaddon, like a collection of invincible pillars. Abaddon donned a sinister smile. “It is time to put an end to your meddling.” He opened his arms and tipped his head to the right. “Please come with us so we don’t have to restrain your wings with our rings.”
Uriel turned to Azarias. His eyes were now larger than Azarias had ever seen them. Panic seemed to be knocking at his door and surrender to be taking his mind prisoner.
Azarias exhaled loudly and closed his eyes. “Lord, please, you are in control, and we need…”
…and then the Lord spoke.
Do not be afraid. Turn and run into the wall behind you.
Azarias opened his eyes and grabbed Uriel’s arm. “Uriel, come! Into the wall!”
Uriel hesitated and then bolted with Azarias. The two fleeing angels dove into the wall behind them.
Azarias and Uriel’s spirits conflicted with the castle. The angels’ massless energy repelled the wall, as flashes threatened to blind them. The wall’s polar energy tossed them from side to side, impeding their ascent through the roof.
“Don’t be foolish,” Abaddon called. “This will not prevent us from capturing you. You’re cornering yourselves.”
“Azarias.” Uriel moaned. “We can’t escape!”
Azarias grunted. “Where’s your faith,77 Uriel? This is the Lord’s strategy.”
Azarias could hear enemy angels crashing into the walls after them.
Sparks danced around them like lightning blasts hidden by clouds.
Azarias looked below. The flashes were gaining. There were so many. How many angels were pursuing them? “Please take us up, Lord.”
Azarias grabbed Uriel’s sleeve. “Come on, Uriel. Abaddon may have separated his forces in two. He is pursuing us into the clutches of other angels waiting above the roof.”
Azarias emerged, first into some form of chasm. Once regaining his eyesight from the countless energy flashes, he scanned a square room with a coned ceiling. The walls were bare of frescos, and there were no lancets opening to the outside.
“We must be in the large donjon that we saw on top of the castle,” panted Uriel. “If we go up, we may escape. Come on. We haven’t much time.”
The angels rocketed toward the cone-shaped ceiling.
“Stop, Uriel!”
Uriel pushed back his wings.
“Do you hear that?”
Uriel turned. “Hear what?
“That strange sound from below.”
Uriel cocked his head. “It sounds like…like weeping—millions of beings weeping.”
Azarias looked around and up. Finally, he looked down at the wall below where they were standing.
Angelic Wars- First Rebellion Page 17