Angelic Wars- First Rebellion

by Rick E Norris

  The ringed angel’s eyes came to life. No longer did death hold its grip on them. They glowed bright magenta. He stood and rose off the surface, towering over the turncoat member of the Septemviri. The golden ring bubbled and melted from his arms. His eyes carved into the traitor’s soul.

  A deep majestic voice spoke through him. “I gave you life. And then I gave you a mission when all Heaven was at the mercy of a wretched rebellion. I trusted you. You were to help those who were not able to help themselves.”

  “Who are you?” yelled the traitor. He turned to his side to avoid the light.

  “You knew who I was when you inhaled my sweet fragrance. The question is, who are you? Or better yet, who do you think you will be?”

  The traitor covered his eyes. This was their territory. What was He doing here? A flash blinded him, and he covered his head as a mighty wind ruffled his robe. Loose othelites pummeled him from the canyon cliffs, high above. He clamped his eyes shut. What was happening? Where was the Great One?

  He peeked.

  Another flash bolted from the Heavens, passed through the risen angel and onto the surface. The light burned the ground before him and ran its way toward all the imprisoned ones. Othelites, scattered among the ground, exploded with loud popping sounds as energy coursed through them.

  The traitor jumped to his feet. He ran down the canyon, passing scores of captured angels who now moved with a new life. They stood and turned as he passed. Thousands of burning eyes caught him in their gaze. They raised their hands. The multitude walked towards him, shifting their feet in the silicium.

  Harmonious singing clamored his ears. Where was it coming from?

  The traitor ran. He had come through a passage, but he couldn’t find it. How did the Great One get him here?

  A crescendo of moans filled his ears and mixed with the music. Everything grew louder. He had to fly, yet his wings seemed weighted. He ran faster. The canyon pass filled with menacing prisoners.

  “Great One!”

  Nothing. No longer imprisoned, the angels circled him. The radiant angel hovered above him. He backed against the wall. Nowhere to go. They closed in. He could see their eye sockets clearer, now oozing with puss. Mouths open with no tongues. Ears folded shut. What was happening?

  The façade. Yes, the façade. Maybe the Great One could reach him in there. The traitor darted for the six pillars supporting the façade. He had to get inside. He pumped his arms, trying to get the last little bit of breath.

  Almost to the pillars.

  His feet couldn’t move fast enough.

  The pillars moved and came to life.

  The traitor stopped short and stared at the pillars. He shot a glance behind him. The multitude advanced.

  Turning to the façade again, he gasped.

  The pillar centers morphed into angels.

  No! It couldn’t be. The pillars became the other six Septemviri.

  Their eyes cut into him with condemnation. They knew! They knew! They raised their arms to condemn him. He stumbled back and rounded. Where was he to go? He was surrounded.

  The vestibule, yes, he had to get into the vestibule. Maybe there was a passageway leading out of there. The Great One always built passageways in his structures. Could there be one? Maybe the Great One would answer his call as he did before.

  He broke into a sprint and blew between two Septemviri. They turned in slow motion, still within their pillars.

  But just as the traitor approached, he stopped. The five-pointed star within the circle—the etching now burned with life, sizzling with red-hot fire, as if drawn by the finger of God Himself. Smoke filled the vestibule. The traitor fell. Where was a door, a passage, any escape? He groped the walls, sparks dropping down on him from the emblazed emblem above. He looked behind him—dozens of silhouettes approached the columns. The other Septemviri would lead them, capture him.

  He was trapped.

  He dropped to his knees and closed his eyes.

  The moaning grew louder as they closed in.

  And louder.

  And then the singing stopped.

  The wind died.

  The moaning noise stopped.

  He caught his breath and opened his eyes.

  The smoke disappeared, and the dismal haze returned. Everything was quiet again. The captured angels were not attacking.

  Was he safe?

  He rose. Where did they go?

  He walked out of the structure. The captured angels were sitting as if they had never moved. What was happening? Their droning misery filled his ears.

  He looked up. The angel was gone. Angel? Hardly.

  “There you are, my servant,” said the Great One.

  “Did you see them, O Great One? They attacked me and then left.”

  “What are you talking about, my paranoid one? I saw nothing. I brought you here to see our victory in process, and now you’ve seen it.”

  A flash blinded him, and he woke as a Septemviri, no longer in the gorge.

  Did the Creator really have such power, even in the rebellious districts? If so, how would they ever take over Heaven?

  * * *

  103 1 Corinthians 1:23

  104 Genesis 1:3

  105 Ezekiel 28:12

  106 Genesis 3:1-7

  107 Genesis 1:26-27

  108 Genesis 1:28

  109 Genesis 3:4-5

  Chapter 22

  Flying over the Philadelphian peaks, the four Septemviri scanned the melted vinifera. The once blessed juice had flooded the planes, indiscriminately suffocating the lowlands, casting a putrid odor to those who dared to cruise a little too close. The once flowing brooks had died into seas of dread.Michael fought the oncoming tears as he surveyed the landscape. Where was Raffaela in all of this?

  “This was one of the prettiest areas in Heaven. What happened here?” asked Gabriel. “Now, everything has…dissolved.”

  When the four flew down into the district center, Michael’s mouth dropped open. Vinifera had flooded the entire courtyard. Waterfalls, once falling three thousand feet through a fissure into the cavern, were now surging into the courtyard as if they were shallow spillways. Only the stairways and tops of the tholos peaked above the deluge.

  “O Lord,” Malachy moaned. “What have we done to allow such a thing to happen?”

  “We?” asked Michael.

  “Yes, we,” said Malachy. She shook her head. “I feel that the entire Angelic Order is responsible for these attacks on Heaven. Azarias told us that this, this pride dwells in all of us and that each of us has the weakness to succumb to it. Just because some of them have surrendered to it doesn’t make the rest of us less culpable. This rebellious spirit can claim any of us as its next victim.”

  Gabriel tapped Michael on the shoulder and pointed. “Who’s that?” A lone angelic figure sat perched on the arching staircase. It was another seraph.

  As the four drew closer, the angel slowly raised his head but made no motion to greet them. He stared instead at the rising vinifera as its choppy crests swirled around the courtyard.

  Landing on the staircase, the four sat on the steps across from the angel. The swishing waves, only a dozen feet below them, echoed back and forth between the walls. Whitecaps collided with each other, arching crests as if in a desperate attempt to reach them.

  The angel did not lift his head, but whispered, “Don’t ask me what happened here. I cannot tell you.”

  Uneasiness embraced Michael. Should they bother this angel, who was obviously in a state of personal sanctity? Heaven had an unwritten rule that those who are engaged with the Lord are to be left alone. The seraph looked up and gazed at them. Sorrow saturated his eyes, and guilt weighed heavily on his face. “I am Dionysius, the district administrator.”

  Di
onysius paused, and his eyes drifted to Gabriel’s open sleeve, which exposed the mark of the Septemviri.

  “You are the Lord’s army, aren’t you?” A pitiful glimmer of hope kindled his eyes. “It was one of yours that saved me from…from that.” He pointed down to the inundation and then let his arm fall to his lap.

  Gabriel’s voice cleared another octave. “You saw Raffaela?”

  Dionysius’s face remained stoic. Michael leaned forward and grabbed his shoulders. “Please, please tell us where Raffaela is.”

  Dionysius shook his head from side to side. Tears dropped into the stormy sea below him.

  “Down there,” Dionysius stuttered. He pointed to the torrent.

  Michael stared at the vinifera. Down there? What did he mean?

  “Your friend sacrificed herself…oh, how I wish it were me.” He moaned.

  Pollyon moved closer and kneeled before the host. “Where did you last see Raffaela?” His voice was soft and understanding.

  “It was dark. I could not see Raffaela at all. It happened so fast—I was plunging out of control. Raffaela displaced me in my trajectory. I was so foolish to try to save my angels, and I tested the Lord. It was unworthy of me, and I was about to suffer the consequence that I had set in motion when Raffaela accepted this plight for me. She sailed down into the cavern in the vinifera.” He covered his face with his hands. “This was a just punishment for my transgression, not hers.”

  The four sat in silence. Michael looked up at Gabriel, who caught his gaze and shrugged. He turned to the others. They didn’t even look up. Michael could imagine Raffaela plunging down to save another angel. But she was always so cautious. How could she take such a chance diving so close to this deluge? A smile turned the corner of his lip. Of course. Her love. Her love of other angels prevailed over her caution for personal safety. Then the words came back to him, the words of the red host. She is suffering her own special prison.

  Michael drew a breath. What were they to do? He cringed to think what Raffaela was living through. He forced himself to focus on the facts. She no longer lingered in Philadelphia. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Where did Raffaela go? Is there an exit in the cavern?”

  Dionysius sighed and dropped his head. “Yes, but I am uncertain of its destination. I have theories because of my studies, but the Lord has not revealed that knowledge to me.”

  “Where are your other angels?” Pollyon stood and looked around.

  “Gone in a different way,” Dionysius answered. “They were being persecuted by a hostile spirit for some time now.” He looked away. “They were already on the verge of rebellion. Some were very weak in faith. I believe some finally cracked, but I am not sure if they succumbed. They abandoned the district center to…only the Lord knows.”

  Pollyon stood and examined the courtyard. “What are your theories about where the vinifera drains?”

  Dionysius pointed toward the distant wall across the courtyard. “There, along that wall, there is a large fissure that drains the excess vinifera that flowed through the various cavernous brooks and waterfalls of Philadelphia. As you can see, the fissure, as large as it is, can only accommodate a limited amount of vinifera at one time. The deluge overwhelmed it and started the flooding.”

  Looking beyond the wall into the distance, Dionysius elaborated, “I believe after it passes through the fissure, the vinifera flows under the surface to another district. I believe it is Laodicea.”

  Michael’s heart leapt. An exit to another district?

  “I know Laodicea,” said Malachy. “That is a long way from here.”

  “What would such a journey like that do to an angel?” Michael asked.

  Silence overtook the group once again.

  Pollyon turned to the others, “We must go to Laodicea and find Raffaela.”

  “Dionysius,” Malachy asked, “Why do you think the vinifera flows to Laodicea?”

  “It is only a theory,” Dionysius said, correcting Malachy. “There is a spiritual liquid in that district; however, it does not originate from the higher elevations as it does in Philadelphia. It flows from a source under the surface and reemerges in Laodicea, where angels bask in it. The odd thing is that it is profundo, emerald green in color, not purple red like the vinifera. But I have always suspected a link between the two.”

  “According to our map, Laodicea is one of the rebellious one’s districts,” Pollyon reminded the angels. “So, the Lord was sending us there, anyway. If we leave now to look for Raffaela, we will not be acting outside the Lord’s Will.”

  “I’m not sure, Pollyon,” argued Gabriel, his tone tight. “It seems we are increasing the scope of our mission without consulting the Lord. We should report back to Azarias in Al Birka.”

  “I vote we go for Raffaela,” Malachy said, jumping to her feet. “As Pollyon said, we are not moving outside the Lord’s Spirit, just accelerating our mission. I can lead you there.”

  “But how can we get to this district that is far off? Unlike the other districts, the Lord’s Spirit and Will commissioned us to travel to them. I have never been to a district that the Lord has not sent me to,” Gabriel said. He paced away from the group and then turned back.

  “It is as easy as moving within the districts, Gabriel,” Pollyon answered. “Within the district, we have always walked and flown short distances. The Lord allowed us to travel short distances as long as it was in purview of His Will. To fly to Laodicea using our own wills will only be extending our presence to a district that is already in our Lord’s Will and missions.”

  Gabriel and Michael glanced at each other. This didn’t sound right.

  Gabriel spoke up. “I don’t think Michael and I are going to Laodicea. It usurps the Lord’s Will. We are going back to Al Birka to report to Azarias and inquire of the Lord in prex précis.”

  “Very well,” Pollyon responded, his voice laced with disappointment. “Malachy and I will go ahead. I just hope we’re not too late to intercept Raffaela. If the profundo in Laodicea empties into another fissure, she may already be lost to us.”

  Now that he and Uriel had returned to Al Birka, Azarias hoped that Uriel’s hysteria had remained in Thyatira. The deserted castle, the surprise of Abaddon, the chase, and finally the mysterious priest, Melchizedek, all together jolted the skittish angel beyond his limits. And now this…no Septemviri to be found. Surely, they must have returned already from their missions. Had one of them fallen into the enemy’s hands? Had all of them? A sharp pain pierced his spirit.

  Azarias pulled out the Tome. Since he was no longer on a mission, maybe he could find out.

  “Azarias!” A voice called from a distance high above. Azarias put down the Tome and tapped the dazed Uriel sitting next to him. Approaching with fiery wings, wings caught in the Lord’s Spirit, were two specks in the distance.

  Gabriel and Michael landed a short distance away.

  Michael ran up. “What a relief, Azarias. Gabriel and I thought you two were captured by the rebellious ones.”

  “We almost were…” said Azarias.

  “Raffaela is gone!” Gabriel interrupted.

  “Gone?” Azaria’s smile deserted him.

  Gabriel recited Dionysius’s story, throwing his arms up to accent the events. He motioned over his shoulder as he informed Azarias that Pollyon and Malachy had decided to look for her in Laodicea.

  “Look for her!” Azarias shouted.

  Azarias sat down and cupped his hands over his face. Raffaela gone? Where? He retraced the commands that the Lord had given him. Did he misunderstand God? God wouldn’t let such a thing happen. It had to be his fault. His pride. Yes, that was it. His pride must have distorted God’s command to send Raffaela alone. He had thought of himself too highly and botched up the message. Yes, that was it. He confused God’s command to send the angels two at a time to each district with his o
wn arrogance to lead the angels to victory.

  Azarias’s hands shook. He held one up in front of his face and tried to steady it with the other. He wasn’t a real leader, certainly not the leader to save Heaven. He looked up at the other three. Their eyes drilled into his soul. They knew.

  He stood and inhaled deeply, not making eye contact. “Excuse me.” He turned and walked around the rock and sat down at his usual spot, with his back to the wall bearing the map. “I told you so, Lord. I am inadequate.” He dropped his head into his hands. “You picked a seraph to confront an all-powerful cherub. And not just any seraph, but a flawed one. Wouldn’t a guardian cherub have served you better?”

  He waited. He expected no answer. Doubt was what he did best. “Lord, I have asked the same question since you made me: Why? Why do you do the things you do?” Tears joined into little puddles in each hand before escaping through his fingers onto his lap. “You made me commander! I didn’t ask for this!” He knew his shouting could be heard by Michael, Gabriel, and Uriel. He expected them to come running, but they didn’t. In fact, they should just abandon him and fly away. He wouldn’t blame them.

  He stared at the silicium around his feet. Like everything else, God had arranged it perfectly, with each grain complimenting the others. He laughed, but not so the others could hear him. “We are supposed to have the advantage over the enemy because we have you. But since the mission’s inception, I have felt like you have abandoned us in every move. The enemy seems to know where we are, and what we are doing. I can’t trust the angels you sent me because one or more of them is a traitor.”

  He wiped his eyes with his forearm, but it did no good.

  The Lord’s Spirit dusted his toes with the silicium before carrying the crystals somewhere into the distance. His robe flapped around his legs, which were pulled tight to his chest. All seemed quiet.

  “Raffaela, Raffaela.” Azarias cried out. “How could you do this to her? I thought she’d be safe. I thought. I thought. Yes, that is the problem. I have always tried to think for you, Lord.”