To Reign in Hell: A Novel (34 page)

“To the Palace, my friend,” said Satan. “This time we take it.”

“Verily, milord,” said Beelzebub. “And with an whole mind, me-thinks.”

Satan’s brow furrowed. “You know,” he said, glancing behind him at the thousands of angels who followed, “It isn’t as if Yaweh was wrong.”

“Milord?”

“In essence, he was right. If a leader can’t lead, can’t make decisions to protect the group he’s leading, he isn’t a leader. If only he’d— What’s that?”

They stopped. Approaching them was an army—yet not an army of angels; an army of colors, of patternless shapes and shapeless patterns exploding from an epicenter before the lines of the opposing hosts.

“That, milord,” quoth Beelzebub, “is a poor loser.”

Once more she rode the winds. Lilith had long since forgotten the charging/retreating/winning/losing forms of the angels below her and existed with and upon the breezes, with and upon Belial.

The essence of sundering met the essence of unity, and transformation occurred, as it always does. The oneness of Belial/Lilith became the disjunction of a falling Lilith and a screaming, raging Belial.

The Fourth Wave,
she thought in wonder, as the ground rushed up at her. It came much too fast, of course, for the hand of cacoastrum, the ultimate prestidigitator, is quicker even than the eye of the Firstborn.

Cacoastrum exploded around him, and for a brief moment, it was almost peaceful. Here was the old enemy again. Here was the enemy he could hate. It was right that it should claim him again—he had cheated it for a long, long time. Now let it—he realized that he was fighting it.

No, that wasn’t what he wanted. He tried to make himself stop, but he couldn’t. Yaweh had been created out of the flux with the need to fight it—and fight it he would—it went beyond desire or will.

He howled with rage. Above him, the archangels recognized what was occurring and prepared to defend themselves as they had before.

Yeshuah felt gentle hands upon him, and his strength returned. He opened his eyes, realizing that they’d been closed, and saw Raphael above him, looking worried and harried.

“What happened, Raphael?”

“I don’t know. It’s like another Wave, only different—smaller. I don’t understand it. It seems to be coming from that pit. When it started, it was hardly longer than your height.”

“What about the battle?”

“You were losing. It’s lucky for you the Wave started when it did; your army was in a panic.”

“Was? What’s happening now?”

“Everyone is dealing with the Wave, of course. There. You’re fixed. I owed you that much for—never mind. I have to go now.”

She did. Yeshuah got to his feet and looked around. He suddenly understood why they called it a Wave. From in front of him there was a spreading of colors that were not of Heaven, and a jumble of shapes, a swirling filigree of conception that left nothing in its wake but itself.

He looked more closely and saw Yaweh standing somewhat back from the edge of flux the angels were struggling to contain. He saw
Michael standing. And through the flux itself, he could make out more angels, fighting the flux—and, very faintly, he thought he could see a gold cloak.

He realized then that all of the angels on the west and south sides of the emanation were of Satan’s army, and those on the east and north were of Yaweh’s. Further, those who were not directly involved, as not all of the angels had room to confront the Wave, were divided similarly.

This, of course, was too good a chance to pass up.

Michael, somewhat healed by Raphael, came limping up to Yeshuah.

“Don’t do it,” he said.

“What?”

“You are about to have our host attack Satan while they fight the flux. Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons. First, because you will be hated forever in Heaven if you do. Second, because I’ll destroy you if you try.”

Yeshuah smiled. “As to the second, you can’t. You have no idea of the kind of power I have, created as I was. You couldn’t do it, my father couldn’t—”

“Lilith nearly did the job.”

Yeshuah shrugged. “I have no intention of letting you get close enough to use physical means, which is the mistake I made then. As to the first point you raised, do you really think so?”

Michael looked surprised, for Yeshuah seemed actually to be considering it. “Yes, I do,” he said. “They are working in defense of Heaven itself. If you use that opportunity to attack, you’ll be despised wherever you go.”

Yeshuah looked thoughtful. Then he nodded, as if to himself. “Come with me,” he said. He walked past the waiting lines of angels and came out in front of them.

Then he began to lift his arms as if to signal an attack. Michael made a growling noise and brought his sword sweeping down at Yeshuah—who, expecting it, stepped nimbly to the side.

The sword struck the ground.

Michael was hurled into the air by the explosion, back toward the line of angels. Yeshuah, however, had braced himself for the shock. When it came, he fixed all his concentration on the spot where the sword had struck. He took one last breath, and briefly wished that he had time for a fast look at Heaven. Then he threw himself at the eruption.

The cacoastrum flowing from the explosion seized him and began ripping into him. Before it could complete its work, however, Yeshuah had a moment—an immeasurably small instant of time in which to work. Using all the skill he had taken from the minds of those who created him, he directed the cacoastrum where he wished it to go.

He had the fleeting sensation that it had worked; then the flux tore into him, and he was no more.

A great crack appeared in the floor of Heaven. The flux fed back along this weakness quicker than any angel could see it. In the drawing of a breath, the crack had spread in both directions across the floor on which the sea rested until it came to the far wall. There, halfway up, the cracks came together, and the cacoastrum found the weakness even as it appeared.

With a trembling that knocked every angel off his feet, a great, massive block of Heaven’s floor and part of the distant western wall split off.

In the drawing of another breath, the flux had found it, open on five of six sides, and these had broken down into nothing.

Belial was beyond panic. His fear had transformed itself into rage, and the cacoastrum fell back wherever he found it. He sought out the flux and destroyed it, mindlessly, unaware of its source or its cause.

In his blindness, he felt that it was because of what he was doing that he was able to search it out, rather than be surrounded by it. He was, therefore, not very surprised when suddenly he
was
surrounded
by it. Then he began to twist, turn, dive, and spin, merely to keep himself alive. He had no understanding of the significance of this, but he had no need to understand either.

It was almost more than he could stand. The death of Yeshuah had been to Yaweh as if a part of him had been forcibly ripped out. And now, seeing the huge hole in the wall of Heaven, it was as if another part of him had been taken. He felt his knees giving way, and his face struck the ground.

At that moment, he felt two pairs of hands on him. One pair was warm and gentle, the other hard and strong.

“Yaweh,” said Raphael. “There is nothing you can do to help him, but there is much that can be done for Heaven, and you must do it.”

“Leave me alone,” he whispered.

“The Plan, Yaweh,” said Michael. “You must do it, now, or his death—everything—will have been for nothing.”

“Please,” said Raphael. Her hands began to massage his shoulders. The star at her side glowed, and Yaweh felt a strange peace come over him. “Please,” she repeated.

He got to his knees. With Michael’s assistance, he rose to his feet then. He reached into his robes and drew out the papers on which the details of the Plan were inscribed.

He looked out at the angels of the Third Wave fighting and dying to hold back the Wave. He saw that there were still many who were doing nothing but waiting for others to fall, to take their turn.

He looked back at the papers, then at Michael, then at Raphael.

“All right,” he said at last. “Michael, here is what you must do. . . .”

Leviathan was frustrated at being out of the battle, except for that small part near the beginning, but pleased that it was going so well. She craned her neck to get a better view and occasionally got glimpses of this or that portion.

When the influx began, she was aware of it at once. This was confirmed
by the sight of Belial flying around and attacking it. She wondered why it was so well confined to the inside of Heaven.

“It won’t stay that way,” she decided. Therefore she, too, was unsurprised to find herself surrounded by the flux and fighting for her life once more.

Harut felt the effects more keenly than any angel save Belial. While he had been blind, the flux had given him perceptions that other angels lacked. Some of them remained.

He knew what had happened. As he sat on the safe side of the break, he waited for the Wave to find him. And as he waited, he saw what Michael and Yeshuah did. He became aware of the beginnings of the Plan, of the angels thrown out into the flux to create a safe area to work in and of those going out to begin the work.

Heaven, he realized, was shrinking. In order for the Plan to function, most of Heaven had to be given back to the cacoastrum from which it had sprung—there simply were not enough angels to defend it.

He sighed as he thought of the forests of Lucifer, and the shore by the sea where he had visited with Leviathan.

He noticed that the cliff on which he was sitting was soon to be abandoned by those who were defending against the Wave. He thought over the possibilities of retreating to safety and of staying behind. He thought over who was remaining in Heaven, and who had fallen from it.

Then he pitched himself forward into the chasm.

Asmodai saw Lilith fall to the ground near him as he, himself, fell. Then he saw the ground breaking apart around him. Quickly he engulfed both of them in a web of safety that would keep the flux out— for a little while.

Then, hoping it would be enough, he began to build walls. He discovered, to his surprise, that he was enjoying it.

Lucifer had been rallying angels against the flux when it hit, and he was thrown to the ground. Then the ground fell apart and he cried Lilith’s name.

Once more he was battling the cacoastrum. He spun and fought, his wand flashing and cutting. He became aware of Asmodai, Belial, and Leviathan, and began helping them.

Three times they erected a wall with two sides, and three times it was torn apart before the third could be added. The fourth time it stayed.

The emerald around Satan’s neck spat in all directions as he forced his way forward through the flux. He came at last upon a line of angels working to create a new wall to Heaven, and forced his way through.

Then he was upon the ground again. Behind was an abyss with cacoastrum howling and angels fighting against it. He looked around, but ignored those behind him.

He strode forward to where a group of angels were receiving instructions from Yaweh. As he came near, one of them saw him and moved to interpose himself.

“Who are you?” asked Satan.

“I’m called Kyriel.”

“Then move, Kyriel. I’m here to destroy him who you think of as God. If you get in my way, I’ll destroy you, too.”

Kyriel shook his head. “My best friend has already been destroyed by serving you. You may as well take me, too.”

By this time several of the others were moving forward. Satan noticed this and nodded.

“Very well, then,” he said. There was a flash from his breast, and Kyriel was no more. Satan took another step and found his way blocked, this time by an angel with a massive golden-hued sword, who wore the gold cloak of the Firstborn.

“A rematch, Michael? All right.”

But before he could act, something hit him from behind and he fell. He saw Michael’s sword overhead, and then Michael fell back as a four-legged shape crashed into his chest. “Milord,” called Beelzebub,
“get thee behind me.” Teeth flashed, and Michael cried out as his right arm was ravaged.

“Beelzebub!” cried Satan. “Get away!”

But Beelzebub was taken by Zaphkiel, who came from behind and pinned him. Beelzebub looked up at Michael, who was holding his arm and moaning.

“Thou dost see,” he said, “that thy sword is not faster than my teeth.”

Gabriel appeared, holding a sword over Beelzebub’s breast. But he was stopped by a form in black that struck him from behind and sent him sprawling.

Mephistopheles, without stopping, picked up the fallen sword and held it at Michael’s breast.

All was still then, for a moment. Mephistopheles coughed. “I’d really hate to have to hurt the poor fellow,” he said.

Yaweh nodded. “Take them past the lines and cast them into the void. Let them fend for themselves.” He spoke then to Mephistopheles. “Will that do?”

“Quite,” said the other.