Yeshuah raised his sword high and brought it down again. He leapt forward off the rock and ahead of the angels in front. The Seraphim marched with him, two on either side, because he would have no one first. The Cherubim came behind, the eight of them clustered as close as they could. Uriel was at Yeshuah's right hand; Gabriel was directly behind him.
Even with the rearmost of the eight Cherubim came Zaphkiel, off to the right flank with his Thrones numbering twenty. On the other side was Yahriel with a hundred Dominions.
This was the vanguard. Behind them came five hundred Virtues led by Michael, whose sword shone so brightly that none could look directly upon it. And next came Camael, who led two thousand Powers, and Nisroc after him with ten thousand angels formed into a new Order created for the battle and called Principalities, for they fought for Yeshuah, the Prince of Heaven, and they cried his name as they came.
Behind them, Barachiel, his beard black and his eyes bright, led the Archangels who stood for Yaweh, and the rest of the angels who had chosen Yaweh came behind, and their Chief was called Adnachiel. The army followed in Yeshuah's wake. Knowing the terrain from Zaphkiel's reports, he took them through a path such that four could walk abreast. Then it expanded.
It took a long time for them all to go through. When they did, they saw a cleft. It was three leagues deep and two leagues wide. Those in the vanguard moved forward so the others could file in behind them and form ranks. This also took a long time.
But when it was done, they began to march forward. Those on the right flank looked to the small path on the other side, but nothing was there. Yeshuah, in front, moved toward the far edge of the cleft where the waves crashed against the rocks.
Opposite them was Satan, who still wore the gold cloak of the Firstborn. The emerald still shone upon his breast, and his green eyes were narrow and grim.
His right hand held a sword, the point of which rested on the ground. His left hand was held out to the side, telling those behind him to wait. He seemed made of stone.
At his right side was Beelzebub, also still and unmoving, his eyes fastened on the oncoming army. His weapons were his teeth.
A pace behind him to the right stood Lucifer. He held a short rod of scarlet light with a golden hilt in his right hand.
He, also, wore the gold cloak of the Firstborn. Lilith stood to Satan's left, and she held a spear—a gift from Asmodai. It seemed to jump in her hand as she rested its butt against the ground.
Behind these four came the might of the angels in rebellion, their faces grim, their hands holding blades, spread out before the cliff some fifty paces in front of it.
Behind them were a few large shapes that the oncoming army couldn't quite see, but gave little notice. And behind these, just barely, they could make out the awesome shape of the head of Leviathan, eyes blazing, maw just slightly open.
The distance between the two lines diminished to a league—half a league—a quarter.
Satan lowered his hand.
Raphael and Harut went to a high place, over the sea and above the battle. Raphael watched the lines get closer and closer together, then she went beneath the tree where Harut waited and leaned against it.
"You don't want to watch?" said Harut.
"No. Would you like me to report what happens?"
"No."
'Tell me something, Harut: Why is this happening? I can't blame Satan, and I can't blame Yaweh. I can't blame Lucifer, or Asmodai, or Lilith, and I can't even blame Yeshuah. Who, then? Is it really all Abdiel's fault?"
Harut shook his head. "It doesn't matter, honey. It is, that's all."
"That isn't good enough."
"No, it sure isn't, honey. But it's what we've got."
Raphael nodded. "Lie down, Harut. I want to take another look at your eyes."
Without another word, he complied.
Yeshuah was faster than the Seraphim around him. With a great cry, he sprang forward to meet Satan. The Regent of the South held his sword aloft, but before he could swing, Lilith cooly stepped in front of him and impaled Yeshuah on her spear.
He gave a cry and went down clutching his side as Lilith withdrew her spear for another attack. Uriel caught up then, and, screaming with rage, cut at Lilith's head. She stepped back and thrust with the spear. Uriel twisted out of the way and swung at her head. She ducked the blade, her face expressionless, and thrust at him again. Once more he twisted and cut; once more she ducked and thrust.
Another Seraph tried to come at her from the side, but Satan moved to block him. The Seraph cut downwards, and Satan's sword fell from his hand. The angel lifted his blade again, but Beelzebub leapt at his throat and then they were on the ground, rolling and tearing at each other. Satan picked up his sword and turned back to help Lilith, but saw Uriel on the ground, writhing and clutching at his thigh.
Lucifer behaved oddly. As the Cherubim came up to him, he raised his rod into the air, and it emitted a bright red flash.
From behind the lines, three great machines grunted as ropes were cut, and soon, deep within the ranks of the angels of the Lord, there were explosions of fire and cries of the wounded.
Asmodai, standing behind the lines next to one of the catapults, nodded his satisfaction. "Load them again," he said, "and this time stagger the firing. As you load, you others change the aim a bit."
Zaphkicl turned at the sound of the explosions. His eyes narrowed, and he traced the smoky lines in the air until he saw the three large objects behind the lines of the enemy. He nodded then and calmly directed the Thrones into a spear formation, and led them directly at the line of angels, toward the three machines.
Michael moved toward a side and began to clear it. His sword cut through the blades of his foes as if they weren't there, and one after another fell. Only rarely were they wounded; more often they would cry, fall, and then melt away to illiaster.
Staying close behind him, the Virtues cleaned up anything he missed. Soon the line began to waver, and angels began to break before him rather than face the golden sword whose touch was the final end.
The Thrones, unlike any other of the orders, had taken the time to practice with their weapons. The twenty of them swept through the line easily, and before anyone was aware of it they were back among the engines now regularly heaving gouts of destruction out into the lines.
Asmodai saw them and stepped forward to meet Zaphkiel, rope swinging in his left hand, sword raised in his right. The next in line among the Thrones leapt at the nearest machine— and cried out. Leviathan's head came crashing down on him. His chest crushed, he fell from the machine and dissipated.
The angels who tended the catapults continued frantically loading and firing them as Thrones smashed at them and fell to Leviathan.
Zaphkiel stepped back, made a quick judgment of Leviathan's speed and how many Thrones there were and how long it would take to disable the machines. "Work quickly," he said. Then he stepped back up to meet Asmodai.
"Good afternoon, Lord Satan. Your four-legged companion doesn't seem to be around."
"He's busy, Lord Michael."
"Ah! Then it's just the two of us."
"As much as it can be, in this mayhem. If you don't mind, let's get on with it. I have things to do here, and I'm sure you do also."
"All right, try this, then!"
"Not bad. I see you've learned to aim so that you won't hit the—eek—ground if you miss."
"You can't keep retreating forever, you know."
"I suppose not. Tell me, Michael, will your—eh—will your sword save you from my emerald?"
"Find out, if you dare!"
"I will, if you'll give me a moment to—uh—here we go, then. There. Ah. I see your sword helped a bit, anyway, or you wouldn't still be alive. I'll be going, now."
"I'll... get... you."
"No doubt, Michael, no doubt."
Zaphkiel realized immediately that he couldn't get past Asmodai's guard, for each time his blade crossed the path of the rope a burning sensation w
ent up his arm and the blade lost a finger-joint's length of point. Therefore, he contented himself with keeping Asmodai busy and protecting himself.
When the catapults were destroyed, he pulled back and yelled for the others to do so. Their retreat was as fast as their advance, so the rebels had no time to stop them before they were safely away. Zaphkiel noticed with some satisfaction that there were still twelve Thrones left.
He looked around and saw where Yeshuah lay wounded with Gabriel fighting over his body. He directed the Thrones that way, stepping over the wounded as they went.
Camael's sword didn't have the characteristics of Michael's, but Camael did everything he could to make up for the lack. When he wasn't laying about him at everything in sight, he was screaming at the Powers to follow, to hack, to rend, to destroy.
With zeal and with the fire of belief, Camael led the angels against the strongest points he could find, which soon became the weakest.
His rage and his joy blended, he cried aloud as he led the angels in the wounding of the healthy and the killing of the wounded.
He saw Lucifer, who was dealing death to any who came near him, and charged, crying, "You're mine!"
Lucifer turned to him. "You're nuts," he said, and calmly destroyed him.
Nisroc was a loyal servant of the Lord, but he didn't let it blind him. He had closely watched each of the preceding battles and he had learned from them. It was for this reason that Zaphkiel had recommended him for Chief of the Order of Principalities.
Nisroc had responded by assigning subranks, each with a Chief, with the implication that they should do likewise as needed. And he had worked out careful plans for how he would communicate with these Chiefs during the battle, with the implication that they should do likewise as needed. It was for these reasons that the Principalities were efficient in battle.
"Nanael! Daniel!"
They approached him. "Yes, Lord?"
"Attack the center, near Yeshuah. Tell Vehuel and Cerviel to guard your flanks."
"Yes, Lord." They rushed off to order their divisions.
Presently, a messenger stood before him. "Lord, Daniel says that Lucifer has arrived and is creating much havoc."
Nisroc nodded. 'Tell him to pull back to reserve."
"Yes, Lord."
Nisroc found another messenger nearby. "Have Vehuel move in to replace him." The messenger ran off.
Nisroc turned.
"Imamiah!"
Nothing happened. "Zuriel! Where is Imamiah?"
"I don't know, Lord."
"Very well. Take over for Vehuel's division, and guard his flank."
"Yes, Lord."
Nisroc continued watching. Soon, another messenger approached.
"Lord, Nanael says their lines are wavering."
Nisroc nodded. "Good. Press the attack."
Lilith was beginning to wear down. She broke off her battle with Gabriel, who was standing over Yeshuah, and backed up hoping to rest for a moment.
Suddenly, with no idea of how it had happened, she was cut off. Twelve of the enemy were before her. The foremost was Zaphkiel, who was studying her cagily.
"There is something about her spear," he told those around him. "Go slowly, and be sure."
She backed up. The Thrones followed her until, with a few quick movements, they were all around her. She turned in a slow circle. The Thrones began to close in.
Zaphkiel looked around, then, "Take your time," he directed. "There's no one near."
They slowly came toward her. She tasted sour vomit, and held her spear steady.
His eyesight was keen, but he didn't need it. He could feel the source of his fear and could have found it with his eyes closed.
But he didn't want to. He was flying toward it, but he would rather have been flying away. He knew, as well as he knew anything, that once it started it couldn't be escaped. As he came closer, the desire for flight grew, as did the need to attack the cacoastrum. But—what could he do?
Then he noticed something strange in the air. It looked greyish black, and the smell was—smoke!
Grateful for the excuse to come no closer to the source of his fears, he went to investigate.
He flew in great circles over what he saw, trying to understand. He had seen something like it once, recently, but hadn't understood it then, either. He began inspecting details and quickly found someone he recognized—a new friend with a gentle voice and firm, warm hands.
He looked closer, trying to understand what was happening; he didn't want to make a mistake. He studied the matter closely and realized that, if he was right, he couldn't waste any time.
Glad for the chance to help a friend without coming any closer to that, he moved.
It was mesmerizing, in a way. They had circled closer and closer until now they were well within spear range, and she had done nothing to them.
She became aware of it and decided that she would attack and hope to get one or two of them, at least. Or, she decided, perhaps she would throw the spear at Zaphkiel.
No, she might miss, and then she'd have nothing for her trouble. She took a deep breath and—
The three of them directly in front of her vanished in a burst of flame from above. Her reflexes acted for her, and she dived forward, rolling, just missing a stroke from a Throne who was behind her.
She looked up and saw Belial turn for another sweep.
"Scatter," said Zaphkiel with complete coolness. "Reform forty paces to the right of Yeshuah." He turned and ran, the others doing the same, but none of them coming near her.
Belial landed carefully behind her. Lilith quickly looked around and saw the line beginning to bend under the assault led by Nisroc.
She approached Belial and climbed onto his neck. "Thank you, true friend; I can't say how grateful I am. But if you'd do more for me, take us up and I'll show you where to burn."
"Belial... help," was the reply, and they were airborne.
"I wanted to talk to you about Ariel. Do you have a few minutes?"
Abdiel didn't answer. He looked around, as if hoping to see some kind of weapon in the pit with him. Mephistopheles waited, then stepped forward and landed in the pit, his knees bending. Abdiel could see him working to hold himself together against the flux that issued from the weakened floor beneath their feet.
"If now isn't convenient," Mephistopheles continued, "I can wait. It isn't urgent. I've been waiting a long time anyway. I can wait more."
As he spoke, he moved closer to Abdiel, and his hands began to reach out for Abdiel's throat.
"Just let me know what a good time to talk is, Abdiel. We'll set up an appointment. We can—"
"It was an accident!"
"Yes, I know. You were going for Beelzebub, weren't you?"
"I only wanted to hurt him to make him chase me. I wasn't trying to kill him!"
"I understand that. That is why I'm not angry with you. Really. Trust me, Abdiel. As Yaweh and Gabriel trusted you. As the messenger to Michael trusted you. Trust me—"
"Please!"
The dark angel's hands found Abdiel's throat, and cut off anything else Abdiel had to say.
Abdiel, who always had a plan, always had a scheme, always knew how to do or say the thing that would make everything work for him, felt empty as the fingers closed.
Helplessness, frustration, and bitterness—and then a growing veil of blackness that came down from above as if to cover all traces of what he was. There was a final, searing burst of pain from his chest, and then the blackness was complete.
Mephistopheles watched as Abdiel's body dissolved. Then he climbed out of the pit, dusted himself off, and walked back toward the shore to see if matters were completed there, as well.
Harut opened his eyes.
"You're beautiful," he said. He looked at the blue above him, and at the ground beside him. He looked at his hands, and his arms, and—
"Raphael!"
"Yes? What is it?"
"Over there!"
"I don't—
oh. Harut, I must—"
"I understand, Raphael. I'll stay here and look at things."
"Fare well, Harut." "So long, Raphael."
Yaweh looked into the empty pit and felt the emanations from it. So that was what Abdiel had been doing! Yaweh decided that he had no quarrel with Mephistopheles for taking the execution on himself—Abdiel had had to be stopped.
He checked the damage carefully and decided that, bad as it was, it could wait until after the war was resolved. He concentrated briefly on the battle, and the scene unfolded itself before him.
Yeshuah, wounded, was being helped by Gabriel and a Seraph, both of whom were also wounded, as they backed away from the conflict. Michael, also wounded, was crawling as best he could. Nisroc was keeping control of the retreat, trying to make it orderly.
Lucifer stood stock still, dealing out death as casually as he had discoursed on light sources and plant growth. Satan was moving all across the lines, directing the advance and shouting encouragement.
Belial had cut off their retreat; whether by chance or design could not be determined. His burnings, however, had also blasted the sides of the other path, widening it, and the retreating hosts were taking that. That would bring them...
He looked up and saw, with ordinary eyesight, angels begin to run toward him. He waited patiently. When they began to get close, he held his sceptre aloft and sent a thunderclap into the air.
The angels, who were now within a league, saw the lone figure, then saw the gold cloak on his shoulders. They began running toward him.
As they came, he motioned them to stand behind him, well clear of the pit, so he could watch the developing battle.
The last of them emerged, the healthy helping to bear the wounded. And behind them came another figure wearing the gold of the Firsborn. They took up lines a full league away near the mouth of what had been a path through a small gorge and was now a valley strewn with rubble.
Yaweh identified Satan, with Beelzebub next to him. Lucifer stood to the side. Overhead, Belial turned in great circles. The angels behind Satan stood tall and grim.