The Great One’s voice boomed within the traitor’s ears from the far reaches of Heaven. “They will not miss you. To them, you only appear to be alone and in quiet contemplation, a pseudo prex précis, if you will.”
The traitor grinned. Of course, angels don’t interfere with other angels while they are in a solitary prex précis. The others would never suspect him of conversing with the enemy; this was an excellent cover.
Coldness filled the traitor’s wings. He shook it off. While in other parts of Heaven, he soaked in the warmth of the Spirit, though it repulsed him. There were some perks to appearing loyal, but they were only that, perks.
His gaze fell. The warmth didn’t matter any longer, anyway. He had decided.
Raising his head, his eye caught the façade, supported by pillars, which stared at him from the far side of the canyon wall. He didn’t understand its sculptured relief. Its symbolism escaped him. Should he ask the Great One? He remembered that his fellow Septemviri had inspected it long ago. How had they interpreted it?
He inched closer and then stumbled.
A pile of orbs, othelites, caught his foot in midstride.
It had to be Gabriel’s work—a cairn. Did that angel create those everywhere he traveled? They were so annoying; they sat at the intersection of two footpaths. What was Gabriel trying to communicate with these?
He kicked them over. The dark sides turned upward as the six ovals came to rest. What had Azarias said about the white and dark sides? Ah yes, he’d compared the rebellious angels to the dark side of the othelites. Pathetic. Little did Azarias know that he was the one in the dark.
The traitor leaned over and picked up the six disks. He juggled one in his right hand, watching it turn summersaults in the air, flashing black and white. Leaning back, he threw it against the tall columns supporting the façade. It shattered.
One at a time he took the other five and threw them against the columns, each one harder than the one before. “Now they won’t be a nuisance to anyone else. These othelite piles are nothing but stumbling blocks to me.”103
He exhaled deeply and returned his thoughts to the etchings on the massive façade. His eyes drifted to the second story. How did the Septemviri analyze these so quickly? The façade’s three-sectional relief stood as always, luring its observers into the mysterious future. The Septemviri interpreted the etching as a sort of chronology. He recalled them saying that the first scene stood as the creation of the Heavens and Earth, an explosion of light coming from one source.104 All angels had been privy to understanding that event. The second panel displayed the Great One radiating his own spirit.105 The scene sent a sense of awe through the traitor.
The third panel, however, remained indecipherable to the Septemviri. “Great One, can you explain the third relief to me? Who are those two beings looking up at a tree?”106
“My, aren’t we curious?” The Great One’s voice rose a little in octave. “Why should I tell you anything? I don’t broadcast my plans. My followers execute my plans when I tell them to.”
His laughed seemed to echo throughout the canyon, but the traitor knew nobody else could hear him, could they? “O Great One, you know you can trust me. I terminated my relationship with the Creator to join you.” The traitor’s voice rose, and his breathing increased. “I betrayed my comrades by informing you of their plans.”
The Great One snuffed his laugh. “Very well, my little loyal one. I’ll tell you.”
He paused. “Those beings in the third panel are my next project. You don’t know them, but I do. They are called mankind. They are said to be made in the image of the Creator, but they are more, much more than that.”107
The traitor breathed easier. “How so, leader?”
“They are actually gods. They truly will be able to create.”108
“How can they create from nothing?”
“No, no, no, not that kind of creation. They will be able to use their bodies to create other beings like themselves in the material world. These are powers which even angels don’t possess. Yet I will educate humans, so they see that they are greater than that. They can be creators like me in the spiritual world, changing lives and saving souls.”109
The turncoat angel focused on one of the beings. “The creature has a face I have seen before, a face different from any seraph. For the first time, I can’t seem to place where I have seen it.”
“The face you are looking at, my subordinate, is on Earth. It also resembles one of my four faces. The Creator imposed, no, shall I say burdened me with the face of mankind. What a disgrace, we cherubim have, in bearing it.”
Imposed? The face was beautiful, and this was just an etching of it. Would he ever see the humans on Earth? The creator had allowed all angels to view the material universe, but they had not seen these beings.
The traitor stepped between the six columns supporting the façade and entered the vestibule. Another large etching, a star within a circle, stared down on him from the back wall. The five points of the star mesmerized him. They seemed to shoot out toward the circle, threatening multiple punctures. His heart pounded as he tried to imagine himself within one of those points, invading God’s Heavenly Throne that encased Heaven. Could they pull this off? Against the Creator? Of course, they could. So many had already turned against Him. If the Creator could stop them, He would have done so by now.
His breathing hastened. “Great One, when will it happen?”
“Soon, my servant, soon. I control the timing of our invasion.”
“Why wait? The Creator only has a handful of real supporters. The others are passive followers who will soon see the truth.”
The Great One sighed. “You are so impatient. Don’t you understand? I am not seeking to control a few districts or the inner rings. I am seeking—no, I am going to succeed in controlling all of Heaven. I will not fail. I am perfect, and perfection is flawless.”
“Then why not now?” The traitor knew he sounded indignant, but he had to press him. How could he risk so much without knowing everything?
“Don’t you see, my little incompetent one?” The Great One softened his voice. “If I leave any small advantage to the Creator, He will exploit it and grow a counterinsurgency. He will blunt my five driving points with his inadequate forces.”
“But we will defeat him, Great One!”
“Yes, we will, but it will take too long. I want this to be a swift and decisive battle, not a protracted war with prisoners taken on both sides. If I act before I have completed my tasks, then I risk losing precious resources. I don’t want to lose a single angel to the Creator. I have designed my forces in dominions and organized them within specific levels of responsibilities and powers. Any crack in my organization could have repercussions to the whole rebellion.”
Resources? The Great One already had captured many loyalists, and the Septemviri were too small to be effective. Was he afraid of losing some of his followers back to the Creator? He couldn’t be. That was impossible. They had already made their decisions. The Creator would never take them back. No, He would throw them out of Heaven, through the Siq, and into the material world.
The traitor turned and exited the structure. He returned to the canyon. He walked some distance and peered through the haze, shaking his head slightly as he looked down the canyon. He wasn’t alone. Golden rings bound countless angels. But wait—these angels were to be engaging their own free wills. To capture angels within these rings seemed to go against everything the rebellious ones preached.
He wasn’t part of this. He hadn’t even known the imprisoning ring existed until he saw Squatinidale’s capture. That little angel had looked so pitiful and helpless when the ring bound him.
“Great One,” he whispered. He couldn’t believe he was about to challenge the Great One. But he had to know. “Forgive me for my insolence, but how can you preach freedom and yet hold these loyalist
angels captive?”
“I’m not holding them captive,” returned the cold voice.
The traitor stared at the downtrodden angels. Their numbers were staggering. They sat crossed-legged, facing different directions, most looking downward. Other angels stared straight ahead with vacant eyes. When they shifted positions, a jolt of energy seemed to rifle through them. Did this come from the ring?
The traitor turned and squinted. Within the gorge, the darkened haze blurred distant objects. They looked like the silhouettes of large othelite stacks piled by Gabriel. But these piles moved, rocked, and moaned. He ventured forward, taking soft steps. One by one the prisoners of war came into view on his right and left. They didn’t return his gaze. Weeping pierced the gloom, void of the faces that produced its horrible sound.
“Great One, what do you mean you haven’t captured them? Your followers placed these rings, these burning golden energy rings on whole divisions of angels. I know I don’t have your great knowledge and wisdom, but these angels were subdued against their wills.”
“Of course, they look that way, my ignorant host. But your eyes and heart are deceiving you. Haven’t you learned from my teachings about the Creator? Things you see through His eyes can be misleading. You see, He has fooled you into seeing things that don’t exist. I will point you to the truth.”
The traitor stopped and focused on the face of a captured loyalist sitting to his right. Her eyes didn’t radiate anymore. That was odd. All angels’ eyes radiated. Oh, yes—they needed the Lord’s Spirit to radiate. The traitor looked at another prisoner. His eyes were void of color. The pale pupils rolled toward him. The weeping, still infecting the haze, gnawed at him. Where was it coming from? Certainly not from the angels he was observing. He refocused on the angels with the blank eyes. Was this angel asking for help? Pity? The traitor couldn’t tell. The wretched soul just stared in his direction. He was shaking his head, almost in a metronomic rhythm. What was he thinking? Why had he not found the Great One’s offer so simple, so right?
“I don’t understand, Great One.” The traitor’s voice almost whined. The atmosphere weakened his knees.
“Listen, my subject,” returned the Great One. “You are looking at the source of my influence. What you are seeing is the negation of one of the Creator’s greatest powers—mercy.”
“How can you negate the Creator’s mercy?”
“Simple,” responded the deep voice, “by convincing these hosts that they are not worthy of it.”
The traitor journeyed down the path winding among the captives, though he could barely feel his legs moving. He couldn’t look at the prisoners anymore. Worthy? Why would an angel need mercy? The prisoners had done nothing against the Creator’s Will. Weren’t they brought here against their own wills? And besides, if they sought mercy, they were not going to find it from a Creator trying to banish angels from Heaven.
This ignorance weighed heavily upon him.
“Great One, I still don’t understand.”
“It is quite simple, my underling. Any angel can remove a ring from another angel. In doing so, they are using their own faith and power. Likewise, the captives know deep inside that they can also remove their own rings and accept the Lord’s mercy for any shortcoming—real or imaginary. But they refuse to do so because their guilt and self-condemnation refuse to allow it. The Creator has the Will and power to forgive them, but they don’t forgive themselves. Their guilt makes them turn their back on the Creator’s mercy because they cannot imagine that a Creator could love them so much that He would forgive them.”
“But what are they condemning themselves of?” asked the traitor.
“How little you know of angels and of yourself,” hissed the Great One. “You see, I am the only perfect angel. They may have the free will to be as great as the Creator, but they have imperfections that have plagued their entire existence. Angels feel they are not worthy to stand in the presence of the Creator, not knowing that the Creator accepts them for who they are. Why do you think so many go to the Bibliotheca?”
The traitor slid through a path not occupied by the captives and leaned his shoulder against one of the canyon’s walls. “They go to the Bibliotheca because they are searching for something, right?”
“That is correct,” replied the Great One, sounding a little more relieved at the traitor’s response. That he should have a response, rather than yet another question. “They think they are searching for knowledge, but in reality, some are searching for a way to reconnect with the Creator. But they will never find one because of the defect in their spirits.”
The traitor looked down and wondered. What was his defect?
The Great One continued. “Take Squatinidale, for example. He has always secretly blamed the Lord for his stature and for his lack of oratory skills. Those defects drew him to me.”
“How?”
“I magnified his defects and tortured him. I whispered that the Creator made him as a substandard angel. He blamed the Creator, and it blocked his relationship with Him.”
“But he still performed missions, didn’t he?” The traitor paced.
“Yes, he did, and the Creator refused to stop loving him. This instilled Squatinidale with guilt. So naturally, he refused to forgive himself for blaming the Creator for his shortcomings. This self-deprecation convinced him that an external force was holding the ring around him. And he was right. The force was guilt. He accepted the punishment and succumbed to the result. Through this endless cycle, Squatinidale punished himself.” The Great One erupted with laughter. “The same thing will happen when we catch him again. He refuses to accept the Creator’s forgiveness, in essence trapping himself.”
The traitor turned from the wall and faced inward, toward the center of the gorge. The prisoners still didn’t take notice. “What if I were to take the ring off of them?”
“Try it.”
The traitor walked over to the closest angel with blank eyes. He held onto the ring, the energy sizzling in his hand. He ignored the jolt and lifted it with barely any force. The ring drifted off.
But the angel didn’t move. He sat in the same position, with his arms pressed against his sides, as if the ring were still on him.
“Come on.” The traitor nudged him. “You are free now.”
The prisoner remained still, staring into nothingness.
“Get out of here!” the traitor yelled. “You are free to join your foolish friends and join them in worshipping the Creator.”
Still, no response from the captive.
“Why won’t he get up? He is free to go, isn’t he?”
“Because his guilt and self-condemnation come from within,” said the Great One. “The ring only reminds him that he is powerless against his own guilt.”
“What if I throw the ring away?” The traitor tossed the ring into the haze. It skipped on the canyon floor, casting sparks with each bounce.
The captive remained.
The traitor stood, staring. “What a fool. He doesn’t even seem to have a will anymore.”
“You see, my subject, this is what happens when you trust in the Creator. He fills these poor hapless beings with false promises of mercy. Once that false promise is exposed, the angel realizes that he has been betrayed, discarded, and abandoned. Do you see the Creator rescuing them?”
The traitor retrieved the ring and replaced it on the angel. He turned and walked away, shaking his head. What had the Creator done? The Great One was right. Everything was an illusion. The Rebellious Ones captured loyal angels and encased them in these rings. The rings, however, really didn’t have any restricting power. Instead, the rings reminded the angels of something deep within their spirit, something, or some behavior they felt guilty about. But instead of accepting the Creator’s mercy, they surrendered to their own condemnation…
Brilliant.
“There is more, my
little servant,” continued the Great One.
The traitor stopped.
“Those who follow me can never be confined by the ring. Even if a ring were placed on one of my followers, the ring would have no effect and they would function normally.”
“Why?” The traitor felt his ignorance seeping in again.
The Great One’s voice again grew a little impatient in tone. “The reason my subjects cannot be self-imprisoned by the ring is that they have realized who they are. You are all gods that can make your own rules and exercise your own wills. Therefore, you don’t have to feel guilty about any perceived shortcoming that the Creator has imposed on you. You are becoming who you are without the Creator.”
The traitor rounded and hurried out of the area. He had seen enough. Why couldn’t these captured angels just listen to enlightened angels like himself? They had only to be who they were meant…
He stopped short beside a seated prisoner. Something caught his eye. A brand peeked out from the upturned sleeve of a distraught angel. The sign of the Septemviri! How many angels had this sign? He thought only the Septemviri bore it. He stared for a moment, losing the sense of where he was.
The traitor knelt beside the angel. Grabbing the stoic angel’s chin with both hands, he peered into his eyes. They seemed absent.
“Look at me!” The traitor had to talk to him. “Look at me! Who are you? What is the matter with you angels? Why don’t you see what you are letting the Creator do to you?”
He heard a noise far above his head. The traitor looked up. A sharp light beam cut through the haze from the sky and enlightened the captured angel’s face. The sweet scent of the Lord’s Spirit assaulted the traitor’s nostrils, almost suffocating him. The traitor dropped his hands and fell backwards, shading his eyes from the light. His gaze returned to the angel. He backpedaled on all fours, scurrying as fast as his legs could take him.
Angelic Wars- First Rebellion Page 21