To Reign in Hell: A Novel (26 page)

“Thou shalt not, milord! ’Tis foolish. They will slay thee ere thou canst call out.”

Satan pushed him off and started to get up, but Beelzebub jumped again, catching Satan as he was starting to rise, and he fell over once more.

“Beelzebub, let me—”

“No, milord.”

Satan lay there glaring, then he suddenly turned and looked back. He slowly got to his knees and stared at the red tongues that began appearing in the distance near the top of the Hold. Beelzebub watched him, ready to spring again.

“There’s naught thou canst do, milord.”

Satan shook his head.

“Why would they do that, Beelzebub? My home! It went back to the Second Wave, a part of the foundations of Heaven. Why? What does it gain?”

“Perchance some overzealous archangel, milord. Thou hast no way to know ’tis Lord Yaweh’s doing.”

Satan watched for a moment longer. “He will pay dearly for inspiring such zealousness, then.”

“What wilt thou, Lord?”

Satan stood quickly and turned his back to the Southern Hold. “Come,” he said. “I wish to see the mighty Lord Yaweh. I will have words for him that he has never heard in all the ages of Heaven.”

He began walking. Beelzebub paused to urinate against the stone where they had stood, then hurried to catch up.

Like a prophecy, Harut stood amidst inferno. Like a prophet, he heard, and felt, and smelt, and tasted—but could not see what was before him.

He had heard the sounds of feet below while he was on the stairs to deliver his message, and so he ducked into the nearest room, guessing who it was. The sounds had come and gone, and then came the smell of smoke, and the incredible heat. He breathed it in and felt it scorching his lungs. He touched a wall and nearly screamed from the pain.

He stumbled out of the room and tried to get down the stairs, but he tripped and fell, choking and gasping on his way. The fumes were musky and thick, and he became aware of pain in his nose. His eyes watered, and he tasted the coarse, harsh grittiness of ash. His cheek touched the floor, which was amazingly cool.

He used his arms to begin rolling, and almost screamed again when his hand touched a burning spot on the floor.

From long experience in the dark, he didn’t lose his sense of direction, so he knew which way the door was. He continued rolling, feeling the flames lick at his clothing and skin.

He wondered as he rolled if the angels who had started the fires would be waiting outside, but he couldn’t stop.

His head cracked into the door. He felt the sudden dull pain almost as a relief, and for an instant he nearly lost consciousness, but he pulled himself together and crawled out the door on his knees, his arms stretched out in front.

Then something hit him in the back, at the same time as a cracking sound came from behind him. He felt himself picked up and hurled forward, his legs screaming from the flames that had caught there. “So close,” he muttered, and then he knew no more.

By unspoken consent among the Chiefs of the Orders of Angels, they moved away from the smoking ruins of what had been the Southern Hold and continued their march for the center as quickly as, that same day, they had been marching away from it.

Michael hurried because he needed activity to keep his mind from what he had seen and done and nearly done.

Abdiel knew he would feel safer once he had returned to the protection of the Palace. Even here, among his Thrones, he feared what, or who, could be behind each stone or tree they passed.

Camael knew that more tasks awaited him at the Palace for Yaweh’s greater glory, and he longed to smite His enemies once more.

They stopped only rarely during the day, and briefly at night. None of the Chiefs of the Orders spoke to each other. If they had, they would have had to ask each other why, after a battle where the enemy made not even a token resistance, each of the Orders had barely half as many angels as it had when they set out.

“Lord Yaweh.”

“What is it, Uriel?” “Lord. . . .”

“Yes? Speak up?”

“I . . . don’t know how to say this, Lord.”

“Well?”

“My Seraphim, Lord. They—”

“Yes?”

“Some of them are gone, Lord.”

“Gone? What has happened to them?”

“I don’t know, Lord. I think they left.”

“I’m not surprised, Uriel. I should have expected it.”

“Father—”

“Yes, Yeshuah?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why they left? Because they were in here when we watched the battle at the Southern Hold. They saw what I commanded other Orders to do and saw themselves in it. In all of our history, we have looked on each other as brothers. Now they have found that I have had them kill each other. Of course, they no longer wish to serve.”

“And yet, Father, when they joined the Orders, didn’t they understand that this could happen?”

“Understanding it is one thing, Yeshuah. They’ve had to nearly live it, now. And I expect it will be worse for those who were actually involved.”

“But—what shall we do?”

“We—a moment. Uriel, you may leave.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Now. We ignore this problem.”

“Ignore it?”

“As much as we can. Yeshuah, we are not going to win by keeping angels ready to fight. If we are to win, it will be by fighting the right battle at the right time and place. And I still have no idea when and where tHat will be. But in the meantime, they desert. That hasn’t hurt us. We must keep enough to protect us should Satan or Lucifer try to destroy me—or you. But we will find angels to fight for us as we need them.”

“I don’t understand, Father.”

“All right, think of it this way: whoever takes any action against the other is lessened in the sight of those around them. We took an action;
we were seen by many as in the wrong. Now it is their turn. They will act, and the tide will shift the other way.”

“So now we wait for them?”

“Maybe. It is also possible that we can end it quickly, if we have an opportunity to take their leaders—just as they could end it quickly by getting to you and me.”

“How are we to do that?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about it.”

“Father?”

“Yes?”

“There’s something—I don’t know. You’ve changed, somehow.”

“I know. I feel it, too.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Yeshuah, I never mentioned it before, but I sent an archangel named Raziel to learn things. I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t misunderstanding, that Satan really did want to stop the Plan and would do anything to achieve this. He was skilled, too. He would have learned whatever there was to learn.

“Well, Yeshuah, the last I knew of him, he was at the battle near the sea. Of all the angels, only he was destroyed. I cannot count that to chance. I have to conclude that the rebels destroyed him.

“You say I’ve changed, Yeshuah? Well, yes, I have. I no longer have any hope.”

Lucifer looked into the distance, his eyes straining against the growing darkness. Lilith came up and stood at his side.

“What is it, my love?”

He put his arm around her waist. “You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing, I think. But for a moment, I thought I’d seen—there it is again!”

“What?” she asked, looking now in the direction he gazed. As-modai joined them, also staring into the distance.

“A flash of gold, way up ahead.”

“Gold? What could it be?”

“Only two things come to mind. Michael’s sword—”

“But he went up the road at the head of his legions,” said As-modai.

Lucifer nodded. “Michael’s sword,” he repeated, “or the cloak of a Firstborn.”

“Do you think—?”

“Maybe. Should we find out?”

“Yes!”

They changed their direction slightly and increased their speed.

Michael entered, dusty and grimy. He still held his sword in his hand as he approached the throne.

“Yes, Yaweh? You wanted to see me?”

“I have another task for you, old friend. If you’ll accept it.”

Michael shrugged. “What is it? I can report on—”

“You don’t need to. I—”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

Their eyes locked for a moment. Yeshuah stirred uncomfortably. Then Yaweh nodded. “Sorry, old friend.”

“It’s all right.”

“But call me Lord. Just for form’s sake.”

Michael’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. For a moment he seemed to balance between walking out of the room and attacking Yaweh. The Seraphim shifted on their feet.

Then Michael smiled wanly. “All right,
Lord,
if it will help you sleep nights. As I was saying, I can report on the last expedition.”

“Thank you, Michael, but it isn’t necessary. As I said, I have another task for you. Take your Virtues, and I’ll instruct Camael and Yahriel to go with you and find Satan. Wherever he is. I hope that by tomorrow when you set out, I’ll know where to look for him.”

Michael nodded. “All right, Ya—Lord. I’ll be pleased to find Satan for you. I may not be able to bring him back, however.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that he will be easier to destroy than to capture, and I’m not in a mood to work harder than I must.”

Yaweh sighed and studied the back of his hand. Then he shook his head.

“That will be as it will be. You may refresh yourself now, if you wish.”

“Thank you, Lord, I will.”

Michael gave him a nod that could almost have been a bow and took his leave. Yaweh sat back thinking.

“Raphael, wait!”

She stopped on her way out of the Palace and looked back. She didn’t answer him; she simply waited.

“Will you spare me a moment? Please?”

She stood for another second, then sighed. “All right, Yeshuah.”

“Is there someplace where we can talk?”

She looked around the hallway, then said, “We could walk outside, if that would be all right.”

He nodded and came up beside her. They left the Palace and walked down the long steps. They didn’t speak at first, but let their feet carry them along. They found themselves going around the castle until they came to the hill where Yeshuah had been created, but continued past it into the woods. There they stopped and seated themselves under the trees.

“You don’t like me, do you?” Yeshuah began.

“What do you mean?”

“What I said. I have the feeling that you don’t like me. Am I wrong?”

Raphael cocked her head, then pulled up a long blade of grass and began chewing it.

“No, I guess you’re not wrong.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I like you?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged. “One can’t like everyone.”

“Why not?”

“Are you serious?”

“Raphael, I
love
everyone.”

She stared at him. “Don’t make me laugh, Yeshuah. I heard you talking of Satan and Lucifer. Don’t tell me you love everyone. I wonder if you love
anyone.
“

He looked away, then: “But I do, Raphael. I love them: Satan, Lucifer, Asmodai, Lilith. I can’t help it. I was born knowing and loving them. I was created by love. You saw; you helped.”

“Don’t remind me!”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I love them—yet I feel great rage at them. Those things are part of each other for me. If I didn’t love so much, I couldn’t feel such anger.”

“You’re right,” said Raphael. “I don’t understand.”

Yeshuah nodded, then buried his face in his hands. Raphael sat there unmoving, her face etched in stone. Then he lifted his head up and spoke softly, almost whispering.

“I am Heaven. I am a product of my father, and of all those who gave their love so that I might live. I feel this rage, because what they are trying to do is destructive to all I love—even them.”

Raphael shook her head. “Do you believe that? About all of those angels ‘giving their love’? It was a trick, and you know it, to draw the hosts together and crush those who oppose us. What’s destructive to Satan and those around him is the force that your ‘father’ is sending against them—to find Satan, did I hear? And if they find him, and he is destroyed, that’s ‘so it will be’? This is the love you’re speaking of? If I didn’t believe in the Plan with all my heart, I would have joined them long ago.”

“No,” said Yeshuah,

“it wasn’t a trick. It was suggested as a trick, and sometimes my Father thinks it was a trick, but it wasn’t. It was love. I know, because it created me. Do you know what that means? I’m different from the rest of you, but you don’t understand
how
I’m different. The rest of you were created by acts of violence. I was created by an act of love.

“Please, Raphael, don’t turn from me. I know why you want to. You think of me as a fraud, because I can’t help my rage and because
you have more love in you than anyone else I know, and hate sickens you. But try to forgive me—I can’t help it.

“I guess that’s all I can say.”

Raphael sat with her head bowed. Then she looked at him as if trying to see through his eyes.

“I’ll try,” she said at last. “I’ll think about it. That’s all I can do.”

She rose and walked away.

“Raphael?”

She stopped and without looking back said, “Yes?”

“I forgive you,” said Yeshuah.

She clasped her elbows and hugged herself, then relaxed. She left.

Yeshuah put his face into his hands and sobbed.

Mephistopheles made his way back south, moving as quickly as he could. Speed was vital now, because he had no idea how much of a lead they had. He knew they had a lead, because he was still following their trail.

In a little while, he would risk certainty of their destination—in a little while, but not yet. To err, to pass them up and go to the wrong place would be disaster. He had to stay with them until he was sure he knew where they were going, then get ahead of them and arrive at their destination with enough of a lead to give the necessary warning.

It would certainly be close. And it would be tiring—he had days ahead of him, and there would be precious little time to rest, if he could judge by how they were traveling now.