The War in Heaven (9 page)

Tom drew closer to the door to better discern the words. “What are they talking about, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It sounds like a matter of security,” replied Bedillia.

It didn’t seem like Bedillia wanted to elaborate on that topic further, so Tom changed the subject somewhat. “Do Satan and his brood speak it too?”

“They speak a dialect of it,” was the reply. “It is a bit more harsh and guttural, but it is essentially the same language, or so I’ve been told. I’ve rarely heard it.”

Bedillia paused for several minutes before stepping in. Tom followed. The room beyond was large and brightly lit, not by a single crystal in the ceiling but a multitude of them, set like candles in a chandelier of gold and fine crystal. There was another metal door, the color of bronze on the far wall, with large Chinese-looking symbols etched into its surface. The walls of the room were adorned by large almost breathtaking paintings of forests, meadows, and a dazzling city that Tom assumed had to be in Heaven. Surely no earthly city could boast of such grandeur. Upon a black marble table at the back corner of the room, a clear glass sphere, about a foot in diameter, sat upon a round metal base. To Tom, it looked like a fortuneteller’s crystal ball.

Eight dark angels sat around a large rectangular table of white polished marble in the middle of the room. All possessed great black wings like that of a mighty crow, and all but two were cloaked head to toe in a black robe with long flowing sleeves. The remaining two were decked out in glistening chain mail armor. From the belts of the armored angels hung large swords sheathed in jeweled scabbards. At Bedillia’s entrance, they all turned and then stood in unison.

“Selane et entraeus, carba se ling,” she said to the gathered assembly, bowing slightly.

“It is quite all right,” assured the angel in armor at the far end of the table. “We were just concluding our business. You are welcome here among us, as are you Dr. Tom Carson.”

The other armored angel turned to see Tom and smiled. “I am pleased to see you awake and on your feet. I am Lenar.”

“Yes,” said Tom, “I remember you. Thank you.”

“It was our privilege,” assured Lenar.

Then Tom’s eyes shifted to the angelic being at the head of the table. He remembered him too—the short beard, dark penetrating eyes, and burley face. That face would be engraved in his mind forever. He had introduced himself at the time of his deliverance. “Thank you for freeing me, Abaddon. I owe you more than I could ever say.”

“And you’ll have the opportunity to repay me,” assured Abaddon, a slight smile coming to his face. “I desire to speak to you at length; however, there is a more pressing matter that requires my attention. In truth, it is a matter associated with your rescue from that altar. You humans might call it a ‘loose end.’ I made a foolish mistake during your rescue. Hopefully, it is not too late to correct it.”

Abaddon turned to Lenar. “My brother, meet me at the ring in ten minutes. Hopefully, this will be a quick, simple mission. Hopefully. Our meeting is adjourned until the fifteenth hour, at which time I shall report on the state of the damage, if any. I pray this mission does not make matters all the worse.”

The angels filed out of the room, leaving only Abaddon, Tom, and Bedillia. Abaddon turned to Tom. “Walk with me for a few minutes. I’m sure you have many questions.”

The three walked from the room into the hallway. Tom anticipated getting a few answers from this enigmatic dark angel, yet it was Abaddon who asked the first question.

“Dr. Carson, why does Hell exist?”

Tom was taken aback. His experience with Hell had been on the most personal of levels. To him, the answer was obvious. Or was it? “Once, I would have said it was where the evil people of the world could be punished for their crimes against humanity. That is, if I’d believed that it existed at all.”

“Now you know it exists. Tell me doctor, do you consider yourself evil?”

Tom was beginning to feel a bit nervous. He was starting to understand what Bedillia meant when she said that Abaddon was intense. “No, I don’t.”

Abaddon’s expression remained essentially devoid of emotion. “So, why are you here?”

“I was sent here because of the way I lived my life on Earth. I should have known that Jesus was the way to salvation; I heard it often enough, but I didn’t accept it. I didn’t have time for God. I suppose, really, science was my god. So God commissioned Satan, master of Hell, to see to my eternal torment.”

Abaddon shook his head. “An elegant explanation, however it happens to be wrong. You have much to learn about this place. Hell was intended to be a place of separation from God, not a place of physical punishment or torture. Trust me when I tell you that God is not like that, He is not a torturer. Satan, however, is. And Satan was not appointed master of this realm. Oh, he envisions his role to be that, but he deludes himself. He does it for his own sanity.”

“So, why is he here?” asked Tom.

“Simple,” replied Abaddon, “he is a prisoner like the rest of us. He rules by virtue of the fact that he was here first, and commands a vast number of fanatical followers. He took a relatively benign world—this world—and shaped it into a form after his own dark soul, a realm perfectly suited to torture your kind because his hate is so great and his envy of humanity so deep. Although he inflicts pain and horror endlessly, it cannot satisfy him. There is never enough. As your kind arrived, he restrained them in irons and subjected them to pain so great that they cannot think to ponder escape, to rise up against their tormentors. As your numbers have grown ever greater, the necessity to keep you occupied with your agony has steadily increased. Today in Hell, you outnumber his kind nearly forty to one. His kingdom is fragile; it has been for a long time. It simply needs someone to destabilize it. That is our task. He will make a mistake; his madness dictates it, and when he does we shall exploit it.”

Tom hesitated; he wasn’t as inclined to draw the fallacy of the plan to Abaddon’s attention as he was with Bedillia. Still, he had to. “Humans may outnumber demons in Hell, but I don’t see how that matters. They’re in no position to help us. We are outnumbered, what, fifteen hundred to one?”

“That is an oversimplification of the dynamics of this struggle,” replied Abaddon, who didn’t even turn to look at Tom. “It also happens to be incorrect. However, I do not wish Satan to come to that realization. I want him to be overconfident. I do not wish him to realize the full extent of our resources. Know this, Tom Carson, we are able to anticipate his every move, while he neither knows our numbers nor from where we strike. We have weapons and allies of which he knows nothing.”

“Like those insect things?” deduced Tom.

“Yes, but that is only part of it. There is much more. We are not ready to face him on the field of battle yet, but with your help we might soon be. Then humanity shall have its revenge upon him, as shall I.” Abaddon
paused. “This conversation will be continued soon. I assure you, I shall answer all of your questions. There will be no secrets between us.”

A metal door opened before them of its own accord, and they stepped in. Here, they found a large room with a silvery metal ring 9 feet in diameter at its center. At the back corner of the room, upon a white marble pedestal, sat another sphere of pure glass, not unlike the one Tom had seen in the audience hall. A faint glow emanated from its center.

Lenar and about a hundred of the tiny creatures Tom had come to know only too well were already here. Lenar handed Abaddon a small sphere, about the size of a large marble. It glowed with a pure white light. It was strange, but there was something about the light—it was beautiful, peaceful. Abaddon placed it in a pouch in his belt. He looked to Lenar. “We shall use the ring to get us there, the orb to get us back.”

Abaddon walked to the glassy sphere on the pedestal. He placed his left hand upon the sphere before withdrawing it. The sphere seemed to dissolve into a ball of soft light several times larger. For a moment, the soft glow was transformed into a ball of salt and pepper static, not unlike that of a television tuned between stations. Out of the static, an image was forming. It was another angel, yet this one had white wings like those of a dove and was draped in a flowing white robe. His form was like a hologram with depth and substance.

“Be well, my brother,” said Abaddon, gazing at the incredible three dimensional image before him.

“And to you, my brother,” responded the white angel. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” confirmed Abaddon.

“The corridor is clear,” said the angel. “She had a visitor several hours ago, but he has departed. She is alone, though I know not for how much longer. It would be best if you made haste. May the Father guide your steps.”

“I depart even now,” confirmed Abaddon, making his way to the glistening metal ring where Lenar and the small creatures awaited him.

Abaddon stretched out his hand, and a sphere of mist and glistening star-like light formed within the ring. He wasted no time. He stepped into the light. He seemed to be walking into its depths, only to vanish from sight. Lenar and the small creatures quickly followed, vanishing into the phantasmal depths.

Tom stared at the phenomenon he had just witnessed in disbelief. Never had he seen such a thing. They had stepped into one end of the ring, but never appeared on the other. What had happened to them?

The mists evaporated behind them, and Tom and Bedillia found themselves alone in the room. Well, almost alone.

Bedillia and Tom walked over to the sphere of light where the white-robed angel watched them. A broad smile appeared on his face. “Hello, Bedillia. It is pleasant to see you again.”

“Always a pleasure to see you, Aaron,” she replied.

“And I send greetings to you as well, Tom Carson,” said Aaron.

“Happy to meet you, Aaron,” said Tom.

“We need to conserve precious power,” said Aaron, “so I must take my leave. I feel certain that Abaddon’s quest shall meet with success. I will be with you in two days if the loving Father wills it to be so.”

“We’ll see you then,” replied Bedillia.

The glow faded, leaving the glass sphere once more.

Tom slowly approached it, gazing into it intently. At first, all he saw was smooth glass; then he saw fine lines running through the glass. They seemed to merge near the bottom of the sphere, into a mesh of incredible complexity, into several almost microscopic black cubes. Fiber optic circuitry? If so, it spoke of a technology far beyond that of early 21st century Earth.

“We call it a telesphere,” noted Bedillia. “It is not of angelic design, but was made by human hands, hands belonging to the humans who will teach you to do things beyond your wildest dreams. Get ready to open your mind to a new world.”

Tom shook his head in amazement. “You’re getting help from the angels of Heaven?”

Bedillia nodded, “Yes, some of them, and some of the saints too.”

Tom smiled slightly. Clearly he had a lot to learn about this place and this conflict. He would not quickly dismiss the claims of this peculiar woman again. He looked forward to the future with anticipation.

Julie gazed between the gray bars of her small, dismal cell into the rocky corridor beyond. This ten-by-ten cubical offered few amenities. The small precious cup of water, now empty, had been one of them. She’d been here four days—four days without pain. The first day had been a bit rough. In the absence of the pain, she had felt so empty. It had been like going through withdrawal from heroin all over again, complete with the confusion, the depression, and even the hallucinations. She still remembered that awful week so long ago. How many years ago had that been? She didn’t know. Thankfully, this time, it had passed more quickly.

Right now, she was happy to be here. Imagine being happy to be locked away in a bare, dusty dungeon cell, but she was. Never had a prison felt so good.

Actually, she had not been at all certain that this demon, Cordon, would keep his word to her. She envisioned remaining on that horrible altar until the end of time, an eternal meal for the scavengers of the air. But he had kept his word. Within a matter of hours of his departure, two demons had released her and brought her here, to this subterranean dungeon. Amazingly,
they had been gentle with her, as that dark angel had promised. She would gladly have remained here within the safety of these walls for all eternity. But that wouldn’t happen, would it? Very soon she would be out there again, if not on an altar, on some other device of pain. It was inevitable. She was like a prisoner on death row, only worse. The absence of pain had made the anticipation of its return all the more terrible. Had he actually done her a favor?

“Oh, God, please deliver me, a sinner,” she whispered.

No, now she was being foolish, there was no deliverance in Hell. Cordon had made that only too clear. He had spent nearly an hour with her today, trying to extract more information. Right now he wanted a name, the name of the dark being who had released this Carson fellow. Yes, she had heard it that day on the fields of agony, and now, she remembered it—Abaddon. Yet she had kept it from the demon. It was the last card she held. She was stalling for time. Perhaps she could buy herself a few more days. Once she told him, there would be nothing keeping him from dumping her back into the devil’s playground to continue the game. He would be back in a few hours. If she didn’t give him the name, well that might be it anyway. She turned from the bars and curled up in the shadowy back corner of the cell. If only she could curl up in its darkness and disappear.