Fall of Lucifer (8 page)

Michael stared in amazement. He bowed his head. ‘Yehovah’s wonders . . . ’

‘The treasuries of the snow,’ Jether whispered in awe. ‘The storehouse of the ordinances of the heavens. And the holding place for Yehovah’s greatest gift bestowed on man, Michael . . . ’ He stopped, overcome by emotion. ‘Free will.’

Michael took a step back, stunned.

Jether gestured beyond the seraphim. ‘It resides here,’ he whispered. ‘It has been programmed into the genome . . . ’

‘But . . . ’ Michael started.

Jether stared at him gently and slowly nodded. ‘But what if they misuse it?’ He softly finished Michael’s thought.

Michael nodded, dazed. ‘We, the angelic, who live within the fire of His presence, have been endowed with free will – and we have still to be proven, Jether!’ Michael’s voice rose with passion. ‘Each and every moon we have to be proven.’

‘You mean, what of mere mortals?’ Jether smiled at him compassionately. ‘What if they were to become renegade?’

Michael nodded, ashen. ‘It cannot be borne even to think on it.’

Jether looked long and hard at Michael. ‘He would have them love Him by their
choice
, Michael. He will not force them.’

‘Such a risk . . . ’ Michael echoed, incredulous.

Jether shook his head. ‘You mean, if they fail Him?’ He moved his hand, and immediately they were back again, standing in the central portal. ‘Such is the enormity of His love,’ he answered quietly, a sense of wonder transforming his features.

‘Ahem . . . ’

Someone cleared his throat behind them. They turned.

Charsoc, one of eight ruling monarchs of the Ancient Ones, stood at the portal door. Majestic, his noble features clothed with wisdom, he was attired in the flowing crimson royal robes of heaven’s kings. He bowed, his long white hair and beard sweeping the crystal floor. ‘The council is gathered, my revered Jether. We await your report with great anticipation.’

‘When will the new race be ready?’ Michael asked.

Jether’s eyes lit up in exhilaration. ‘Very soon.’

Chapter Four

Eden

Michael stood a long while on Earth’s surface, staring up towards the firmament, marvelling at its palette of cerises and lilacs, sapphires and ambers. He wrapped his deep blue cloak around him and strode towards his chariot to resume searching the heavens for signs of Lucifer as he had the past hour.

Far in the distance there was a sudden thundering as Lucifer’s monstrous golden chariot became visible through the clouds, riding the shafts of lightning, pulled by eight of his finest winged stallions, their glistening white manes intertwined with platinum. The chariot’s huge silver wheels touched down and ploughed through the soft brown dirt of Earth’s surface, drawing to an uneasy halt. Lucifer stood, an imperial figure, his ermine cloak flying behind him, his ruby crown on the raven hair.

Michael stared at him gravely.

‘Yes, yes.’ Lucifer stepped down from the chariot and strode towards Michael. ‘I am late, brother!’ He bowed and kissed Michael in affection. ‘Forgive me.’ Lucifer swirled around dramatically. ‘So . . . this is what all the furore in heaven is about!’ He knelt and picked up a handful of earth, letting the fresh dirt slip through his fingers. ‘As I surmised,’ he said disdainfully, surveying the stark brown terrain of Earth’s surface. ‘It has absolutely no exonerating features.’

He lifted his arms to the heavens. ‘Ponder on Gardesia, where the volcanoes spew molten gold. Or Seraphia, where the grains of sand are rosy pearls and the thousand pale lilac moons exude their lights.’ He sighed deeply as he strode over newly budding shoots of emerald grass beneath his feet. ‘Think of
Eden
, where the meadows are bulrushes of golden hues and the rain forests are laden with the elixir of life.’

Michael narrowed his eyes. ‘Be not so easily disappointed, Lucifer. I have a surprise that will hearten your conceptions of this small, new world.’

‘Michael, even if it was a veritable Eden it would be hard pressed to win my favour.’ Lucifer sighed deeply.

Michael clasped Lucifer’s shoulders, suddenly earnest. ‘But you see, dear brother . . . ’ he stared at Lucifer in sheer exhilaration, ‘it
is
Eden!’

Michael mounted one of his stallions and sped over the lush green meadows towards the eastern side of Planet Earth, followed by Lucifer astride one of the horses from his chariot. As they neared the entrance to Earth’s Eden, Michael drew in his reins, staring in awe at the sight before them, his face shining.

Lucifer came to a halt, silent, staring out towards the two enormous pearl gates towering in the distance. He struggled to disregard the appalling premonition that beyond the gates lay a precise reproduction of the Hanging Gardens of Eden and the great Waters of Eden that would drop a full mile down into the Eternal Fountains.

‘The Race of Men are truly beloved of our Father.’ Michael stared ahead in wonder. ‘He has replicated Eden for them.’

Lucifer flinched, then stared grimly ahead, pulling on his stallion’s reins. He raced his horse across the golden bulrush meadows, on through the lush rain forests, the same heavy elixir-laden undergrowth as in the First Heaven drenching him as he rode. Then his eyes locked on the incredible vista before him.

The monumental Waterfalls of Nectar thundered a hundred leagues down, reflecting the changing rainbow hues of Eden’s horizon. Lined by ancient willows, its hallowed streams flowed north, south, east, and west out of the lush, tropical celestial gardens, watering Earth. The same unicorns and oryx that grazed in the fields of the angelic Eden were grazing in the Eden of Earth. Lucifer recognized birds of paradise, rainbow-hued flamingos, and blue griffins, plus other exotic creations that were unfamiliar to him.

Incredulous, he dismounted, his hands trembling on the reins. He strode swiftly through the same knee-high gladioli and frangipani, and the same beds of pale blue tulips with long crystal stamens that grew in the First Heaven near the second gate.

Slowly Lucifer pushed the gate open. It was almost twelve feet high and two feet in breadth, carved of solid gold and embedded with rubies and diamonds set in a vast jacinth wall that surrounded the entrance to the inner sanctum of Eden.

He stared transfixed towards the farthest corner of the hanging gardens. Two trees stood there, almost wholly enveloped by constantly swirling white mists, their fruit glistening gold in the lightning. To the north of the trees he could see a narrow pearl arbour covered with pomegranate vines laden with lush silver fruits. He knew with a terrible certainty that beyond the hanging blossoms of the Gardens of Fragrance would be the simple wooden gate.

‘He would walk with them . . . ’ Lucifer murmured.

Very slowly, Michael lifted his gaze to Lucifer’s face as he stared ahead at the grotto at the very edge of the Cliffs of Eden, surrounded by eight ancient olive trees. A harrowing look of intense suffering clouded Lucifer’s features. A solitary tear fell down his cheek. His whisper was barely audible.

‘He has abandoned us.’

Chapter Five

Matins

The council of twenty-four long-bearded ancient kings sat at silent matins around a carved mahogany dining table, elaborately set as for a lavish feast. Each white head, adorned with a golden crown, was bowed, rapt in worship. A sleeping owl perched on each monarch’s shoulder.

Jether sat next to Charsoc and Xacheriel, who was snoring deafeningly in Charsoc’s ear. Charsoc opened one eye, frowning just as Xacheriel’s monocle fell with a splash into his steaming broth.

Xacheriel woke with a start. ‘Oh, drat and bumble!’ he spluttered.

Charsoc glowered at Xacheriel as all the other forty-four eyes opened at once, gazing ominously at the semi-blinded Xacheriel fumbling for the monocle in his broth, which had spattered onto his beard. Lightning flamed up from the broth onto the table. Jether surreptitiously wiped his mouth with a large, white napkin as Xacheriel tried most ineffectively to put the fires out with his own napkin, which caught fire from the leaping flames.

A youngling named Rakkon hurried over, closely followed by Dimnah, who enthusiastically poured an entire flagon of elixir over the burning napkin
and
Xacheriel’s head. Jether smothered a loud laugh. Xacheriel stood, now drenched and fuming, as Jether fished the monocle out of the broth while Dimnah attempted to wipe the seething Xacheriel down with a towel, apologizing profusely between his multiple bowings.

The other twenty-two elders retreated back to their private matins, again in rapturous prayer, while Xacheriel, still spluttering and gasping, strode from the room, followed by the languishing Dimnah.

Jether looked out from the corner of his eye towards Charsoc, whose countenance was hidden behind a large white napkin. His shoulders were shaking in a most unmonarchlike manner. Jether started to shake with merriment. He leaned over to whisper in Charsoc’s ear, and immediately the two elders vanished.

* * *

They reappeared together on the High Place of the Tower of Winds, the retreat of the eight elders who formed the High Council of Heaven. A hundred enormous white owls, perched on the battlements, screeched in delight when they saw Jogli and Bashkar, Charsoc’s owl, on the two Ancient Ones’ shoulders.

‘Let us walk, ancient friend.’ Jether clasped Charsoc’s arm as Jogli and Bashkar flew to join their compatriots. They walked in easy companionship through the lush gardens and past the water fountains and manicured hedges, their conversation low and intimate. Charsoc from time to time laughed into his handkerchief at the recollection of Xacheriel’s mishap. They rested by the sapphire fountains, the water cascading down as glistening blue mercury.

Jether held out a goblet to catch the elixir. ‘Ah,’ he said, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face, ‘tayberry and white currant!’

Charsoc held his goblet under the flowing elixir. He sipped delicately. ‘Harebell and honeysuckle,’ he murmured, gratified. He plucked a silvered sweetmeat from a large tree hung with thousands of white blossoms and delicacies. He broke it in half, revealing a glowing white meringue-like mixture bound with a thick custard-like substance. He popped it in his mouth, savouring it. ‘A sublime mix of raspberry cream and persimmon.’ He closed his eyes in rapture. ‘With a hint of curds!’

Jether moved to the centre of the tower to the large golden table surrounded by eight golden thrones where the angelic zephyrs of wisdom and revelation raged in eternal cyclones. He sat down on one of the eight jacinth thrones, and the zephyrs immediately subsided to a gentle breeze. Jether breathed in the invigorating aromas of the myrrh and frangipani that swirled in the gusts over his head. ‘Tell me of your musings, revered friend.’

Charsoc sat on his throne and closed his eyes in bliss. ‘I reflect on the sacred mysteries of Yehovah and of my journeyings to the treasuries of the winds and the snow,’ Charsoc crooned, breathing deeply of the zephyrs. ‘I think of the sacred vaults of the cherubim. I muse on the instant I witnessed Yehovah as He spread out the firmaments of the universes as a molten mirror . . . I have seen where the winds take their course and the hail is formed.’ He inhaled the perfume of frankincense and closed his eyes. ‘All these marvels of the angelic universe, I ponder.’

They sat in silence a long while.

‘Yet you are disquieted, my age-old compatriot,’ Jether said.

Charsoc opened his eyes. He clasped Jether’s old veined hand in his own. ‘You are too much a seer, my time-honoured companion.’

Jether nodded. ‘We have travelled many roads these past aeons, venerable friend. I know there is aught that weighs upon your soul.’

Charsoc rose and walked to the very edge of the Tower of Winds, where the zephyrs raged more fiercely. He turned to Jether, his hair and robes blowing violently in the rushing tempests. ‘The sanctity of our angelic world must be protected at all costs, Jether.’ He spoke softly but with passion.

Charsoc strode away from the tempests back towards the lush manicured gardens. Bashkar flew at once to his master’s outstretched hand. Charsoc looked back at Jether over his shoulder. ‘Do not fret for me, cherished friend.’

And he vanished into the white rushing mists.

Chapter Six

The Revelator

Gabriel tossed and turned on the royal blue silk sheets, sweat pouring from his brow onto his pillow. His breathing was shallow and erratic. His eyes were tightly shut, his flaxen hair matted with sweat. ‘Sedition,’ he muttered.

Michael stood at the door of his bedchamber. He stared at Gabriel, his face troubled. He strode over to his brother’s side. ‘Gabriel,’ he whispered, grasping his shoulders.

Gabriel’s eyes rolled back.

Michael shook him. ‘Gabriel!’

Slowly Gabriel’s eyes focused. He sat up, trembling. ‘Michael . . . the dreamings . . . they have become unendurable of late.’ Great sobs racked Gabriel’s chest. ‘Kingdoms rising . . . falling. The race of men . . . Yehovah . . . treason.’ He flung his hands over his face.

Michael stared at his younger brother. Helpless.