But there was nothing she could—what was that? Something? His voice? Where? She looked around, but saw only the rocky shore with its small cleft, and nothing but ocean around her.
She listened again, and realized that the voice was coming from within her mind. In that instant, she realized where Harut was and what she must do.
"Well, there it is, Lord Satan."
"We've made it, Mephistopheles, unhindered. How many are we now?"
"Our group has about four thousand angels, Lord. The last reports indicate that the others are about the same."
"Good! Could you tell how far behind Michael is?"
"I saw the dust cloud from that last hill. He's a long way off still, but moving fast. He knows where we are. I think they'll be here in another day."
"Hmmmm. They outnumber us, too."
"About three to one, Lord Satan. But by the time they get here they'll be nearly exhausted from the run, the way he must be pushing them."
"That's something, then. We'll have to move quickly, though."
"I agree, Lord Satan."
"Good. Beelzebub, have you looked over the area near the Palace?"
"Aye, milord. There are scarce two hundred angels to defend it."
"That's fine. Are you up to running another series of errands?"
"Aye, milord."
"Good. Tell Lucifer, Lilith, and Asmodai to meet me here, right away. We're going to plan the attack."
"Aye, milord. It shall be done."
Beelzebub ran off.
"How many days has it been, Mephistopheles?"
"Since we left camp? Eighteen."
"Not bad, eh?"
"No, Lord Satan. Not bad."
He turned his eyes toward the Palace below him. "If you're watching, Yaweh, know that your time has come. And remember that you brought it on yourself; it was no doing of mine."
Michael, Yahriel, Zaphkiel, and Camael walked into the dusk of Heaven, nearly running. Behind them, thousands of angels matched their speed, for they were all committed to the Lord, and they knew that he was in danger.
Michael knew nothing but anger. In part, he was angry with Satan and all of his crew, who threatened Yaweh's life. But mostly he was angry with himself for having allowed Satan to slip past him. He could tell by the footprints they passed that Satan now had hundreds, maybe even thousands of allies. It should never have gotten this far. He pushed on.
Yahriel was an archangel of medium height, somewhat thin, with stringy brown hair. He looked young. He had a mind able to deal well with the abstract problems of how to move this many angels to here, or where to cut off distances, but he had never given any thought to why the fight was being waged. When he had heard of the Plan, it had fascinated him, but it had never seemed real. He had followed Yaweh because Yaweh had been there. Now he followed Michael because Michael was there. Michael said that they had to move quickly, so Yahriel worked on how to go faster. The moral problems he left to others.
Camael led the Powers, and they were all infected with his love of Yaweh and his adoration of Yeshuah.
Camael had no time to be critical of himself or Michael for Satan having gotten past them, nor was he worried about it. He knew that if this happened, it was as the Lord had willed it, for was not all of Heaven his to command? No, this was as it should be, and it meant that he must hurry, for the Lord wished to test his servants to see if their zeal was all it ought to be. That was the only reason Camael could see for this, and he was determined that, for his part, the Lord would have no cause for complaint.
Zaphkiel understood what had happened. He had suggested, exactly once, that Michael send scouts to the sides, but his suggestion hadn't been listened to. This, he knew, had to do with Michael's dislike of him.
But that was the past, and his future was ahead of him. He had seen Satan and spoken to him. He had seen and spoken to Yaweh. He knew what the possibilities were and understood them, and the only two questions were: which would happen, and where would he fit in?
Zaphkiel was created during the Third Wave, near the border of Leviathan and Belial's regency. He was created early, so he had actually been aware of what was going on as he fought. From time to time he had seen, in the distance, one angel coming to the aid of another, but he was too far away. There was no one to help him. He had learned to fight alone and survive alone, and he knew that anything he got, he would get alone. He trusted no one and depended on no one.
Zaphkiel had no need to agonize over plans and decisions.
The proper action was obvious, and would come as close to insuring his success as anything could. It depended, however, on his being at the right place at the right time.
So he sent his own scouts ahead to determine exactly how many angels had gathered and how Satan had deployed them, and he hurried.
For Zaphkiel, for Camael, for Yahriel, and for Michael, speed was everything.
"You must ask to parley, Lord."
"Don't be stupid, Abdiel. Why would he parley? Would I, if I were in his position?"
Abdiel shrugged. "I don't know, Lord. But Nisroc was only able to gather nine or ten score of angels. They have thousands. We have to delay them."
Yeshuah was silent. Yaweh turned to Raphael. "What do you think?"
"He's right, but I don't see any way to do it. As you said, why will Satan stop to parley? He knows that Michael will attack soon."
Abdiel shook his head. "Promise him that you'll tell Michael to hold back, from a good distance. He'll believe you."
Yaweh shrugged. "But why will he parley in the first place?"
"I know him," said Abdiel. "He'd rather talk than fight. Tell him that you'll negotiate. That you're willing to discuss the Plan and how to do it and if to do it, and—"
"No!" cried Yeshuah. "We will not give up the Plan!"
"I," said Yaweh, "am of the same mind as Yeshuah on this."
Abdiel shrugged. "All right, don't give it up, then. Just speak to him about it. What else is there to do?"
The others looked at each other. "He has something, at that," Yaweh admitted.
"We can at least speak to him," said Yeshuah.
"Yes," said Raphael. "He will speak to us."
"But," added Yeshuah, "we will not give up the Plan. Agreed?"
"Yes." Yaweh motioned to one of the Seraphim. "Sarga," he said.
The Seraph came forward. "Yes, Lord?"
"Find Michael, quickly. Make sure you skirt around Satan, and tell the Lord Michael to stop where he is and come forward no farther until he is told to."
"Yes, Lord," said Sarga, bowed, and departed.
Abdiel sighed. "I would like to retire now, Lord."
Yaweh nodded. "You may go, Abdiel."
"Thank you, Lord," said Abdiel. Yaweh sat back in his throne.
Abdiel left the room. As soon as he was out, he caught up to Sarga in the hall. Abdiel took him to the side and spoke to him in low tones for several minutes.
They sat on top of the hill, in plain sight of the Palace. Lilith and Lucifer held each other close, not having seen each other in some days. Asmodai sat next to Beelzebub, who was next to Satan, who was next to Lilith, so completing the circle.
"Things have changed," began Satan, "since I called you together."
The others looked at each other.
"Changed?" said Lucifer. "How?"
"I have received a message from Yaweh, saying that he has ordered Michael to hold his position and he wishes to talk."
'Talk!" cried Asmodai. "Now he wants to talk? He can do his talking to the flux!"
"That is my reaction, too," said Lilith.
"And mine," said Lucifer.
"He is willing," continued Satan, "to discuss the Plan itself. He says that he will consider modifying the Plan, or making us all full partners in it."
"I have no wish to discuss anything with him," said Lucifer.
"I'll talk to him. Or rather," Satan added with a grim smile, "messengers will talk for me. Yaweh said that he doesn't w
ish to see me personally—that he doesn't feel safe with me, so he suggested messengers."
Lucifer snorted. Lilith turned away. Asmodai shook his head.
"And the loss of life," said Satan, "means nothing to you? If we can get what we want peacefully, will you reject it?"
There was silence for a moment, then Lucifer said, "I guess it can't do any harm to see what he has to say."
Lilith nodded. "Listening to him, yes. But I will not be talked out of a victory that we have nearly achieved."
Satan looked at her. Then he said, "All right; I'll make no decision until morning. I have to think this over. This council has ended."
He rose and walked back into the darkness.
Abdiel stood in the darkness outside the Palace. The air was chilly, but he found it, somehow, pleasing. There had to be a way out, he knew. First Ariel, then Raziel, and now one step further.
He shook his head. Could he really do it?
Could he not do it? When Yaweh found out that Michael had attacked, they would question the messenger. Abdiel couldn't allow that. And who was that Seraph, anyway? A nothing, a nobody. It wasn't for himself, Abdiel decided. If nothing was done, Yaweh would either abandon the Plan, despite all his promises, or Satan would attack and destroy them.
No, it was unfortunate that he had to be the one able to recognize what had to be done—but it still had to be done, and all the debates he could hold with himself wouldn't change that.
He took a deep breath and set off into the night, holding a sword tight so it wouldn't hit the ground.
Chapter Fifteen
Forwards! the doubt, my strength benumbing, I won't encourage foolishly; For were the witches not forthcoming. Why, who the devil would Devil be!
—Goethe, Faust
"Well, now, who in Heaven are you?"
Mephistopheles, half smiling, looked at the angel who barred his way.
"I am Nisroc. You cannot enter here."
Mephistopheles raised an eyebrow and looked at the angels who were clustered before the doors to the Palace.
"That may be," he said. "But if you find someone to tell the Lord Yaweh that the emissary from the Lord Satan is here, I expect you'll find you're wrong."
Nisroc's eyes widened a bit, then he turned his head and told an angel behind him to relay the message. He faced Mephistopheles again and said, "We'll wait."
The dark angel smiled, folded his arms, and began whistling between his teeth.
Soon Uriel came from the door. He saw Mephistopheles and stopped. "You!"
"You were expecting Leviathan?"
"I ought to have guessed," he said, "that you would—"
"Dump it out, Uriel. We can exchange compliments later."
"As you will. Follow me."
"Right. Take me to your leader."
They went through the halls, where Mephistopheles grinned and nodded at the Cherubim, to the throne room. He noticed the second throne set to Yaweh's right and remarked, "You've been remodeling."
"What says the Lord Satan?" Yaweh asked.
Mephistopheles approached the throne until he was stopped by a pair of Seraphim.
"He is willing to discuss it," he said.
"Good."
"Have you a chair?" asked Mephistopheles. "My feet are tired."
Zaphkiel considered the situation. Why hadn't Satan attacked? The only thing that might delay him was if he was negotiating with Yaweh. And if he was, why hadn't they received a message telling them to hold off? It was strange that—
"Lord Zaphkiel?"
"What is it?"
"This angel claims to have a message from the Lord Yaweh."
Zaphkiel looked at him. "Bring him to Michael."
"Yes, Lord."
"Wait. You. Come here."
"Yes, Lord?"
"What's your name?"
"Sarga, Lord."
"Are you a Seraph or a Cherub, Sarga?"
"A Seraph, Lord."
"Is it an order to delay the attack?"
"I can't tell, Lord. I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter. You just did. Don't try to hide things; you haven't the face for it." Zaphkiel mused for a moment. "How odd," he muttered to himself. Then to Sarga, "Did a messenger from Satan arrive there before you left?"
"I can't—"
"Answer!"
"No, Lord."
"Very odd. You must have been in the room where the idea to attack was decided upon, weren't you?"
"My lord, I—"
"Just say yes or no."
"Yes, Lord."
"Fine. Who suggested it?"
"I don't know, Lord."
"Rubbish. I know you Seraphim. You spend all your time on duty watching and listening to Yaweh's conversations. Now, whose idea was it? Abdiel's? I'd believe that."
"No, Lord." Sarga got a strange, confused look on his face. "Abdiel wasn't there when it was discussed, Lord."
"What? Wasn't there?"
"No, Lord. I... don't remember seeing him at all."
"Well, where was he then?"
"I don't know, Lord."
Zaphkiel leaned forward and looked closely into the Seraph's eyes. Then he nodded. "I see."
He turned to the Throne who was waiting. "That's all. Take him to see the Lord Michael. Then tell all sentries to pull in and get some rest. We don't need to worry about spies tonight, but we'll be moving soon."
"Yes, Lord."
Zaphkiel stared off into the distance.
As the acting head of the highest ranking Order present, Zaphkiel should have taken charge of the final arrangements. But he was only acting head, he had no interest in it anyway, and Michael had been given the mission. In any case, Michael would not have allowed it, and Michael was a Firstborn—as well as simply being Michael.
All of which is to say that the Orders of angels and the rankings therefrom had not yet caught on, so to speak, as well as they might.
So it was Michael who stood while Yahriel, Camael and Zaphkiel sat. He cleared his throat. "As you can see, we are on time. For some reason, Satan has chosen not to attack. We are near his lines now and could advance at once. I had thought to wait and receive instructions from the Lord Yaweh, but he sent a message answering my question before I had asked it."
"Of course," said Camael. "He would."
Michael ignored him. "A Seraph has come from the Lord Yaweh. We are to attack as soon as possible. If necessary, we may take the evening to rest."
"No!" cried Camael. "At once!"
Zaphkiel said, "I am of like mind. We have had several hours' rest. It should do. We want to maintain our advantage of surprise, and we risk losing it by waiting."
Michael said, "All right. When?"
"Now!" said Camael.
"Why not?" said Zaphkiel.
"All right," said Michael, nodding. "Ten minutes to get to your positions, fifteen minutes to arrange for battle, then we'll go."
"I have the smallest unit," said Zaphkiel. "I would like the honor of being in the middle, if I may have it."
Michael nodded. "If you wish."
Camael glowered at him for a moment, obviously wishing that he'd thought to ask first.
Zaphkiel had been telling the truth about wanting his unit to take the middle, but he had lied a bit about the reason. The arriving Seraph had allowed him to reach a few conclusions, bringing together things he had heard or seen but hadn't been able to make sense of before.
Raziel had spoken to him, and from the questions he asked, Zaphkiel had realized that there was something unusual in some of the movements on the day Michael and Raphael had gone to bring back Satan. Zaphkiel had been following the activities of Lucifer, Lilith, Asmodai, and Satan, as well as those of Yaweh, as closely as he could. He, like Yaweh, saw a mystery there—they were not acting as he would have expected them to.
He had noticed the disappearance of Raziel, as Yaweh had, but had left it a question mark, to be resolved later.
Unlike Yaweh, who had had confidence in the angel
s around him until recent events had damaged it, Zaphkiel had never had confidence in anything except his own judgment. So when things didn't add up right, he was slow to brush them aside.
He still couldn't solve anything, but one close look into the eyes of the Seraph delivering the message had allowed him to make several deductions.
He felt no sense of outrage and didn't stop to consider whether anything that had been done was right or wrong, but he did see opportunity when it presented itself.
Therefore he made sure that his Order was in the middle of the attacking angels. He expected that, before long, it would be his Order in name, as well as in fact.
The first Satan heard of it were the shouts from the other end of the camp. He stood to see what was going on, but others had the same idea and he couldn't see past them.
It was night, but swords reflected well in the light from the campfires. And when the shouts turned to screams, possibility became certainty.
For long moments he stood there in shock, unwilling to believe that Yaweh had betrayed him. Then as angels from his army began flying past him, yelling, and many limping or wounded, he moved forward.
An angel appeared before him, shouting wildly with sword cleaving air. Satan touched the emerald at his breast. It had worked well enough with the campfire; now he would see....
There was no ripping, tearing effect of illiaster exploding around him, but the angel before him stopped, made a gurgling noise in his throat, and dissolved into nothingness.
Satan picked up the sword the other had dropped, his face devoid of expression, and swung it experimentally a few times. Another angel suddenly appeared before him, but before Satan could move, Beelzebub had him by the throat. The angel dropped his sword and clutched at Beelzebub, cried out once, and was silent. Then he was gone. Beelzebub turned to him. "One apiece, milord."
Satan didn't answer.
Another came in front of him. Satan swung clumsily and missed, but so did the other. Then Satan brought his sword up over his head and sent it crashing down on the other's blade. The angel fell, holding his shoulder and looking up at Satan fearfully.
But the Regent of the South ignored him. He took another step forward while more and more of his army streamed by, running from the unexpected assault.