Chapter 35
Quemel stood on a raised dais overlooking the vast throng who gathered to witness the historic event. Beside him Maleyan fidgeted nervously, shifting from side to side and occasionally mumbling to himself. On either end were Barman and Hasdiel, looking smug in their white robes trimmed with the bands of Seraphim and Ophanim, respectively.
Barman raised his arms and addressed the multitude.
'Today we gather to execute dire judgment on these criminals. Their crimes are heinous and foul, but in their stubborn pride they have refused to make an account for themselves. Therefore, they have been sentenced to death. They are to be consumed in the purifying fire of righteousness. Hasdiel, please read their crimes aloud.'
A trumpet sounded a single note and Quemel tensed. Hasdiel stepped forward and raised the book he held before him. Throughout the vast crowd pockets of movement broke out and groups of arella, wearing strips of cloth around one arm, clustered into loose rings. Quemel noticed that the colors of all celestial choirs were present in the formations. He smiled as a series of explosions erupted across the landscape.
He cast off the feeble blocks that held he and Maleyan and turned to face Barman. Quemel raised his hands and clapped. A glorious wave caught his jailor and hurled him from the stage, slamming him through the front row of startled arella.
Quemel spun in time to see Maleyan dispatch Hasdiel with a fiery torrent. The celestial scribe slumped to one side, his robe and hair charred with smoke rising from his blackened skin.
He twisted toward the tumultuous field and screamed, 'I give you your freedom!'
His eyes flickered and he saw Barman, standing at the foot of his bed, a grim look on his face.
'I’m sorry to wake you, but it is time,' the Seraphim archangel said.
Quemel stood on a raised dais overlooking the immense, lifeless chamber. Maleyan was at his side, looking as nervous as he had in his dream. He gave him the 'Be Strong' sign and looked up as the door opened. Six figures strode in; each dressed in the color of his choir. The seventh archangel stood beside Quemel, with the celestial scribe, flanking Maleyan, completing the gathering.
He grinned. Even better.
A trumpet sounded and he waited, expectant. He scanned the chamber, locating each door. As his eyes found the fourth, and final, passage, it disappeared. But not just the door, the entire room was gone. Under his feet water lapped placidly. And then he knew. Before him, framed by the prime trees, were a trio of thrones and on them sat the Kings.
He caught himself in the act of kneeling and cast a glance at Maleyan who was in mid bow. Around the throne room angels lowered themselves onto their faces. He felt sudden confusion and fear.
'Let them enter,' Elyon's voice boomed, causing Quemel to tremble inwardly.
How would his army reach him here?
The parade of faces that entered answered the question. Baphomet, Semanop, Bifron, Dartinel, Semyaza. One by one his generals filed in before the throne. Dozens of arella, some he knew, others he didn't, came and knelt. Last in the procession came his lifelong friend and ally, his most trusted compatriot.
Quemel tried to scream but his jaws were locked rigidly in place. He yearned to call the traitor's name, to announce his character. The words struggled to escape- 'Azazel you coward,' but no sound passed his lips.
Elyon looked down at the prone figures before the thrones.
'Each of you, give account for yourself, publicly, before the heads of all the choirs, the celestial scribe and your Kings.'
One by one each member of the conspiracy confessed their role in his scheme. One by one each admitted their guilt and begged for mercy and forgiveness.
With each admission the fear and failure pressed harder against Quemel's heart. His hopes and plans were crushed under the terrible weight. He struggled to keep himself upright, but managed it, barely. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and steeled himself. He would not grovel. He would stand firm.
'Because you have repented of your crimes and asked forgiveness, they are blotted out. We forgive and forget your faults and welcome you back into our fellowship. However, there are two who refused to acknowledge their crimes. Quemel and Maleyan, you have chosen death over life, defilement over purity, selfishness over service. It is with great sorrow that we carry out your sentence. You were created for joy and peace and love, but you have rejected your inheritance. You are damned eternally.'
Quemel watched with terror as an unbearable radiance suffused the thrones. It grew fierce and terrible, blinding him to all else. With a roar it rushed toward them. The sea boiled and hissed as it neared. Then, his vision, thoughts, aspirations, pride and flesh were consumed in a dreadful flash of pure light and he was no more.