“Now!” With every ounce of energy, he threw his package into the misty darkness of the oncoming force.
Then Malachy.
Then Raffaela.
The three packages soared, vapor trailing as if guided by the Holy Spirit. Azarias bit his lip. Midway to the rafters, the three projectiles collided. A flash, a boom, and then a heat wave knocked the three onto their backs. Brilliant white light streamers, laced with fire, shot out in all directions, forcing him to shield his eyes.
Explosions fed explosions.
Azarias rolled onto his side and groped around. He found the others. “Come on!”
They climbed to their feet and rushed through the exit toward the gorge. Azarias cringed with every new detonation.
Horrid screams and curses, muffling the morbid music, followed them.
The three fled through the darkness.
“How do you know when we will hit the wall?” Malachy said with a quiver in her voice.
He hadn’t a clue—his own mind was fighting his own barrage of questions. But he would trust God entirely this time.
He fixed his eyes into the dark corridor ahead, trying to see something, anything. He couldn’t be sure if his plan had eliminated every one of the enemy. Azarias had to lead the others down the corridor toward the gorge. He had no choice.
Then he saw it.
Was he imagining it?
No, there it was again—a faint light in the distance, at the end of the tunnel. Was this from the Lord?
It had to be unless the rebellious angels somehow again circumvented him. They knew the area. He could only retrace the passage that the traitor, Pollyon, directed. Was he leading the former hostages back into a trap? Back into their captivity?
His spirit leaped. The Lord was with them. The fiery outline focused to recognition, a multi-colored triangle within a circle—the sign of the Septemviri burned into the wall.
Lunging forward, the three angels dove through the etching.
The fire filled them with energy, shooting them out the other end. They, themselves, had become flames.
They landed on the other side, on their hands and knees, rolling to their backs. Azarias lay there, hauling in breaths.
Azarias looked behind him. The fire had extinguished.
“Come on,” Azarias urged, pushing to his feet, reaching out to help Raffaela.
Malachy grabbed his arm, her face pale, eyebrows arching. “They may still be after us!”
Azarias redirected his attention. “Yes, of course. We have to get back to Laodicea. I hope Michael and the others will be waiting there. It is the only logical rendezvous point out of danger.”
Running down the narrow passage toward the gorge, Raffaela stumbled, fell. “I’m sorry. I am still weak from that terrible journey.”
Azarias helped her up, eyes meeting hers, unable to find all the words. “I’m so grateful we found you and that you are still one of us.”
Raffaela smiled, though weakly.
The horrid music returned, seeping through the darkness far behind them.
No! How had they gotten through the etching?
Azarias and Malachy leaped off the bluff, flying into the gorge. They banked away from the opposite wall and soared downstream.
Raffaela followed. Azarias turned in time to see her somersaulting, however. “Raffaela!” Azarias screamed.
She disappeared into a wall. The impact gouged a blue and white crater.
Both angels turned. Even as the terrifying music advanced, Azarias and Malachy rushed to the settling crater and reached in. Pulling on a foot, and then an arm, they struggled to dislodge Raffaela.
“Sorry, sorry,” Raffaela muttered with exhaustion as they freed her.
“Hurry, they’re almost here,” said Malachy, her face dimming to a pale shade.
Raffaela’s eyes shifted upward over Azarias’s shoulder. “Pollyon.”
Azarias turned.
Pollyon stood on the bluff, grinning, with his hands on his hips. “You cannot escape us. We are too many.”
His legion approached, heralding their dreadful tune.
The three Septemviri leaped into flight. Azarias used the snaking profundo to guide them.
“Stay in line, but fly into the haze,” he ordered.
The current of the profundo roiled, angry. Whitecaps arced into the haze, snatching in vain at the pursued angels.
Azarias looked for anything familiar. The gorge exited in Laodicea, but how far was it? The haze distorted his concept of distance.
The traitorous music pressed on…
Then he heard the sound he anticipated, the sound he wished for. It caressed his ears…
The rushing water-rise.
The mist cleared. An emerald stream rushed up the face of the cliff in front of him.
“Follow me.” Azarias waved his hand and flew up inside the face of the water-rise. They squeezed between the wall and the profundo with only inches separating them from the vertical torrent.
The thunderous noise pelted the great bluff, throwing energy in all directions. It made the angels’ flight more difficult to navigate.
“You have no escape, Azarias,” Pollyon yelled from far below.
“Azarias, leave me,” Raffaela pleaded. “I am slowing you and Malachy down. The Lord will watch over me.”
Azarias looked into her eyes. “Raffaela, I will not lose you again.”
He turned to the pursuers. They had reached the base of the water-rise and ascended. Azarias spotted the cliff where they had earlier discovered Pollyon. He grabbed Raffaela and Malachy by their arms. They settled on the narrow cliff behind it.
“What are you doing?” Malachy yelled above the raging sound. “They will catch us.”
Indeed, a second later, Pollyon and his lieutenants appeared, hovering on the other side of the water-rise. Their silhouettes shimmered as a blur.
“There is nowhere to go,” Pollyon warned. “You can come quietly, or we will come in and extract you from your false sanctuary.” His voice muffled through the rushing water.
“We will never turn from the Lord!” He tore his gaze away from Pollyon. There, peeking from a crevice behind him, was the golden ring that once imprisoned Pollyon, an imprisonment clearly never real.
Azarias grabbed the ring. It jolted him with negative energy. He dropped it and then picked it up again. Holding the ring over his head, he shouted through the profundo. “Behold and see the power of the Lord.”129
Azarias propelled himself high, threading between the water rise and the bluff.
Pollyon shouted something below, but the raging profundo drowned his words.
Sliding to a halt, Azarias focused on the shimmering spiritual liquid. It surged only inches from his face, carrying energy high into the Laodicea spiritual house. Azarias held his breath and closed his eyes. With one giant swoop, he sliced the ten-foot-wide profundo water-rise, cutting it in two. Sparks flashed and sizzled as the bottom half of the electrified spiritual liquid crested from the bluff. A thundering roar filled the gorge as the massive wave cascaded backward, arching toward its source. Azarias could see the horror in Pollyon’s posture as he and his comrades froze. At the last second, they leaped from the massive wall of profundo. Too late. The wall crashed over them, crushing them and washing them from his sight. Azarias stood motionless. What power the Lord could unleash with just a movement of his finger.
Malachy and Raffaela joined him, the underworld tsunami echoing in the gorge in the distance. “My Lord,” Malachy said, looking to the far reaches in disbelief. “Where did they go?”
“I don’t know,” said Azarias as he shook his head. “Maybe back to Philadelphia where Raffaela started.”
“I hope not,” moaned Raffaela. “Nobody deserves the fate I endured.” They stood there for a moment longer in sil
ence. Azarias’s rubbed his shoulder, still numb from the electrocution.
The angels resumed their trek, walking the switchbacks this time. They didn’t rush, there was no need.
Entering the spiritual house, Azarias paused. The pool had emptied. The river no longer fed the basin, only a dehydrated shell remained. Was this retribution for the lukewarm feelings of the residents toward God?130 No longer would they enjoy the spiritual pool where the Lord’s Spirit and Grace submerged them.
A noise at the door turned Azarias’s gaze. Michael, Gabriel, Squatinidale, and Uriel rushed in.
They stared at Raffaela, then Malachy. The seven embraced, grabbing each other’s shoulders. “Are you—what happened?” Azarias cringed under Michael’s grip. Still, he grabbed hold of his fellow angel and knew joy.
Their laughter echoed loudly through the chamber, but noise no longer drew worry. They were safe now.
“Come on.” Azarias walked past them. “Let’s get back to Al Birka. I don’t want any more unexpected surprises.”
The Septemviri followed him into the deserted courtyard.
A great white flash engulfed them.
* * *
118 Psalm 28:1
119 Isaiah 14:13-14
120 Ezekiel 28:13-14
121 Ezekiel 28:1-5
122 Ezekiel 28:6-9
123 Ezekiel 28:16-19
124 Judges 7:20
125 Hebrews 12:29
126 Judges 7:22
127 John 14:6
128 1 Corinthians 12:8
129 Isaiah 40:10
130 Revelation 3:15-16
Chapter 26
A flash of bright white, then black. Azarias pried his eyes open. White, again. Why? Crystalline particles dug into the side of his face, their prismatic colors blinding. As he closed his grip, soft granules escaped his fingertips. Where did the spiritual house go? This wasn’t the Laodicea courtyard. They had banished the evil ones, hadn’t they? His chest heaved. He strained his eyes for any hostile movement.
He raised his head and squinted. No enemy. Were they hiding?
The Lord’s Spirit’s sweet aroma filled his mind, soothing him.
Rolling to his side he counted six, yes six. The Septemviri were all here, including their new member, Squatinidale. But were they alright? Things were so still, and quiet.
“Where are we?” whispered Squatinidale. He turned over and faced Azarias, his eyes fighting the urge to open, his mouth ajar.
“I don’t know, Squatinidale,” moaned Azarias, “but it’s not Laodicea.”
Who sent such a large energy wave to topple them? The Great One? But they had escaped the Great One, his lair, Pollyon, all of them.
Right?
He staggered onto one leg and then the other. If he could answer where, then why may not be so hard.
Azarias rose. He placed his hand on his forehead. “Uriel, where are we?”
Uriel rose and closed his eyes. After a slight pause, he turned to Malachy. “What about your maps? My maps won’t help in a place like this.”
“Maps?” Malachy started to reach into her robe and then stopped. “Maps tell you where. I think our question is what.”
Uriel shook his head, his voice trailing as he spoke. “Azarias, m-my gifts are so limited. Here again, I cannot tell you where we are. All my knowledge and experience are useless in answering your question.”
Azarias rubbed the back of his neck as he turned and peered into the distance.
He froze and raised his head.
Azarias walked away from the group, unable to tear his eyes from the magnificent structure in front of him.
The other angels joined him at his side.
Raffaela whispered, “It can’t be an outcropping.”
A crystal wall rose higher than any outcropping Azarias had seen. It had the clarity and surface of a very precious jewel, similar to jasper.131 Two massive pearl gates132 gleamed all the way to the top of the walls. Clear, golden hinges, like massive fists, held onto each gate at several points. Giant letters spelled out Judah133 and blazed golden across the gates’ faces.
“What does it mean?” Azarias muttered. “This could be another shrine to the Great One. Maybe these inscriptions are a kind of chant?”
“I don’t know,” said Uriel, his voice cracking a little. He pointed to the far sides. “I don’t understand the enormous writings on the foundations that frame the gates either.”
The foundation on the right, inlaid with jacinth, blazed the inscription Simon.134 The one on the left, inlaid with carnelian, read John.135
“Can anyone decode these inscriptions?” asked Azarias.
Raffaela turned to the others. “Maybe these things are not for us to understand. So, we must ask the Lord to guide us.”
The angels engaged in prex précis with their heads bowed and hands open at their sides.
Faint singing transfixed Azarias’s spirit into a peace. “Yes,” he murmured to himself. “Yes, the angels from God’s Throne. I recognize Holy, Holy One.136”
The others murmured yes, they too heard it.
The singing grew louder. A vision of a billion angels overtook Azarias. But it wasn’t the angels singing. No, the singing was a score, a worship melody sung to the vision. These angels fought other angels with weapons, beasts, and fire. 137 Azarias’s brow furrowed. “No, no. These angels are not in worship. They are in battle.”
He shook his head in disbelief as the army of brilliantly white angels lost defectors to the other dark angel army. The defectors absorbed into the darkness. A red beast, taller than the mesas, terrorized God’s angels with a great tail.138 Mounted angels on horses glimmering in white,139 red,140 and black141 attacked this seven-headed, ten-horned creature from all directions.
The singing grew louder and louder as if the battle was growing nearer.
Azarias dropped to his knees and buried his head in his forearms. Azarias shuddered. Did the others see this or just hear the music? Angels inflicted pain and hatred, torturing the souls of God’s allies. “Ah!”
“Azarias, Azarias, what is wrong?” He felt the big hands of Michael.
Azarias looked up at the others, his eyes heavy with sorrow.
They gasped.
Had the vision changed him?
No, they were looking past him. It must be the enemy.
He turned.
Standing transfixed, his words failed him.
The massive gate behind him had opened.
Azarias’s knees weakened as he stared through the open gates bearing the golden flame of Judah.
Music poured out from the strange, walled city. The surface shook with each flash and crash, and the filtered light, now exposed, radiated forth with thunder.142 Azarias took one step forward. This music. This music drew him to the mesas at Al Birka relishing in God’s grace.
He turned to his comrades, their eyes locked, their mouths open.
Turning back, he walked toward the open gates. Where were they?
The distant light in front washed out the entire surroundings. He couldn’t distinguish the surface from the atmosphere. He felt like he was walking in flight, but his wings were not engaged in the Lord’s Spirit. Or were they?
Azarias stopped. The faces of his angels reflected the light, bleaching out their features. “Malachy, do your maps help now?”
Malachy’s eyes fixed on the light. Her mouth eased open. “Maps?”
The brilliant light exploded. The Lord’s Spirit blasted in all directions.
Azarias was slammed backwards, head over heels. Music blared in one symphonic voice—blurring the tones of hundreds or a million, he couldn’t be sure. Somersaulting on the super-spiritual energy, he hit one of the Septemviri, then
tumbled wing over feet, landing face down in the prismatic crystals at the gate.
Azarias lay on the soft ground, his head spinning. “Mi…Michael?” The other six lay contorted in unnatural positions. Azarias couldn’t move his legs. He lifted his head and massaged his numb face.
His paralysis morphed into spasms. They had to be at the Lord’s Throne, no other power could be so immense.
Why did he fear this place? He always dreamed of serving here. The long walks in the Al Birkan countryside transported him, caressed him with the same music coming from within these walls. Now he lay here, unable to move. It didn’t seem right.
Fear. Yes, that is the feeling. He is fearing the Lord.143
He felt a warm sensation under his hand. Soft prismatic granules glowed between his fingers. Every part of his body touching them increased in temperature. The warmth grew in intensity—filling his spirit with joy. He could move now. He rose to one knee and saw the others also trying to raise—some on one knee, others on two. Like him, their eyes were open.
“Azarias,” Squatinidale whispered. “Look!”
Azarias turned to his compatriots. Tongues of acrobatic flames, or what looked like tongues, seemed to dance on the head of each angel.144 Even their arms gleamed.
Raffaela, leaning on one knee, lifted her hand to her face. “Azarias, look at my…”
“I know, Raffaela. Your hand glows as mine did in the mysterious room of Thyatira.”
Gabriel walked up to Azarias but stared past him into the distance.
Azarias turned. In the distance rose a Throne enshrouded with an emerald rainbow.145 A brilliant, yet indescribable Being sat on it, emitting sunbursts high beyond the reaches of the city walls.146
The throne emitted flashes of lightning, rumblings, and peals of thunder. Azarias flinched at each eruption and shielded his eyes with his wings.147
A loving voice spoke.
Azarias. Do not be afraid. Look,
and behold the Throne of God.
Angelic Wars- First Rebellion Page 26