by Wendy Alec
‘You needed me?’ Jether asked Xacheriel. ‘I leave to retrieve the stone of fire.’
Xacheriel frowned, then smacked his temple violently with his large hand. ‘Yes ... Yes ... of course!’ Xacheriel strode round in circles, ordering his thoughts.
‘It is a terrible tale, revered Jether,’ he declared ominously.
Issachar yawned loudly and deliberately. Jether glared at him from under his eyebrows.
‘A terrible tale.’ Xacheriel’s big hands shook. ‘One that affects your journeyings,’ he whispered.
Jether frowned, placing his hand gently on Xacheriel’s shoulder. ‘Calm yourself, Xacheriel, old friend. Breathe deeply.’
Xacheriel inhaled, his great chest heaving. ‘On my way back past the Red Zone, in the Second Heaven, I encountered the Revelator scouts, Gabriel’s firstcore rank of Eagles.’
Jether waited patiently, knowing he would eventually get to the point.
‘They had in their custody one nasty-looking-and-smelling customer. Vulture-like organism – mangy feathers.’
‘A vulture shaman – one of Charsoc’s scouts.’
Jether nodded.
Dimnah’s mouth gaped so wide that Jether reached over and physically closed it with his hand.
‘Dimnah!’ Xacheriel barked.
‘Anyway, the nasty-looking feathered life form had this – he called it his “trophy”.’ Xacheriel scrabbled in his voluminous pockets, eventually fishing out a great silver-and-diamond collar bearing the seal of the eagle revelators. He passed it to Jether, dabbing gingerly at his eyes with his handkerchief.
‘Vespar...’ Jether uttered, stunned.
Xacheriel clasped Jether’s old fingers awkwardly in his own.
‘I am sorry to be the bearer of miserable news, old friend.’
Jether extricated his trembling fingers from Xacheriel’s iron grasp, then swiftly turned over Vespar’s collar. The scarlet insignia that signalled a missive was in flight was still in place. Jether stared past Xacheriel, his features frozen in horror. For he knew with a terrible certainty that if Michael had received the missive, he would promptly have replaced the scarlet insignia with a gold one from the royal house to signify his receipt of the communique. It was the simplest rule of the corridors, adhered to by one and all of the First Heaven’s legions.
‘The insignia is in place.’ Jether’s voice was barely audible. ‘Vespar did not reach Michael with my missive. Consequently, Michael did not receive my instruction to leave the East and escort the child to Alexandria.’
Jether held on to the balustrade for support, his hands trembling. ‘The infant travels as we speak. Unprotected.’
He turned to the elders, his face white as a sheet. They stared at him, appalled.
‘Far worse. If Lucifer discovers the missive, he knows I meet the infant King near Alexandria with the seventh stone. He will be mobilising hell’s armies even as we speak.’
Jether hurried up the amber stairs, the elders following close behind. ‘Send Sachiel to Michael. He must leave for Egypt without delay.’
He turned to the elders on the stairway.
‘We no longer have the element of surprise. Prime Raphael and our armies for assault. We leave at dusk.’
Chapter Nine
The Hordes of Hell
Hell’s immense and terrible armies mobilised on the smouldering volcanic wastelands of hell. Folcador, hell’s fearsome archduke and Lucifer’s finest general, a ferocious demon with the face of an angel and the wings of a griffin, rode fierce and proud in his black war chariot, leading a hundred legions of the fallen. Astaroth, grand duke of hell, rode the skies, his war chariot pulled by the fierce white ice dragons of Siberia. His barbaric generals – Pruslas, Barbatos, and Rashaverak – marched below, the menacing Black Horde marching behind.
Forneus, the great and scheming marquis of hell, rode the skies on monstrous, coiled Leviathan, followed by twenty-nine legions of silver-tongued winged serpent demons.
The vast companies of Dark Grey Magi on their headless three-humped camels, rode alongside the dread warlocks of Ishtar on the backs of werewolves and dragons. Overhead in hell’s crimson, murky skies flew the demon Witches of Babylon on Leviathan, and Hera and the Banshees of Valkyrie on their flying giant serpents. Marching to the rear was the great, macabre company of Necromancer Kings, leading their armies of living skeletons.
Belzoc, barbaric prince of Persia and Lucifer’s Commander-in-Chief, led twenty thousand of hell’s legions, riding their black war chariots pulled by hell’s formidable dark-winged stallions.
Lucifer stood, menacing and proud, in his monstrous black war chariot, its silver wheels sprung with jagged war blades. The crimson flame on hell’s infernal flag flew proudly.
The sinister Shaman Kings stepped forward; behind them marched the vast company of hooded Shaman Drummers.
‘Armies of hell, I salute you!’ Lucifer cried. The slow, menacing throb of war drums pulsed beneath his voice. ‘Slaughter the usurper King before He is sealed!’
A terrible, blood-curdling roar went up from the armies of hell as the rulers of the dark world thundered towards Egypt’s skies.
* * *
One by one, fine hairline cracks started to appear on the great idols of Egypt in the great temple. The shuddering built to a crescendo with an overpowering roar as, one by one, the imposing golden images crashed to the ground. Temple priests ran for their lives, the idols continued to fall until not one remained standing.
Mary bowed her head and stared down at the sleeping babe. She shivered. Thousands of silent sinister-looking vultures had descended towards them this past hour, circling the caravan, casting strange dark shadows across the desert.
Aretas frowned. ‘We must make haste,’ he said. ‘There is danger in the wind.’
He flicked the reins and galloped to the head of the caravan, strangely troubled.
* * *
Raphael, resplendent in his full ceremonial battle armour, rode past the front line of the armies of the First Heaven in his platinum war chariot, pulled by twenty winged stallions. He stood tall, imperial, the valiant general of Yehovah’s armies on the mount of the North in the First Heaven.
To the left marched Gabriel, attired in his ceremonial war regalia, followed by his vast company of the Revelators, his swift and agile archers, in their suits of gleaming silver armour. Their great bronze crossbows reached from the ground past their heads, at the ready.
Overhead flew a million of the Revelator ‘scouts’, occupying the length and breadth of the skies – the First Heaven’s huge white-feathered warrior eagles, with their beaks and talons of gold, their wingspans over one hundred feet. The archangel princes led Michael’s battalions. Juhdiel the Daring led a thousand legions. Uriel the Fearless rode ahead in his enormous silver chariot, leading four hundred legions of the First Heaven’s finest swordsmen, followed by his multitude of warrior princes. Jether and his twenty-three royal compatriots, the angelic monarchs, were mounted on their royal white chargers, standing in a semicircle, their lances raised.
Gabriel drew the Sword of State from its jewelled sheath and raised it high above his head. ‘We fight for Yehovah, that truth and justice may prevail!’ he cried.
‘We protect the infant king!’
The deafening roar from the First Heaven’s armies resounded through the First Heaven. Jether rode over to where Raphael and Gabriel stood surveying heaven’s armies. He clasped Raphael’s arm.
‘My spies inform me that Lucifer sends Belzoc, prince of Persia, ahead to slaughter Michael before he reaches the infant.’ Jether lowered his eyes. ‘Hell’s depraved champion would settle an old score.’
‘He defeated Belzoc once over the Hebrew Daniel,’ Raphael declared. ‘With Yehovah’s strength, he shall defeat him again.’
Jether frowned. ‘One clean thrust of the sword of justice, and Belzoc is banished to the Abyss to await the Judgement. Your aeons as Lucifer’s commander-in-chief will serve you well agains
t their malevolent strategies.’
Raphael spoke with a hard fierceness. ‘Once Belzoc is slain, speed is Michael’s advantage ... Lucifer will be close behind. They are evenly matched.’
‘You have your fastest warriors?’
Raphael nodded. ‘My swiftest legions are my escort.’ Raphael pulled down his golden visor. ‘The Messiah’s kingdom come!’
His twenty winged stallions and war chariot thundered into the lilac skies, followed by a hundred thousand of his legions’ war chariots.
Jether stared after them, strangely troubled. He turned to Gabriel and placed his hand upon his shoulder. ‘You are prepared for Nakan and his necromancer sorceries?’
Gabriel gestured to the amulet around his neck. ‘Well prepared, revered Jether, our arrows dipped in the sacred ointment from the labyrinth’s sixth spire.’
‘The entire destiny of the Race of Men rests on the outcome...’ Jether looked silently into Gabriel’s eyes. They clasped hands, and Jether embraced him.
‘Yehovah be with you, noble Gabriel. Press any advantage against Lucifer. Tell Michael to bring the child safely to me. I shall be waiting.’
Jether placed his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. ‘I go beyond the treasuries of the hail, Gabriel,’ he whispered, ‘to the wake of the universes – to retrieve the seventh stone. I await you at Alexandria.’
* * *
‘Your Majesty, Your Majesty!’ Ayeshe galloped up alongside Aretas at the front of the caravan, his stallion whinnying in terror. Ayeshe tugged at his arm with his scrawny brown fingers. ‘The noise, sire – it frightens the camels!’
Aretas nodded; the royal servants exchanged looks of trepidation. ‘Stay in my place, Ayeshe.’
Aretas pulled on his stallion’s reins and galloped to the back of the caravan. He turned his Arab steed around and scanned the vast expanse of desert. He could hear the great thundering of horses’ hooves far behind him, but the desert was empty. Flat. A vast plateau stretching to infinity. And then the hair on the back of his neck crawled as he watched the desert sand a full league behind being kicked up, as if by the hooves and shadows of a great army on horseback, drawing down on the caravan.
The string of horses and camels started to move faster, and the Arab steeds whinnied with fear.
A second great thundering was now coming towards them from the opposite side of the desert. The white steeds of the caravan now panicked visibly as the camel riders struggled to keep their beasts under control. Joseph and Ayeshe, chilled with fear, watched the desert plains, as the two waves of invisible moving sand converged towards the caravan. Aretas galloped over to where Joseph rode with Mary and the babe.
‘Some strange magic is afoot,’ he cried. ‘Surround the infant King!’
Immediately Aretas’ royal guard surrounded Mary and the sleeping infant. ‘Full speed – make haste!’
Aretas rode next to Mary, keeping a grim eye on the infant. Jesus slept peacefully.
* * *
Belzoc and his ferocious hordes closed fast, riding from the west, gaining ground on the now galloping caravan. But suddenly a small white throng appeared ahead of them on the eastern horizon, Michael and his lone company of warriors advancing towards the caravan from the east.
Michael stood tall in his flaming chariot pulled by twenty winged seraph stallions, racing along a full league above the stark desert plains, leading a hundred angelic warriors astride their white steeds.
Belzoc pulled the reins brutally, bringing his vicious black steeds up short on the desert plain, and turned hell’s monstrous black chariot to meet the oncoming Michael head-on. They faced each other on the sweltering sand, less than a length apart.
‘Belzoc, prince of Persia,’ Michael cried, ‘prepare to war!’
Belzoc stared in relish at the empty sands yawning leagues behind Michael, then turned to the hundreds of thousands of his black-armoured Persian angelic legions behind him.
‘Michael, chief prince of Israel ... Your armies are late!’ Belzoc spat, giving Michael a menacing grin, then swung his six-foot black blade savagely in the air, ‘Prepare to die!’ Immediately his savage hordes let out a bloodthirsty roaring, stampeding towards Michael’s angelic warriors. Thousands of the savage hordes of darkness rained blows on the ferociously fighting warriors of the First Heaven, broadsword against broadsword.
Michael’s and Belzoc’s chariots thundered across the sand towards the caravan, their flaming wheels grinding against each other as they raced neck and neck.
‘Your swordsmanship has grown soft, Michael, since our last skirmish over the Hebrew Daniel!’ Belzoc shouted derisively. He pushed his filthy braided hair away from his face. Caked with dirt, it hung down past his brawny thighs.
‘You have never forgiven me for defeating you in front of your armies, Belzoc!’ Michael cried. Sparks and rivets flew from the princes’ chariot wheels, the stallions straining to breaking point as, all around them, the violent battle played out.
‘This time you shall pay with your life, chief prince of the royal house of Yehovah. I shall exhibit your head on the gates of Hades.’ Belzoc spat on the ground, wiping his mouth with a grimy arm.
‘By the setting of eleven moons, you shall be banished to the penitentiary in Tartarus!’ Michael yelled, never taking his eyes off his enemy. He followed Belzoc’s gaze far in the distance, to Mary and the sleeping infant.
Michael stood still, all senses alert, his gaze fixed on Belzoc. Belzoc moved suddenly and, with his immense strength, jumped across from his chariot onto Michael’s, ploughing his sword through the air at Michael’s neck. Michael neatly evaded the stroke and slammed his sword down across Belzoc’s chest, catching him off guard and knocking him, winded, to the floor of Michael’s chariot. Enraged, the demon prince thrust savagely at Michael. Belzoc thrust. Michael thrust back. Belzoc rose to his feet, leering. The ring of steel on steel resounded across the desert, as the chariot veered furiously ahead.
‘I shall feed Christos’ tender flesh to the wild dogs that roam these mountains...’ Belzoc smirked. He thrust his sword through Michael’s thigh, then drew it out savagely as hundreds of small curved barbs tore Michael’s flesh to shreds.
Michael fell to the chariot floor, collapsing to his knees in pain.
‘My latest addition – rips to the very bone,’ Belzoc leered lecherously. I shall tear Christos limb from limb.’ Sweat poured from Michael. Incensed, he attempted to stand but collapsed, overwhelmed by the excruciating pain.
Belzoc shoved him to the floor, towering over him triumphantly. ‘This day – you go to the Abyss, Michael!’
He raised his broadsword over Michael’s neck, then turned his head to follow Michael’s gaze over to Raphael’s war chariots thundering towards them, now visible on the horizon. In that instant, Michael grasped Belzoc’s tangled black mane hanging at his thighs and wound it in his fist in an iron grasp, savagely wrenching Belzoc’s head down onto the chariot floor with his great strength, then swung his sword across and through Belzoc’s neck in one clean thrust, severing his head from his body. Thick black blood spurted up in twin fountains.
‘Till the great judgement!’ Michael kicked the body off his chariot onto the sand. Belzoc’s head vanished. Then his body followed, disappearing straight to the Abyss.
‘The Messiah’s kingdom come,’ Michael cried, saluting grimly at Raphael overhead.
* * *
Jether hovered at the cusp of the ordinances of the heavens and the treasuries of the hail, the scorching luminous white waves of the seventh sea of wisdom churning beneath him, at the very edge of the wake of the Universes, his silver robes billowing in the tempests, his long white hair and beard flying in the rushing hail blizzards. His face was burning in ecstasy. His veined hand clasped a burning azure sapphire the size of a duck’s egg. In its epicentre burned a fierce crimson flame – the seventh stone of fire.
Jether reached into the folds of his robes and produced a silver amulet. He opened the case, placed the stone of fire
within, and closed the clasp, then placed it around his neck on a silver chain. And mounting his white-winged charger, he rode the colossal flashing thunderbolts of hail towards Alexandria.
* * *
Michael turned his monstrous chariot around to follow the disappearing caravan that held the infant king, then looked back to the West. Stampeding straight towards Michael on their headless winged chargers rode the legions of the sinister Necromancer Warlock Kings of the East, followed by their vast armies of living skeletons. These were the foulest, most depraved and feared of all Lucifer’s armies, their sorceries vile and potent. This he well knew. And he was trapped in their pathway.
He glimpsed Gabriel out of the corner of his eye, racing towards him from the left through the skies, with a hundred legions of archers. The only way to destroy a Necromancer King’s power was with a silvered arrow drenched in sacred ointment from the censer on the white altar of the labyrinth’s sixth spire, sent straight through the heart. This Michael also knew.
‘We shall eat you alive, Prince Michael!’ cried Nakan, iniquitous Warlock King of the East, as his headless charger raced alongside Michael’s thundering chariot. Michael felt a sharp pain and clutched his wrist. A tiny silver barb had penetrated the skin. He stared at it in dread: Necromancer poison. ‘First, I shall peel the skin from your torso,’ Nakan hissed, his foul oiled tones reverberating strangely in Michael’s head as his demon magic began to take effect. Michael grasped for the poisoned barb, flailing at it clumsily. ‘Then I shall sip your thick, glutinous blue blood from my goblet.’
Nakan held a golden goblet high in his left hand. Sweat poured from Michael’s temple down his cheeks, his eyelids grew heavy ... far too heavy. Nakan smiled a slow evil smile. ‘Once your eyelids close, Michael my pretty,’ he hissed, ‘you have only five seconds before the Abyss.’
There was a sudden dull thud. Nakan stared down at his chest in disbelief; a second later, his head turned to green vapour before Michael’s eyes. A thousand more arrows found their marks among the horrified Necromancer company.