Tartarus: Kingdom Wars II (24 page)

“What do you want, Belial?” I said.

“Grant Austin, I want you to consider petitioning the Father for grace for all Nephilim.”

It took a moment for me to comprehend what he was saying. Of all the things I’d imagined he might say, this wasn’t one of them.

“Consider your unique position,” Belial said, “and your shared destiny. You alone can speak for the Nephilim. You can be their champion. The Father has shown you favor. He will listen to you.”

Of course the idea intrigued me. I’d already failed to receive salvation as a human. This was a chance to receive it as Nephilim. Why hadn’t I thought of it earlier?

“I wish you could meet my oldest boy,” Belial said, “the way he was. You remind me of him.”

“Do you really think the Father will consider my petition?”

“Look at the lengths to which he went to redeem humans and creation,” Belial said. “He has promised them a new heaven and a new earth. Upon death they are clothed in redeemed bodies. This he has done, though they have sinned. Why should you and the offspring of angels be punished for sin that is not yours? Despite your destiny, you have chosen to serve the Father. Should not all Nephilim be given a chance to make the same choice? Do you really believe the Father would damn those who choose to worship him?”

He’d get no argument from me. “How do I—I don’t know where to begin. Do I just pray? But then, how would I—?”

Belial became agitated; not because of what I said, but because of something I couldn’t see, or sense. His eyes darted around the room.

“What are you—”

“Shhhh!”

He disappeared.

I stood in the center of my living room, fearing that my ceiling was about to erupt with demons, or that rebel angels would at any moment storm through the walls.

Belial reappeared so suddenly, it made me jump.

He spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “There are some who would be furious if they knew about this, Semyaza among them.”

All the more reason to give Belial a hearing,
I thought.

Returning to my question, he said, “It would be better if you petitioned the Father face to face.”

“Is that possible?”

“You could present your petition to the Father in the throne room during one of the council sessions.”

“Heaven’s throne room?” I said. “You’re not serious.”

“It offers you the greatest chance of success,” Belial said. “I can prepare you.”

I looked at him skeptically.

“You have every reason not to trust me. But I’m doing this for my boys and the offspring of my brothers who dwell in perpetual torment.”

As I will someday,
I thought. If there was a chance I could escape that fate, wasn’t it worth the risk? “How would you prepare me?”

“There are some things Nephilim can do that Abdiel won’t show you,” Belial said.

“Such as?”

Belial shook his head. “This isn’t the time. And we need a place where we can prepare without fear of discovery. Once it becomes known what you are attempting to do, believe me, all the forces of hell will try to stop you.”

“Why? What threat is this to anybody?”

Belial studied me as he would a naïve child. “The fate of Nephilim is evidence in Lucifer’s argument that the Father’s punishments are too severe. Should the Father favor your petition, it would be a severe blow to Lucifer.”

“Where can we meet?” I said.

“There is a place, but after what I witnessed tonight”—he glanced at the door—“I fear it might be painful for you to go there.”

“We would have to pass through a dimensional membrane.”

Belial was surprised. “Abdiel has taught you about dimensional portals?”

“I have not successfully passed through one, even with his assistance.”

Belial thought about this a moment. “The membrane that separates this world from Sheol is the thinnest and easiest to traverse.”

“Sheol! You want to take me to hell?”

Belial shook his head. “Sheol isn’t hell. It’s the realm of the dead. It is deserted now. Following the Son’s victory over death, it was emptied, and all the inhabitants were paraded into heaven. It is safe for us because those of us in the rebellion avoid it. It is the site of Lucifer’s humiliation and our greatest defeat.”

“Sheol,” I repeated. “You want to take me to Sheol.”

“If you want to present your petition, it is the only way, Grant Austin. Once there I can train you, shielded from the eyes and ears of Lucifer. It also has a portal to the King’s Highway. It is guarded, so I would be unable to accompany you any further. But I see no reason why you would not be granted passage to present your petition to the Father.”

“Sheol. Heaven. King’s Highway,” I muttered. “This is…too much. I’ll have to think about it.”

Belial scrutinized me, probably wondering if I’d run to Abdiel with the news the first chance I got.

“Give it serious thought, Grant Austin, and I am certain you will agree with me that this is a chance that may never come again. Not only your fate, but the fate of my boys and all Nephilim rests in your hands. I will take my leave of you now.”

“Wait,” I said, remembering something. “You promised to give Jana Torres an interview.”

“Make the necessary arrangements.”

After Belial left, I lay in my bed and stared at the dark ceiling, my future home along with all the other oozing, slimy, pointed-tooth demons. Unless—

“Sheol!” I said to the darkness. “Heaven’s throne room! Is it really possible? And to think there was a time when I thought getting invited to the Oval Office was a big deal.”

S
heol.

Had Belial warned me not to tell anyone of our plans,

I would have suspected a scam. He gave me no such warning. Was he really on the level?

Sheol. The courts of heaven.

I couldn’t get them out of my mind. Abdiel had described heaven as walking on fiery stones. Do you wear dress shoes for that, or are tennis shoes OK?

Me. Standing on fiery stones before the throne of the Almighty God. Presenting a petition for mercy on behalf of all Nephilim. Hard to believe.

Passing through the dimensional membrane was no small concern. It wasn’t hard to imagine. The memory of my earlier failures was quite vivid.

One other thing bothered me. What if the Father turned down my petition as He had my salvation? Would the brief memories of heaven’s glory add to my eternal torment?

But—and this was what kept drawing me back to it—what if the Father granted my petition?

“Your mind has wandered again, Grant Austin,” Abdiel said, pausing in his narration.

He’d arrived as scheduled for our third session.

“Clearly you are of two minds this morning,” he said. “I will return after you have resolved your conflict with Sue Ling.”

He thought I was preoccupied with Sue. If I was going to tell him about the petition, now was the time.

“Stay,” I said. “Yesterday you told me how Lucifer spoiled the lineage of David and how the Father cut it off as the promised bloodline of the Redeemer. What happened next?”

“Lucifer and the rebels rejoiced.”

I smiled. “But not for long.”

Abdiel reflected my smile. “No, not for long.”

“What were your thoughts at the time? You and Michael and Gabriel and the others. It appeared Lucifer had won a major victory. Did you know how the Father would counter it?”

“Angels are not told the future, Grant Austin. We were unaware of the Father’s plan until He implemented it.”

“But weren’t you a little concerned? Your former commander was celebrating.”

Abdiel thought for a moment. “The circumstances were of no consequence to us.”

“How can you say that? The Messianic bloodline had been cut off!”

Abdiel stood, serene and confident, two inches above the carpet in my living room. “Only a fool would believe he could outsmart God.”

“You think Lucifer is a fool?”

“He cannot win, yet he persists in his rebellion. He has set a course of destruction, yet he believes it will result in good. How can anyone think him wise?”

“So…what happened? What did the Father do?”

“He outwitted Lucifer.”

I flexed my fingers, the ones that had been stuck outside the door last night. They were stiff and it hurt to write, but I wanted to get this down.

“In fulfillment of the Messianic prophecy, the promised Redeemer, the Divine Warrior, was born to a carpenter in Nazareth, to a man named Joseph who was of David’s bloodline.”

“But that line had been cut off.”

Abdiel held up a hand, signaling me to be patient. “The Father, the King of Kings, provided a worthy royal bloodline himself by sending His Son. The Spirit of the Most High came upon Mary, and she conceived and bore a son, the promised Redeemer. Lucifer never saw it coming.

“It was a bold and brilliant offensive move. On the night of the birth, the Son of the Most High invaded Lucifer’s territory. The tactic stripped Lucifer of his oft-repeated argument that the limitations of the cosmos were a cruel punishment for beings created for heaven. For on that night the Son of God became flesh and dwelled among humans. Every footprint He made was a witness against Lucifer.”

“The battle was on,” I said.

“Yes, Grant Austin. The battle was on.”

A scene flashed in my mind of Lucifer and Semyaza and the others in total disarray for not having anticipated the Father’s move, furiously hurling blame and accusations at each other.

I couldn’t help but wonder what Lucifer thought. In a way, he got his wish. He got to go head to head with the Son. This was his chance to prove himself. I wondered if he had prefight jitters.

“You are familiar with the Gospel accounts?” Abdiel asked.

“I have read them. The quiet courage of Jesus recorded in them was my inspiration in the days preceding my decision to reject Semyaza’s offer,” I told him.

“Ask me about an incident, and I will relate to you my memories of the spiritual battle.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” I said, “I’d rather you choose the incidents. Which ones are most memorable to you?”

I thought I’d get an argument from him. I didn’t.

“Capernaum,” he said. “Simon Peter’s mother-in-law was ill with the burning fever. When the Divine Warrior arrived, they were tying an iron knife by a braid of hair to a thornbush.”

“Why?”

“That was the local remedy for burning fever. However, the Divine Warrior recognized the fever as an attack. The rebels often attacked Peter. He was the most volatile.”

“Are you telling me that all sickness is a form of spiritual attack?”

“How did you arrive at such an obvious error?” Abdiel said. “Lucifer uses biological weapons when it suits his purpose. Neither is every storm a rebel attack, though angels can summon the winds and command the waves. A person whose eyes are open spiritually can see the difference between a natural occurrence and a spiritual attack.”

“It keeps coming back to seeing swords, doesn’t it?” I said testily. I was thinking he’d chosen this incident just to hammer me again.

His puzzled expression argued otherwise. “If you were blind and I were a physician, would you be as angry at me for trying to help you see?”

“You’re right. Sorry. So the woman’s fever was an attack. What did the Divine Warrior do?”

“He rebuked the fever and the demon who brought it, and she was healed. But it is what happened next that makes the incident memorable. It was a trap.”

“A trap?”

“The rebel forces launched an attack on Capernaum, terrorizing its people with infirmity and possessing them with demons.”

I squirmed uncomfortably, remembering what that felt like.

“When word got out about the healing, the townspeople lined up at the woman’s door, begging the Divine Warrior to heal them. He healed many of them, late into the night. The next morning, the line was even longer, but the Divine Warrior was no longer in the house.

“His disciples found him in a solitary place, praying. When they told him about the line of people, he informed them they would not be returning to Capernaum.”

“He turned his back on all those people?”

“I told you. It was a trap. He alone could heal them. Lucifer’s strategy was to use the Divine Warrior’s compassion against him.”

“But—”

“Physical healing is temporary, Grant Austin. The temptation was to divert the Divine Warrior’s attention from His mission with things that are temporary. Had He spent all His days healing people who would eventually die, what then? He turned His back on their physical needs to provide for their eternal needs.”

Abdiel then related the time the Divine Warrior single-handedly defeated a legion of demons who had tormented a man most of his life, and the time rebel agents attempted to sink the boat he was in by summoning a storm.

“Bracing himself against the forces, the Divine Warrior spoke, and the winds and the waves recognized the voice of their creator and obeyed him,” Abdiel said. “Day after day, for three years he walked the land, forcefully advancing the Kingdom of God, reclaiming occupied territory.”

He spoke of the victories with a subdued tone, as though he was dreading what was coming next.

“Had Lucifer understood the mystery of the Father’s strategy, he never would have sought to kill the Divine Warrior when he did. He made a huge tactical mistake in believing that by becoming human, the Son had put himself in a vulnerable position.”

“Lucifer holds the power of death,” I said.

“Not only the Gospels; you have been reading the Epistles, too,” Abdiel said.

While that was true, my statement was born of feelings of personal vulnerability in spiritual battle.

“You are aware of the earthly events leading up to the Divine Warrior’s death,” Abdiel said. “Lucifer entering Judas. The flowering of the spirit of corruption that the rebels had cultivated in the Sanhedrin and the courts of Pilate and Herod. What was not recorded in the Gospel accounts is the assemblage of angels in heaven, a company of warriors prepared to battle against the forces that had arrayed themselves against the Son, both angel and human.

“The empty throne at the Father’s right hand was all the motivation we needed. We knew our objective. Rescue the Son and return him to his rightful place. The Father had a different plan. He shut heaven’s gates.” Abdiel’s face was marked with lines of pain as he relived the memory.

Giving him time to gather himself, I wrote at the top of a new sheet of paper,
When Heaven Was Helpless.
I recalled his telling me how wrenching it was to witness the professor’s death and do nothing. How much more difficult it must have been to watch Lucifer abuse and crucify the Son and do nothing to intercede.

“The method Lucifer chose for the Divine Warrior’s death was symbolic. The prince of the air had the Son suspended between heaven and earth as a trophy of his victory. All the forces of hell surrounded the cross in anticipation of a rescue attempt that never came. When the Divine Warrior breathed his last breath, Lucifer himself transported his captive to Sheol, the realm of the dead.”

The pain of the memory made Abdiel pause. His words weighed heavy when he continued.

“Surely now, we thought, the Father would send us to storm Sheol and free His Son. But He didn’t. Heaven’s gates remained locked. What we didn’t know was that the Divine Warrior was exactly where He intended to be. He preached to the captives of that netherworld—those who had died in times past.

“And then heaven’s gates were opened. And Gabriel’s trumpet blew. We were ordered to Sheol to assist the Son. When we arrived, instead of finding huddled masses of defeated souls, we came upon a battle in progress with the Divine Warrior’s sword flashing furiously.

“Lucifer did not surrender Sheol without a fight. Michael battled him personally to free Moses. But the tide of the battle turned quickly, and the Divine Warrior stood victorious over Lucifer and the power of sin and death.

“Once again the Father had used Lucifer’s strategy against him, and what Lucifer thought was his greatest victory became his greatest defeat, and the capstone that sealed his fate.

“Oh, I wish you could have seen it, Grant Austin. We lined the King’s Highway on both sides as the triumphant Son led his captives and the saints of the past—Abraham, Moses, David, Solomon—into the courts of heaven and presented them to the Father. At that time He, however, did not take His rightful throne, instead returning to earth to deliver a message of hope to the hopeless who were still grieving His death.”

“When Jesus ascended—” I said.

“Yes?” Abdiel smiled, anticipating my answer.

“Suspended between earth and heaven, occupying the territory of the prince of the air, this time victorious. We call that an in-your-face statement.”

“The Divine Warrior will return in similar fashion,” Abdiel said.

“As Belial did,” I said.

“Only when the Divine Warrior returns,” Abdiel said, “Lucifer and Belial’s time will be up.”

Christus Victor.

After Abdiel took his leave of me, I tried to imagine what it had been like in Sheol, when the Son of God showed up escorted by Lucifer and his thugs. Lucifer must have been busting his buttons. At what point did he realize he’d made a grave mistake?

Good, Grant,
I thought, wincing at my unintended pun.

I tried to imagine Lucifer’s horror when the Divine Warrior drew his sword and made his intentions known. That must have been something to see.

Drawing from the skirmish I’d witnessed over the Bay Bridge the day the president was assassinated, I had some idea what Sheol was like in the midst of an all-out battle. Assaults at the speed of light. Explosions of brilliance as combatants engaged. The darkening light of angel death. Abdiel and the reinforcements bursting onto the scene to find the Divine Warrior victorious. They’d arrived just in time for the parade along the King’s Highway. I sure hoped they had some kind of video playback in heaven, because that was something I definitely wanted to see.

I glanced at the clock and began gathering up my notes. Sue Ling would be here soon. It would be easier for everyone if she didn’t know that Abdiel had been here.

My eyes fell on the phrase, “Lucifer himself transported his captive to Sheol…” Wasn’t that what Belial was offering to do for me? I’m sure it wouldn’t be his first time to play escort. But the people he normally escorted were already dead, weren’t they?

I slumped against the couch at the thought. I had to be crazy to be considering doing this.