“The Pergamum Bibliotheca?” said Squatinidale, his voice wavering.
“We must ask the Lord for our next move,” Gabriel interjected.
Azarias lowered his hands and motioned for the other to follow him in a prex précis.
“Wait.” Michael cleared his voice and walked up to Azarias. His eyes fixed on the path before him. “I really don’t know how to say this, but we have entered into a prex précis every time we needed to hear from God.”
“Go on,” said Azarias.
“Well up to now, God’s strategies and messages have been interpreted through you.” Michael raised his head and stared into Azarias’s eyes. “And so far, we have been in danger on every mission, and now have lost two of our own.”
Azarias shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He had known this would be coming, and Michael, due to his aggressive nature, was the most likely one to say it. His spirit imposed itself upon others even when he wasn’t confrontational. But Azarias didn’t flinch. He knew that Michael loved him.
“Azarias, I don’t want you to think that I am challenging you as God’s chosen one to lead us into battle. What I am saying is that the Great One possesses power to get into other angels’ minds. While an angel may believe he is hearing from God, he instead may be following the destructive path of that great menace.”
Azarias swallowed hard. This concept of the Great One reading his own mind never occurred to him. Could he have been fooled all this time? He remembered the presence and absence of the Lord’s Spirit in all of the Septemviri decisions.111 He took this to be the test of whether he acted within the Lord’s plan or that of the enemy.
Azarias stepped forward, his chin barely reaching Michael’s chest. “I agree with you, Michael.”
Michael’s raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“The Great One has the capacity to fool us into saying things that we think are from God. Did you consider this before challenging me?”112
Michael’s eyes drifted to the side.
Azarias lowered his head and opened his hands into the prex précis position. After only a brief second, he turned. “Remember, Michael, the Lord’s light shines brightest in our darkest moments.”113
He rounded and motioned the others to follow him down the bluff. “The Lord is pushing me to the Bibliotheca in Pergamum. We cannot give up on Raffaela and Malachy. The Lord’s mercy is ever giving.”114
Azarias was uncertain of what they would find at the bottom, maybe another ambush. The enemy seemed to enjoy such an advantage. Nonetheless, he, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, Pollyon, and Squatinidale crept down the path, hugging the face of the bluff. Crisscrossing the bluff, the angels traversed dozens of switchbacks down to the bottom of the deep ravine. Along the way, they zigged behind the profundo water-rise, maintaining a width of about ten feet as it surged straight up the face of the cliff. Each time they crossed behind it, Azarias heard the voice of God in its controlled, but violent torrent.
They neared the end of a 1,500-foot descent. “Azarias,” whispered Gabriel, “where is the Lord’s Spirit?”
Gabriel was right. The area had darkened more and more as they descended.
By the time they reached the base of the cliff, the atmosphere had deteriorated fully into a morbid gray. A narrow, winding gorge was pierced by the snaking profundo.
Azarias raised his hand, stopped, and cocked his head to one side. The dim atmosphere swallowed his sight and confidence to within one hundred feet. The Spirit of the Lord parted the menacing atmosphere from above like sunbeams filtering through a humid rainforest. He scanned for the enemy, who could be hiding in every crevice bordering the gorge.
“Azarias,” said Pollyon. “Azarias.”
Azarias shook off the trance and turned. “Pollyon, do you see the enemy hiding?”
Pollyon pointed upstream. “No, I think they’ve moved on toward Pergamum. It is not in their interest to ambush and take more prisoners, so I think we are safe.”
Azarias followed his gaze. Did every corner conceal an ambush? He couldn’t be sure. He thought back to his first meeting with Abaddon and the one hundred angels. Then, one hundred enemy angels appeared from frescos. What would prevent them from oozing out from between the slender cracks?
Azarias nodded, and the angels filed through the narrow passage. His spirit alternated between anxiety and relief at each turn. The trail crossed the ten-foot-wide profundo several times, requiring the angels to fly across its flowing essence to the path on the other side.
Azarias worried about Uriel. Would this trek be too much for him? He had to keep him occupied and distracted.
“Uriel,” said Azarias in a low but terse tone, “is this the way to Pergamum?”
Uriel pulled a map from his robe to measure the distance between Laodicea and Pergamum. He fumbled as he unrolled it. “I can estimate where the Pergamum Bibliotheca is located by the distance we walk in this gorge. I am assuming we are traveling in the correct general direction, considering the rebellious ones traveled this path.”
The angels continued their timorous walk. Azarias glanced over his shoulder. Uriel and Gabriel looked focused, but Squatinidale and Pollyon seemed on edge. Squatinidale jumped at the slightest sound, bumping into Gabriel and Michael, who appeared annoyed by his uneasiness.
What was he going to do when he found the enemy? He had at least three frantic angels. Would they bolt, leaving him, Michael and Gabriel to fend for themselves against, five, twenty, or even one hundred of the enemy?
Azarias stopped and turned. Michael walked last in line, his eyes scanning the gray surroundings with a hardened stare. He leaned over Gabriel’s shoulder and whispered, “Are you feeling uneasy?”
Gabriel searched the bluffs above him. “If you mean, do I feel we are susceptible to an ambush from the front, the rear, and above…my answer is that I’m very uneasy. But the Lord is our guardian; we shall not be in want. He lets us lie down in golden amborlite. He leads us beside quiet profundo. He restores our spirits. He guides us in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of the rebellious ones, we will not fear. The Lord’s righteousness comforts us.”115
“St-stop,” Uriel whispered. The alarm in his voice stopped Azarias cold. Did he finally crack? Looking at his map again, Uriel peered up a ravine to his left through the gray filtered light. The ravine opened into their gorge at about twenty-five feet above the level of the profundo. The other angels stopped, searching for movement.
Azarias clamped his jaw. Uriel pointed. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He swallowed and then whispered, “We go through here.”
Azarias looked up the ravine. It darkened in the distance. Throwing a glance at Uriel, he took a deep breath. He raised his wings, flying to the ravine’s mouth but no farther—not just yet, anyway. Azarias examined the menacing chasm. He motioned for the remaining five angels to follow. One by one, each angel advanced. First Gabriel and Michael, then Uriel and Squatinidale, and finally Pollyon.
The crevice opening led to a small ravine that narrowed. They couldn’t spread their wings and would have to resort to walking. Azarias looked up at the walls, but they towered beyond his vision. The profundo, sojourning through the gorge behind them, assaulted his ears with each collapsing whitecap. Could that be the enemy sloshing through the river, looking for them? He drew a deep breath, taking in the stuffy scent of his walled column. If they were ambushed, they would have no escape, and there was no room to maneuver.
A dead end.
Azarias rubbed his hand on the wall. The cold surface tingled at his fingertips. “Now where, Uriel?”
A shaky angel crept next to him. “I know it appears that the trail terminates at this wall, but the map shows it continuing.” He paused. “I don’t like this, Azarias, now that my map doesn’t agree. Something is not right.”
“Do you think the trail resumes above our heads on another level where we can’t see it?” Gabriel asked.
“No. The map doesn’t show the trail ending here.”
Azarias examined the wall closely. He recalled the Thyatira castle escapade. Walls exert a sluggish and counter energy that slows angels down. But sometimes, they are walls to another room.
He leaned forward and pushed. As hoped, he penetrated the wall up to his shoulder. His arm moved freely, unimpeded from one side to the other. The wall, it seemed, extended only one foot in thickness.
“This way,” he said in a commanding voice. He stepped on through.
After a slight delay, the others followed. On the other side was a dark cavity. There was no light from the Lord’s Spirit; thus, the darkness so absolute, it seemed to suffocate. They had to be near the enemy. But how near? Was the enemy above them in the darkness waiting to attack?
Azarias shook off the paranoia, focused.
“Uriel, does the trail go straight ahead?” Azarias listened for any sign of the Lord that may ease his anxiety.
“I c-can’t see my map.”
Walking forward, Azarias felt the grade rise under his feet. This steady but steep grade seemed to take far longer than their descent from the Laodicean bathhouse. Finally, the familiar filtered gray atmosphere soaked through. Its menacing tentacles protruded through a doorway far up the incline, beckoning them.
Azarias wavered in the hazy threshold.
They had entered the Pergamum Bibliotheca.
He took a deep breath. Everything seemed so quiet. Usually, hundreds of angels flew among the book levels searching for answers from God. But oddly, not this time. Two levels of golden arches displayed their beauty to a large empty foyer. The smoldering index lay as an abandoned portal to God’s mind in the middle of the room.
Something ominous and pernicious consumed the Bibliotheca. The graying atmosphere drank up the Lord’s Spirit.
Squatinidale, trembling, caught Azarias’s eye. “I know this place.” He turned to Azarias. “I know this spirit. In one weak moment, it assaulted me with fire.” He searched around. “But I escaped.”
Azarias’s gaze softened. What happened to Squatinidale in here? He would never know. Events that transpire within one’s spirit were hardly for general knowledge. He could only imagine Squatinidale’s pain. Maybe he should help him.
“You don’t have to join us for this rescue, Squatinidale.”
“I must,” Squatinidale said, with eyes harnessing tears. “I must confront my fears.”
Azarias, nodding, put his arm around Squatinidale’s shoulders.
Uriel paced back and forth. His steps cast echoes into the distant unseen corners. Had he reached his tolerance limit?
Azarias felt Squatinidale stiffen.
“I can feel the Great One tempting me, like before.” Squatinidale’s breath shortened. “The feeling is like a sash crawling, growing, and weaving inside of me. The more I try to tear it out, the stronger it gets.”
Squatinidale whined a high-pitched note. “No!” he shouted. “You cannot have me, again.” Hands pressed to his face, he swayed back and forth.
Azarias grabbed Squatinidale’s shoulders from behind and spun the tormented angel around. “Squatinidale! We are here to rescue our friends. Whatever happened to you at the Bibliotheca is not going to happen again.” He looked into Squatinidale’s eyes. “If you are to be consumed, allow yourself to be consumed by the Lord’s eternal fire.116 The Lord does not ignore the cry of the afflicted.”117
Squatinidale’s breathing slowed, his eyes softened. “We need to seek the Lord’s Spirit,” Azarias announced. “Pollyon, we need you to search this level for any hostile angels or signs of Abaddon, Malachy, or Raffaela. Please report to me as soon as you have surveyed the area.”
Pollyon hurried into the distant shadows. Azarias walked over to the Index. The seven-foot oval bay swirled with a blue-white mist of fury.
He gazed directly into the misty caldron and climbed over the low wall. His breathing quickened. He turned to the others behind him. “I must seek the Lord’s knowledge.”
As he rounded, the Index consumed him, enveloping him in the mist. He peered into the desolate murk. He trembled, but he knew he had to connect with the Lord’s mind.
A large slab obstructed him, however, smoldering in purple fire. Azarias retreated a step. It was time to assert, against the rising evil, the Will of Heaven. His spirit rustled, calling upon the wind of the Lord, directing it forward. The slab rose onto one of its corners, still smoldering at the edges, and rotated. Dancing its unbalanced minuet, the slab slammed on its side, facing Azarias. Words were burned into the monolith, and Azarias stepped forward. He read the burning letters loudly so the others could hear:
Immersed in their pride
In the bowl of grandiose
The chanting tolls
Ego laus a deus intus vos
No compass rose to guide them
All energy is consumed in boast
In dark harmony, they sing
Ego laus a deus intus vos
The coterie has heard and not understood
They have seen and not perceived
Their spirits are waxed gross
As they succumb to
Ego laus a deus intus vos
The miscreant reveals itself
In victory, they are engrossed
In their requiem, they sing
Ego laus a deus intus vos
Enter the real light, Most High,
The foreshadowed singing of the hosts
Rapture of the captive ones
Ego laus a deus intus vos
The fire melted the slab, and the mist evaporated. Azarias’s comrades reappeared. He had returned to the gray environment outside the Index.
A voice stabbed the darkness. “I think I found a passage used by the rebellious ones.” Pollyon re-entered the group. “I found a passageway in this dreadful atmosphere. It wasn’t easy, but I believe it is the path taken by Abaddon.”
Azarias turned. “Guide us, my friend.”
The five angels followed Pollyon to the far end of the Bibliotheca. Azarias stopped short. The partially hidden passageway, deep within an alcove, appeared suspicious.
“I believe they went through here. Please, follow,” requested Pollyon.
Azarias scanned the other four angels. “Leave through the upper openings of the Bibliotheca and execute the instructions I gave you while in the Index.”
Pollyon lowered one brow. “Instructions? Is there a plan? Do you think it is wise to separate?”
“I will follow you, Pollyon. I don’t think it is wise for us to be concentrated in one area when we confront the rebels. I will be in contact with the rest of the Septemviri through the Lord’s Spirit.”
Pollyon stood still for a moment, staring at Azarias. “Alright, but I have already been ambushed by these types. I still think we stand a better chance if we attack in force.”
Pollyon hesitated, but seeing he had not changed Azarias’s mind, he entered the passage. Azarias paused. The gray atmosphere ignited the same hopeless feeling as when Squatinidale found him in Al Birka. The corridor seemed endless. Pollyon ventured only several yards in front of him, yet Azarias could only see a shifting dark shape. Azarias took one step and then crept, ascending slightly on the rising slope with each step. The gray atmosphere darkened.
Azarias homed in on Pollyon’s soft footsteps. He felt the narrow walls and ceiling. He could no longer see. Darkness shrouded him.
The walls on each side ended. Azarias reached out trying to find some bearing.
Nothing.
Did the passage end on a bluff or cliff? He felt the disagreeing spirits of the rebellious ones suffocating him.
Azarias moved closer and touched Pollyon. “Listen.”
A glimmer ca
ught the corner of Azarias’s eye off to the right. It appeared as a faint star on a horizon.
“What’s that?” he whispered. Pollyon didn’t answer.
The glow brightened. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? It seemed to be a glow from another far-off corridor, not a pinpoint of light.
“Pollyon?” Still, silence.
The glow seemed to radiate from a doorway up on a ledge. Azarias took a step back.
The vision horrified him. Six silhouettes of seraphim emerged from the opening. Even in this darkened area, Azarias could see them descending toward him and Pollyon, but on a stage of some sort. The silhouettes stood in pairs, partially obscuring the light beams reaching from behind.
Could these seraphim see him? Azarias didn’t move a wing.
All remained still, no presence of the Lord’s Spirit, light, or wind.
Silence, cold silence, filled the glow, the silhouettes still as columns.
The light, however, moved and maneuvered, casting its vectors through the seraphim. Azarias stiffened.
This light came not from God.
The beams thrust through the doorway and into what now looked like a chamber. They bent around the silhouettes, exposing their solemn-faces. With eerie precision, the six seraphim moved to the sides, three to the right and three to the left, exposing the doorway.
A fifteen-foot-tall cherub approached the end of the stage. The exalted enemy threw a light ten times greater than the Earth’s full moon across the chamber. Azarias squinted. This enemy’s soft, gentle face reflected untold beauty, just as described by Squatinidale.
Azarias staggered. A sharp blade of fear cut right through his spirit.
Malachy and Raffaela stood behind the cherub.
It was true; they had turned against God and were now part of the leader’s inner court.
* * *
111 Jeremiah 29:13
112 Mark 8:33
113 John 1:5
114 1 Peter 1:3
115 Psalm 23:1-4
Angelic Wars- First Rebellion Page 24