The War in Heaven (23 page)

There had been three places from which the dark angels and their human allies had gated out. Cordon and his lieutenants fanned out to examine each one before their ethereal signatures faded. The one amid the boulders of the canyon had left the most distinct trail by far.

“Yes, this is excellent,” said Cordon to a lieutenant as he walked away from the gate out point. He held a small dark sphere in his hands, one that
held an ever-changing set of symbols on its surface. “The trail is very warm indeed. Counting these three, we now have four good ethereal trails. With this information, I should be able to greatly narrow the search for the hiding place of these dark angels and their human allies.”

“My lord, with what you know right now, do you have any idea where they are hiding,” asked the lieutenant.

“My best guess is somewhere on the Dark Continent,” said Cordon, gazing again into the darkened sphere.

“An awful lot of territory to search,” said the lieutenant. “Conditions there are harsh; it would be a difficult search.”

“I should be able to narrow the search to a smaller region within the next few days,” said Cordon, placing the sphere in his cloak. “What we really need is to get another bearing. We will have it if they gate in and out somewhere else, and we get a bearing soon enough afterward.” The direction of the conversation abruptly changed. “Have you completed a sweep of the area for escaped humans?”

“We have…several times farther out than we felt it would be possible for them to travel. I feel fairly confident that we have them all,” said the lieutenant. “And we have these as well.” The lieutenant held up the body of one of Abaddon’s slain children. “My people are finding them all over the area. They are difficult to kill, but they can be killed.”

“Collect several for me,” said Cordon. “They will need to be studied. I suspect they are a creature from the old age of Hell, altered by the dark angels, of course.”

“Yes sir,” said the lieutenant. “My forces have continued to question the humans, and we now have a name, perhaps their leader … Abaddon.”

“Abaddon, yes of course, I’ve heard that name some years ago,” confirmed Cordon. “A great deal is starting to make sense to me now. We must question these humans carefully. If offering them an incentive, perhaps four
or five days in a cool dry cell away from their torments will loosen tongues, so be it. I will authorize it. See that a report of the information gathered is brought to me when the questioning is complete.”

“I will, my lord,” confirmed the lieutenant. There was a long pause. “One thing troubles me greatly, sir.”

“What would that be, lieutenant?”

“One of the taskmasters assigned to this place was literally blown apart by a weapon held by one of the strangely attired humans. Even after many hours he has not reconstituted. His blood dries in the sun, and his flesh decomposes. Never have I heard of such a thing. I know not even if his spirit has survived.”

Cordon nodded. “Yes, that is troubling, but I can not say that I have never heard of an incident such as this. I have read of such a thing in the archives. It is not a loose piece in the puzzle; it does fit. Let me give you some advice, lieutenant. Be not so quick to come to a conclusion about what you see here. The quick answer is not often the right answer. Neither should you take the events you see this day in a vacuum. Ask yourself as to whether something like this has happened before. The events of this day have been building up for some time, perhaps six or seven years, perhaps even longer ago than that. Abaddon and his followers may have won a small battle here, but in doing so they have exposed themselves. The war shall be won by us.”

“What of this place?” asked the lieutenant. “What would you have me and my minions do about the purpose it serves and the humans that serve it?”

“The damage is not extensive,” said Cordon, looking around. “Although I fear we used the fireballs rather liberally, it seems to me that most of the humans are still here, and others can be added to reinforce their ranks. It is time to organize them, give them a purpose. Let it be their responsibility to clear away the rubble that blocks the paths and rebuild the trail where it has
been damaged. Then they will be free to resume their service to the master. I doubt that they will be much trouble. They might even view it as a welcome vacation from the boredom of their eternity. I suspect that three or four days will see things back to normal.”

The lieutenant nodded approvingly. “I’ll see to it at once my lord.”

The lieutenant and his subordinates departed, leaving Cordon to his thoughts. No, he hadn’t caught any of the rebel angels or humans today, but he had nonetheless learned a lot about them. He needed to do some more research before he proceeded. He would need to peruse both the historical records as well as make some important mathematical calculations before he continued this operation. There was much to be done.

Corporal Lawrence and Private Higgins worked their way through the crowded commons a second time without results. Surely he had to be here, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t made it out.

“I knew we should have kept him with us … had him gate out with us,” said Higgins. “He was just a scared kid. Tim didn’t belong there.”

“You can’t beat yourself up over it,” said Lawrence. “You didn’t know. You were following proper procedures.”

“Heck of a rationale to leave a sixteen-year-old kid behind,” continued Higgins.

“If it bothers you that much, then take it to the counselor,” replied Lawrence, “but she’ll tell you the same thing I did. Look, every time we step through that ring we’re walking into harm’s way. I don’t need to tell you that; you know it as well as me. The longer we stay out there, the greater the chance of getting nailed, and if that happens, we’re all in a world of hurt.
We’re going to end up leaving a lot of people behind before this is all over. We’ll never be able save as many people as we would like.”

“I know, I know,” said Higgins, scanning the room one last time. “It’s just hard, that’s all. I mean…I know what kind of stuff these people went through. I went through it for twelve years myself. No one should have to go through something like that. I just don’t like thinking that an error I might have made doomed someone to more suffering.”

Lawrence shook his head and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I understand, really I do. I was out there for nearly forty years. Look, we’re only human, we’re going to make a lot of mistakes, but in the end we’re gonna win this thing…we have to. Come on, we’ve got other things to do before we turn in.”

As Lawrence and Higgins left the commons, most of the refugees were settling down to get the first night of sleep they’d had in years. This war was just beginning. Who could say how long it would go on or how many good people would have to be left behind in the dungeon of the damned before it was through.

S
atan and three of his highest ranking minions stood before the gray marble ring, a monument that seemed so incongruous here on the plains of Heckath. It was an enormous monolithic arch, 100 feet across and 8 feet thick, partially buried in the reddish soil. Engraved deeply into its smooth surface, written in the angelic language, were the solemn words: Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here. The red sun stood low at their backs, glistening off the surface of the 10-foot band of arching granite, an eternal sunset on the barren landscape.

Satan remembered this place well. It was from here that he had first viewed this realm that was to become his eternal kingdom; his eternal prison. It seemed little different now, really. The only things missing were the few meager desert bushes and patches of yellowish grass that once populated this windswept plain. He stretched out his arms to the great ring. “It was through this very portal that we arrived in this savage land so many years ago, and it is through this very same portal through which we shall ascend once more to our rightful place in Heaven.” Satan turned to his closest confidant, the enigmatic and mysterious minion Metastopholies. “What say you old friend, shall we succeed in our endeavor?”

Metastopholies turned to his master. He was cloaked totally in black and was a good 6 inches shorter than his prince. His head was bald and he had no facial hair whatsoever. His eyes were an unnatural yellowish green and his lips thin and pale. For that matter, his whole complexion was unusually pale. From a natural perspective, he did not appear at all healthy, yet this
was an illusion. He was as potent an adversary as any of Satan’s minions. In fact, his mental powers were second to none in the kingdom.

“The signs do bode well, my master,” he said slowly. “I believe that the Father shall consent to your proposal.”

“But shall the day be ours?” asked Satan.

“I discern that it shall,” replied Metastopholies. “Michael shall not suspect what this day holds for him and those who follow him. He has become too confident in his power. The events of this day shall render the victory unto thee. The pillars of angelic power in Heaven shall shake, and the saints shall tremble.”

Satan’s smile grew at the words of Metastopholies. “Then our enterprise shall succeed?”

“I say only that this day shall belong to thee, my lord,” replied Metastopholies. “As for the days that follow, I cannot say the future is not so clear. I bring to you one warning. Heed it, and your fortunes shall be more favorable. Do not disregard the little things. Like ants they are, small in stature, and seemingly insignificant as individuals. Yet in sufficient numbers, they make a formidable enemy. They can bring down even the greatest of the beasts of the forest and make of them nothing but bones. Even a few can foil the best laid plans if they attack at the right place and time. Do not underestimate them, for that may be your undoing.”

General Krell and Governor Molock looked on in amazement at this ally, so small in stature. They had always felt uneasy in his presence. He seemed to look right through them when he spoke, as if he knew their every secret. His words made sense enough, but the context and relevance were somewhat unclear. What or who were the ants?

“When you speak of the ants, are you speaking of the humans?” asked Satan. “I say, surely, that is all they are to me.”

“Then you perceive the meaning of my warning?” asked Metastopholies, not the slightest sense of emotion in his words.

“Yes,” confirmed Satan, “and your words will not be lost on me.”

Before them, the distant hills viewed through the aperture of the great ring began to ripple and distort. In but a few seconds the ring had become a misty doorway into the realm of Heaven. It was time.

The four proceeded into the mists and faded from sight. It didn’t seem like a long walk through the glowing mists. For a time, it seemed as if they were walking on air, as light as a breath of wind. A minute later, they stepped from a side corridor and into a vast rectangular arena, measuring about a 100 feet wide by 150 feet long, whose floor was made of seamless white marble. They were surrounded on all sides by a wall of the same material, perhaps 10 feet high. Rising in stepwise fashion beyond the wall were rows of empty seats rising to a glistening white wall interspaced with towering marble columns that supported nothing, for there was no ceiling. Above and beyond the columns were billowing clouds rising to an azure sky.

“It’s always someplace different,” said Satan, turning to his compatriots. “Last time it was in a great pine forest, in the third Heaven. The time before that, it was on the shores of the Crystal Sea. The Father rarely has these meetings at the same place twice in a row. This is the Hall of the White Throne Judgment, where the humans are weighed in the balance to be sent to Heaven or to us. To them, this is the closest to Heaven they will ever come. Impressive, isn’t it? The Father has always had a passion for the dramatic. He tries to impress these humans for reasons I do not fully understand. It is strange to see this place deserted. Normally the seats around us would be filled with saintly spectators.”

Before them was the Great White Throne itself. Clearly, it was meant for a being who must have stood 15 or 20 feet tall. Yet, it was empty. At nearly the center of the great arena was an oval-shaped table composed of the finest cultured marble. Chairs that appeared to be made out of fine crystal were
positioned about it. Normally this region of the arena-like hall was open, reserved for the human facing judgment.