The Peacock Angel: Rise of the Decarchs

by Glenn Dale Bridges, Jr

CHAPTER 25

  Mikhael was too fast even for the viceroy. What should have been a killing blow missed completely as our teacher moved to his right and swung his own sword at the head of Sammael. He missed also. Sammael was just as quick. We all continued staring at the two archangels as they hacked, dodged, parried, and swung at each other with unrivaled swiftness and accuracy. Neither gained advantage over the other.

  They were perfectly matched. But while Mikhael seemed resigned and accepting of that fact, Sammael was furious about it. His visage was twisted with rage and his every movement was filled with bad intentions. I had never before seen such open malevolence on display. This was no training exercise. I, along with all of my brothers, could plainly see that the viceroy meant to do Mikhael great harm.

  For his part, Mikhael seemed unconcerned with Sammael's attack. He still wore his grin, and I'm sure that infuriated Sammael all the more. His movements were calm and effortless, and his demeanor never changed. Not even when the viceroy pressed his attack.

  When it first happened, none of us even realized what the viceroy had done. Only after the two archangels slowed for the briefest of moments could I see that Sammael now held a second sword in his opposing hand. Instinctively I looked around to see where he had gotten it. It never occurred to me that he would have a second sword hidden beneath his raiment, and indeed he hadn't. One of my brothers, whose name I had not yet learned, was standing directly across from me with his mouth agape and his sword hand empty. Sammael had somehow taken his sword and was now using it, along with his own, to attack Mikhael.

  Our teacher continued to grin and hold his own against the dual attack. He was, however, constantly on the defensive now and never able to muster an assault of his own. As I watched, a new and troublesome passion welled up inside my chest and threatened to overcome me. I was enraged. I didn't care that this other angel called himself the viceroy. I hadn't liked him from the start, and he had done nothing to change my opinion of him since. He was not like the others. He was arrogant, self righteous, and now also a cheat. My sense of fairness was under attack. I could not stand idly by any longer and watch this battle.

  Again acting on instinct, I tossed my own sword into the fray. Mikhael snatched it from the air as it drew near him, just as I had hoped. Those closest to me at first seemed shocked by my interference, but they soon forgot what I had done as the swordplay in the circle escalated. Mikhael, no longer at a disadvantage, was back on the attack, and the action was intense.

  Their limbs a blur, their swords no more than a flash of light and a twang of metal, the two continued to duel. Even with two swords apiece they remained evenly matched. I began to fear that the contest would have no end. Obviously, stamina was not an issue, and mistakes would not be made. The swordplay, then, could conceivably go on for quite awhile. I hoped that one or the other would eventually grow bored with the display and call a halt to the fighting. Or perhaps the prideful Sammael would cease his attack once his temper cooled.

  In the meantime, I resigned myself to studying every move the two made. Others may have been just enjoying the display or waiting to see the outcome, but I used the battle to learn. I memorized every attack and counter that I saw, and vowed to perfect them later. I, like Mikhael and Sammael, would be a master swordsman. Of this I was certain.

  "Mikhael," someone boomed. I was separated from my thoughts by the urgency of the voice. "Sammael," it yelled once again. I turned and saw Raphael approaching the circle with his students in tow. "Stop this," he said. "The Watchers have seen enough. Let us end this lesson and allow them to practice."

  I realized what he was trying to do immediately, but as I said before, I knew this was no training exercise. Raphael would have us believe that the two archangels were simply overzealous in their coaching, and that there was no malice or ill will between the two. But I had seen it. I had seen it pour forth from Sammael like a fountain, and now poor Raphael, embarrassed and concerned, would have us believe otherwise. It was damage control, plain and simple.

  The two combatants were still going at it as Raphael brushed past me and entered the circle. "Viceroy," he cried, "remember yourself please." He continued walking until he was so close to the others that I feared he may be struck by one of the four blades whistling through the air. He didn't seem concerned. Instead, he looked more determined than ever to break the two up.

  "Stop," he bellowed one final time. I think. I couldn't actually hear the word as much as feel it. The power of his voice seemed to shake the very firmament beneath my feet. My bones were tickled beneath my skin. I watched some of my brothers adjust their footing in order to stay balanced. Like a great trumpet his voice was-a physical force that finally separated the two other archangels who stumbled backwards and lowered their swords. But the damage was done as far as I was concerned. I knew that things weren't perfect here. And I knew that Sammael was to blame.

  Mikhael was first to speak. He played along with Raphael's charade. He grinned at us all and begged or pardon for focusing too intently on his own swordplay and not being a teacher to us first and foremost. He was so very convincing that I found myself at first wanting to forgive him, but then I remembered that he had done nothing wrong to begin with. Sammael had started this, and it was Sammael who had refused to let it end.

  The viceroy was still not happy. He threw the extra sword he had been using back to the brother he had swiped it from. He then looked to Mikhael and said nothing. It took me but a moment to figure out his intentions. He was waiting for Mikhael to return his extra sword. Sammael didn't know from whence it came, but he obviously wanted to. Suddenly, I was extremely aware of my empty sword hand.

  There was nothing I could do. When Mikhael made no move to return my sword, Sammael began to look around the circle. His eyes found me soon enough, and as expected, focused on my empty hand. I quickly looked away. I didn't want to enrage this archangel again. If he attacked and none came to my aid, I knew that he would dispatch me quickly. I would not challenge him with my eyes.

  I could, however, feel the weight of his stare upon me. My sword hand seemed to tingle from the attention. I didn't know what I could do to hide its nakedness. I prayed that Mikhael or Raphael would say something and pull the viceroy's attention from me. Instead it was Sammael who spoke.

  "What's your name Watcher?" he asked loudly. I knew without looking that it was me he was addressing. As I turned my gaze back in his direction I found that he was approaching me rather deliberately. I did not know what to expect from the viceroy. I had just witnessed his capacity for violence and now I was the focus of his anger. And I didn't even have a sword. My eyes involuntarily looked to Mikhael as I answered.

  "Armaros," I replied. My resolve strengthened when I said my name aloud, and I fixed my gaze once more upon the angel Sammael. Where I had expected to find rage and bitterness etched into his countenance, I instead found what I could only describe as amusement mixed with surprise. I got the distinct feeling that he knew who I was, although I could not figure how that was possible.

  "So you're Armaros," he said as he stopped before me. He looked me up and down as if he was appraising my worth. "I should have guessed as much. Unable to stand by and do nothing in the face of what you perceive as an injustice . . . always trying to help in some way . . . benefactor to the clay people . . . these are the things I have been told of you. Do you wonder how it's possible that I could know so much about you and so much about things you have yet to even do?" He didn't wait for me to answer, but I was puzzled by the things he was saying. "You are the one they say—the one that will go beyond what has been fated, and walk with prophecy."

  "That is enough viceroy." It was Mikhael. "What has been fated by the Uncreated is not your plaything. You will not toy with Armaros' destiny. Whatever it may be."

  Sammael listened and smiled at me. There was no warmth in it. The advantage was his and he certainly knew it. I had expected a physical attack from him for my interference, but this psychological gam
e he played was far worse.

  "He doesn't know of what I speak," Sammael replied loudly for all to hear. "No damage has been done." Then the viceroy lowered his voice so that only I could hear. "Do you know what they will call you in the hereafter?" he whispered. "Do you want to know what the name Armaros will mean to your precious clay people in the sweet by-and-by?"

  "Yes," I whispered back. I couldn't help myself although I didn't really know what he was talking about.

  "The accursed one," he spat at me. And then he walked away.

  I realized after my exchange with Sammael that the archangels knew much about us. Much more than they were willing to share. Twice now, first from Raphael and then from the viceroy, my name had been spoken in the same breath as the phrase "What has been fated." That's what I wanted to know. What had been fated? What would be my place amongst this heavenly hierarchy that the archangels kept speaking about? Why did they call the two hundred of us Watchers? Who were the clay people that Sammael spoke of? My head was spinning. I wanted so badly to scream out for answers, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. I, along with all of my brothers, would have to wait. All I could do was continue to put my faith in my teachers and the Father that they spoke of.

  I cleared my thoughts and broke free of my stupor. Mikhael, Sammael, and Raphael were conversing near the center of the circle. As I guessed at what they could be discussing, a hand rested upon my shoulder. It was Gabriel. His touch brought warmth, and I relaxed beside him.

  "Do not be troubled by what you have heard," he began. "Sammael is a most glorious creature, but he needs to be constantly reminded of his superiority. If not, he lashes out like he did with you. Do not let it bother you. Take a lesson from Mikhael. Sammael has been at odds with him since their creation, yet Mikhael still loves him. As you can see they are brothers again are they not?"

  He was right. The three archangels were all smiles now. They continued their banter in the circle, and Gabriel left me to join them. I was glad that he had stopped.

  When they broke their huddle we were once again instructed to begin practicing with our swords. Before I could protest, Mikhael returned mine to my hand with a smile and a nod. I saw Sammael watching us from afar; his face was unreadable.

  This time all two hundred of us stood together with four teachers walking amongst us observing and correcting. We practiced in pairs, I with a smallish brother from my group of ten named Kasbeel, and the effect was immediate. Much could be learned when fencing with an opponent. Kasbeel was fast with his blade, and we brought out the best in each other. Eventually, however, he was unable to match my growing proficiency.

  I thanked and encouraged him as I looked for another partner to practice with. One by one I went through all nine of those who were under my leadership. None could match my skill with the blade. I tried to help them. I was decarch after all, and I wanted those under my leadership to excel. I went over everything we had been taught and all that I had picked up on my own, but lack of knowledge was not their problem. For whatever reason, I was just faster and smarter with my sword than any of the others.

  After sword practice was called to a halt, my brothers and I were encouraged to sit about in a tight half-circle and await directions. Soon, Raphael was before us explaining the next phase of our instruction. Magic.

  Raphael and the others didn't call it that. To them it was the divine science or divining. And we would call it that also at first. Only after the knowledge left heaven did man rename it magic, which eventually and more specifically evolved into the first magic. I, however, have always thought of the art as a science, and my doggedness in treating it as so, by studying the body of facts that govern it and by experimenting with its laws, has led to my exceptional understanding of the forces that guide it. Basically, I'm good at magic because I study and practice all the time.

  Divining didn't come as natural to me as swordplay, but I made up for that by working harder than everybody else. I burned for knowledge from anyone that could give it, and more often than not that ended up being Raphael. He held a universe of information beneath his red hair, and he never tired of sharing it with me.

  I was also unafraid to experiment or push the limits of what I was taught. Sometimes this rashness came with consequences, but mostly I reaped knowledge from being bold. Even after leaving the first estate I continued to test and attempt different variations of the science here on earth. Again I was rewarded. The science was good to me. It was as if the art knew how hard I worked and delighted at my passion for it. It gave me its bounty. It loved me. Even after I abused it and left it alone for millennia, it never left me.

  Our final area of study was broader than the rest. Primarily, it was the universe that we learned about, but the archangels also blended everything that wasn't sword or magic into this area of learning. Besides all of the heavenly bodies, we were taught a great deal about the celestial hierarchy, and any other subject we may have been interested in. This whole division of our training was much less structured than the other two disciplines. Brothers were commonly left to their own discretions regarding how they chose to further their educations. Many times the whole period became a question and answer session with the archangels. They were always truthful and helpful. Even Sammael, though not as endearing as the others, proved to be a very capable teacher. Inevitably, one of my brothers asked about our purpose as Watchers, and it was the viceroy who answered.

  "Soon all will be revealed to you," he said. "Once your training is complete you will know your place among us. I must admit that the two hundred of you are progressing rapidly, and I dare say . . . perhaps you are not as inferior as I first imagined. But that remains to be seen. Just do as you are told, and you will have your answer soon enough."

  And so we trained, and trained, and trained some more. There was no room in our schedule for things like wrestling or swimming. Those activities seemed beneath us now that we had a purpose, even though that purpose remained unrevealed. We practiced sword, we practiced magic, we practiced whatever it was we wanted to, and then we started the cycle over once more.

  The archangels began to spend less and less time with us. Once they were satisfied that the decarchs had asserted themselves as leaders and were doing an efficient job of piloting the training sessions, there visits became less frequent. In fact, after our first few cycles of lessons the four of them never appeared together at the same time again. I imagined that they must be busy catching up with their regular duties, but I missed them all the same.

  I felt that my own personal training was coming along exceptionally well. My usual routine, which was also everyone else's usual routine, was to stay within my group of ten during both sword and magic training, and then disperse to train with whomever I wished during the open session. It was a good formula that I felt maximized everyone's potential.

  My open session was always spent with either Semjaza for extra sword work, Azazel with whom I would put in additional time divining, or Kokabiel whose infatuation with the cosmos was sometimes contagious. I became fast friends with all three of them. Actually, I had always been fond of Azazel, but now that we all had names it was official. The four of us worked hard at making each other better Watchers and better decarchs.

  Semjaza was so big, so strong, and so passionate. He wore his feelings on the outside and was always easy to figure. His approach to anything was always the most direct, and when he made his mind up about something it was not easy to change. He was my only equal among all of the Watchers with a blade, and the tremendous length of his arms played no small part in balancing that equation. It was next to impossible to get past his defenses.

  Azazel could not have been more different from our leader. He cared very little for the sword, instead choosing to use his mind to master the intricacies of the divine science. He had the ability to see not just the whole, but all the parts as well. He showed little emotion except for when he needed to display a bit for his own benefit. His ability to get other Watchers, myself in
cluded, to do things for him was uncanny. We were well matched in the art of divining.

  It was hard for me to get a handle on Kokabiel's personality. His every thought and movement was steeping in his obsession with the cosmological model. The archangels had transformed our pool into a sort of astronomical observatory when they first introduced the study of the universe to us. It became a slowly changing window to the heavens. It was difficult for Kokabiel to stop himself from looking out of that window.

  He would pull me over and begin naming heavenly bodies of all sorts: galaxies, nebulas, stars, planets, and natural satellites. His passion for the heavens surpassed even my love of sword and magic. I admired his dedication, and I must admit the view was astounding. Many times I found myself beside Kokabiel, staring out at all of creation, lost in the sound of his voice and the wonder of space. I was in one such stupor, hoping to visit a distant sun that my brother had just named, when angels began to rain down upon us.

  They fell like molten rocks thrown from the hand of a giant. There were too many to count; our pristine sky was blotted with the figures of angels flailing about uncontrollably as they plummeted towards the grass of the meadow. They flipped and turned as they fell. Their limbs struggled uselessly against an unseen force that tossed them about like a slip of paper lost in a great storm. As far as we could see in every direction, the sky darkened as more and more angels fell. Terror, unbeknownst to my brothers and me before now, seized us all and forced us to cower around the pool.

  The first of them crashed to the firmament with a sonic roar followed by a sickening thud. He landed but an arm's length away from the outer edge of our group. I was crouched nearby. At first glance, I could plainly see that he was an angel, but I could also see that he was changing before my eyes. He had only one pair of wings, which was normal for the malakhim, or messenger angels, but they looked dull and leathery. I could not imagine anything even remotely related to the archangels having wings such as these. His skin was also strange looking. It had lost any brilliance or glow that it might have once emitted, and had now darkened to an ugly gray. He had the hue of a storm cloud. Our eyes locked for only an instant, but his told a complex story. Within them I saw confusion, rage, resentment, helplessness, and most of all . . . regret.

  He began sinking into the grass the moment he collided with it. It wasn't a fast descent by any means, more like a gradual swallowing, but the angel was powerless to stop it nonetheless. All around us the same thing was happening to every angel that fell. And there was thousands upon thousands of them.

  I don't know how it was possible that none of the fallen angels landed amongst us. All around our group they stayed stacked up on top of each other three or four deep, all sinking together, all unable to resist the power that drove them through the firmament. Perhaps it was divine intervention. That was the most logical explanation to me, seeing as how we were in Heaven. It was also the answer that gave me hope. If the Father was protecting us, then perhaps we wouldn't meet the same fate as these others who were crashing through our home. And if it was the Uncreated himself doing this, which also seemed logical to me, why would he spare us now if he intended to cast us down later?

  I didn't know the answer. Truthfully, I was still terrified and unsure of what was going to happen. We were all rattled and confused. The tremendous and continuous roar of the angels falling throughout our world was deafening, and it made it impossible to talk or be heard. The displacement of atmosphere caused by their falling created a mighty wind that battered us and kept us hunkered down. We were helpless, and I remember wanting so badly for it all to stop. But the war in Heaven had only just begun.

  Someone shook me to get my attention. I turned to find one of my brothers pointing in the direction of the pool. The others had separated a bit, and they had created enough room for me to maneuver the short distance to the edge of the water. I could see that Semjaza, Azazel, and other decarchs were already there, heads bowed on hands and knees, all staring out into the pool. I began my crawl at once.

  I made my way towards Azazel, whose back was facing me, down at the far end of the makeshift path. I reached him quickly, and gave him a gentle nudge on his right side. He scooted over and granted me a seat at the pool.

  Azazel stared at me as I got myself situated. Once he was certain that he held my gaze, he stretched his arm out and pointed to an area near the center of the pool. As I followed his finger across the heavens, he drew an imaginary line from that point to the edge of the pool where we sat, and then back to the center once again. He repeated this movement four or five times. I nodded at him to let him know that I understood and he, satisfied that I would look in the correct area, turned away from me and stared exclusively into the pool. I fixed my eyes along the line my brother had drawn amongst the stars and focused. I saw straightaway what the decarchs had discovered.

  It was the fallen angels again. They were being sucked into the void by an invisible vortex-their bodies spiraling about the great space maelstrom that must have began just beneath the floor of the first estate. I watched as they spun, slowly at first as they passed around the outer rim of the massive funnel, and then faster as the whirlpool pulled them down the helix and nearer to the center. I was terrified all over again.

  How could this happen? Where was the maelstrom taking them? Were we next? Was I going to be sucked through the floor of my home like these winged brothers? I backed away from the edge of the pool a bit at the thought of falling into the great maw of the monster beneath me. I knew that if the vortex wanted me resistance would be futile. What I didn't know was if this spiraling, turbulent space cyclone would spit me from its mouth if I fell in due to my own carelessness. I thought it best to avoid such a scenario altogether and not force the thing to make such a decision, so I moved even farther away from the pool. Besides, I had seen enough.

  As I turned from the chaos of the pool to the chaos that surrounded me, I was pleased to find that the path to my old spot remained clear. I bent my neck to stare at the grass and crawled back to where I was previously crouched. I felt safer here. I know it made no sense, but huddled amongst my brothers was the only place I could find solace in the midst of such disorder. Being so near to the edge of nothingness and watching those that had fell struggle against the void had left me badly shaken. I wanted nothing more to do with the horror unfolding across the heavens, framed perfectly by our shallow pool turned observatory.

  As the angels continued to strike the firmament as far as I could see, a new fear raced through my brain. What would become of my teachers? Would I ever see Mikhael, Raphael, or Gabriel again? I doubted that I would. I was sure they were being discharged along with all the others. Without a conscious thought I found myself scanning the gray, ashy bodies of the fallen that piled up around me, hoping to catch a glance of one of my beloved tutors. Right away my intellect confirmed how silly my instincts had been. They would not be found. Nothing could be found in this seething mass of angel flesh.

  There was just too many of them. And it became impossible to distinguish one from another as they crashed and stacked upon themselves. I was sure every angel that existed had fell or was falling. I was wrong.

  Things continued like this-me watching angels fall from above and getting sucked through the foundation of my world by a giant space maelstrom-until I began to suspect that the funnel storm was somehow bringing the fallen angels back to the uppermost part of heaven to fall again. That scenario didn't seem any more unlikely than what I was actually seeing happen. It could be a never ending cycle for these unfortunate brethren. They could fall forever. I decided that must be the case. I was wrong again.

  When they did finally stop falling, it didn't happen all at once. Instead, much like the droplets of a dying storm, the concentration of bodies lessened and lessened until no more fell from above. It didn't take long after the angels stopped dropping for the grass to clear itself of their bodies. I watched as the last of the fallen, who crashed down in almost the exact s
ame spot as the first of them, disappeared through the firmament and out of our world.

  I was ecstatic. The violence and fear was over. There were no more explosions of sound or waves of pressure battering us. I was the first to stand.

  I found our home undamaged and pristine once again. It remained unchanged despite the violation. It was as if the broken angels had never rocketed down and overrun our little part of the heavens.

  I looked towards the pool, but was careful not to gaze into its depths. I was still shaken by what I had seen there earlier. All the other decarchs, except for Kokabiel who had not once lifted his head from the horrors of the pool, were beginning to stand and compose themselves. I took their disinterest to mean that the maelstrom had run its course. The show must have been over now that the last of the angels had fallen. I noticed Semjaza barreling towards me. He stopped only after his face was so close to mine that I could see nothing but the rich brown of his eyes.

  "What has happened brother?" he asked. His voice was a whisper and there was a note of pleading in his tone. I could tell that he was rattled and confused. He wanted some sort of an answer. We all did.

  "I don't know what's going on," I said, "but I fear we are the only angels left."

  "That wasn't four hundred million of them," a familiar voice interjected. It was Azazel. He had also walked over. I don't know why, but we three continued to whisper our words.

  "What do you mean?" Semjaza said. "There was no way to count every angel that fell. And what does four hundred million have to do with anything?"

  "The celestial hierarchy," I remarked. "Both Gabriel and Sammael made mention of the number four hundred million. That's how many angels there are supposed to be."

  Azazel nodded his agreement. "That's right," he said, "and that wasn't four hundred million."

  "But how can you know that?" Semjaza demanded. "How can you tell how many angels that was?"

  "I can't," Azazel answered. "Not exactly anyways. But I can make an educated estimate of around one hundred and twenty- five million . . . and that's only about a third of the hierarchy. I don't think we're the only ones left."

  "I'm curious brother," I said. "How did you settle on such a number?"

  "Unlike you Armaros," he answered, "I take interest in things other than sword and mysticism. Mathematics is one discipline I find particularly intriguing. Raphael has shown me how to make approximations whenever incomplete information prevents one from giving an exact representation. In the case of the fallen angels, I used iteration as opposed to any direct method. By doing this I wasn't able to come up with an exact solution, but my guess should still be close enough to be useful."

  I was dumbfounded. Besides my initial understanding of numbers, which I assumed all my brothers and I were granted upon our creation, I had never given mathematics a second thought. Azazel obviously had. He knew he held the advantage, and I had just been chastised, albeit shrewdly, for questioning him. I wouldn't make that same mistake again. I nodded my head in silent agreement. His number suddenly seemed just about right.

  "Then where are the rest?" Semjaza asked. He looked to both Azazel and me for a response. Neither of us could give him one. He did, however, get an answer. Once again it fell from above.

  Rain. I had never before felt it upon my skin. Now, however, it began to fall in heavy drops from a sky that remained blue. It was accompanied by the unmistakable sound of metal against metal-the clashing of swords. Two hundred pairs of eyes stared upwards. Waiting.

  More angels, also darkened and descending like the previous ones, became visible all at once. I used my own powers of approximation to number them at around a thousand or so. They were armed with swords, and they fell slower than the others. Most even managed to land on their feet just a short distance from where we all still stood near the pool. These angels were not malakhim. They were a mixture of heavenly beings much more powerful than the messenger angels that had littered the ground only moments before. From my teachings, I was able to recognize many different types of angels from many different orders of the celestial hierarchy, but only the last of them to touchdown was familiar to us all. We knew him intimately. It was Sammael. He stood defiantly and looked to the sky from whence he came.

  He was followed by an army. Bright and shining, they descended in mass to a point across from and just above Sammael. There they hovered and stared accusingly at the archangel and his companions whom they outnumbered tenfold.

  It was painfully obvious that these were two opposing forces. Sammael, the light taken from him and his face the color of iron, did not cower before the might of the gleaming ones, but he was beaten nonetheless. Those who stood with him were battered and in pain. They had resigned themselves to defeat. Upon closer inspection I could see that their feet had begun to sink into the firmament. I watched as again and again they pulled their feet from the grass in order to gain new footing, but the effort was taking its toll. They were tiring fast. Some had quit resisting altogether and found themselves already buried up to their knees. The maelstrom would not be denied. It would have them all in its great maw eventually, just as it had the lesser of the fallen.

  From above us a chant began. The heavenly host, their voices perfect, sang out the name of their champion. He lowered himself from them in a brilliant ball of light too powerful to look upon and landed in front of Sammael. Once my eyes adjusted to the radiance I could see who stood amongst the flame. I was not surprised by what my vision revealed. The song of the good angels had named the new viceroy. Mikhael was among us.

  Sammael raised his sword as Mikhael approached. The two engaged in a brief skirmish, but it was obvious that Sammael was done. He could not fight both Mikhael and the maelstrom. His movements became labored and Mikhael, with one deft maneuver, removed the doomed angel's sword from his hand. Sammael remained defiant.

  "I am fire of fire," he boasted. "I was the first angel formed, and shall I worship clay and matter? I will not bend my knee before something as newly created and as flawed as man. Surely you can see the folly in Father's plan Mikhael."

  "You are prideful Sammael. You have always been so. But your arrogance was so often overlooked because of your station and because Father loved you so. Even now the heavens weep as you fall."

  Sammael opened his hands and looked upwards once again. After a moment of silent contemplation, he quit the fight, and in one final act of defiance, allowed himself to be pulled backwards by the invisible forces of the space helix. He landed squarely on his back and began to sink into the grass at once. Bending his neck, he addressed Mikhael again.

  "I will oppose you. I will turn man from the Uncreated. You will see how inferior these clay people are," he said. "You are all fools. You and your entire host Mikhael. Why are we given free will yet are not allowed to exercise it? Answer me that. I am the greatest of you all yet I have been defeated and dishonored. What makes any of you think that your place here is secure? He is a God of whims, and any of you could be next."

  Ignoring the outburst, Mikhael walked forward and placed his foot on Sammael's chest and the point of his sword on the disgraced archangel's chin. Sammael refused to look Mikhael in the eye any longer, so he turned his head to the right as the new viceroy began to speak. Strangely enough it was my eyes that he gazed into as Mikhael continued.

  "You will become the opposite of God. You will be the prince of darkness and the subverter of souls. You are cast from Heaven and shall be condemned to eternal torment on earth and in hell. You are the adversary, and so shall be called Satan. You are the accuser, and so shall be called the devil."

  With these final words, Mikhael began to push the once great angel through the floor of heaven and into the waiting embrace of the maelstrom. Pity consumed me. I wasn't sure if he deserved this kind of punishment. Banishment? Surely this was far too great a price to pay for whatever his transgression might have been.

  As the newly named Satan disappeared beneath the floor of heaven I saw that he was mouthing some
thing to me. I turned cold. I read his charcoal colored lips. Over and over he was whispering the same thing, "accursed one . . . accursed one . . ."