To Reign in Hell: A Novel

by Steven Brust

  What, he wondered, was Abdiel doing at that hole? It certainly looked significant, but what was it? Well, he’d find out before he destroyed him, if possible. If not, amen to that, too.

  Far to the north under mountains known for vulcanism, the angel who most feared and hated the cacoastrum awoke fully. Something that had been disturbing him, little by little, had finally crystalized. A slowly growing unease which went back many days became solid— and hideously frightening.

  His great eyes opened to the darkness, and he felt it with every nerve in his massive body. Fear shot through him, paralyzing him for long moments. He didn’t know why it was happening, since it felt so different from the other times, but he knew fully what it was.

  Could he actually fly right into it to stop it? No. Could he resist doing so? Also, no. How long could he stay like this, not doing anything, afraid to do nothing? That would have to be seen.

  Lucifer nodded. “I will admit,” he said, “that this makes many things clear that weren’t before.”

  Asmodai and Lilith nodded. “However,” said Lilith, “it doesn’t change anything.”

  “I agree,” said Satan. “We do what we must.”

  They sat in silence, none of them wishing to address the next question. The silence became uncomfortable. It continued, and became intolerable.

  Finally, Lucifer said, “All right, I may as well ask it: Who is going to lead our forces?”

  Beelzebub nodded, but was silent. Satan cleared his throat.

  “It is clear,” he said, “that I have been wrong every time I made a decision—except, perhaps, the decision to see Yaweh. I am no longer capable of—”

  “Crap,” said Lilith.

  Lucifer looked at her. “Huh?”

  “It seems to me,” said Asmodai, “that you, Lilith, are the only one of us who understood from the beginning what this was about. It is obvious—”

  “Crap to you, too,” she said. “Lord Satan, it is unfortunate that you are the one the angels look to, but that is just how it is. It is also unfortunate that you won’t be content to let others lead in your name, but I know you. You won’t.”

  Satan nodded, watching her closely.

  “Well, since you won’t, we’re stuck with you. If you had had the courage—the courage of mind, I mean—to lead us before, we would have won long ago. If I had had the courage of mind to challenge you openly and campaign among the angels to win their allegiance, we would be in a position to win now.

  “But none of those things happened. The angels still look to you for leadership. Therefore, you will lead us. But listen to me, Satan: It is only because we are so much stronger than Yaweh that we have survived all of your hesitations so far. We have, still, a chance of winning. That is despite you, not because of you. If you err once more, we will lose, and be cast out of Heaven or destroyed.

  “So be careful. Dealing with enemies who are angels is no different than dealing with the flux. You do what you must, when you must. Remember that, as we go into this. Do you understand?”

  Satan looked at her a long time. Then he nodded, once.

  Abdiel worked hard and fast, but carefully. He had to hold tight control over himself to keep from being destroyed by the powers he was using.

  The seepage he had detected allowed him to expand the area of the hole, which he did before trying to deepen it. After half an hour or so, it was as deep as his height, and as wide.

  Slowly, then, he began to work his way down further. As he did so, he felt the cacoastrum grow stronger, and he had to use more and more of his energy to prevent its affecting him. But, at the same time, he had to use less and less to do the actual work.

  The top of the hole was well above his head now, and the deepening would soon begin to happen on its own. When that began, he would leave and get as far from there as he could—using the illiaster to transport himself.

  Then he would watch, laughing, while the angels busied themselves trying to fight the Wave. Of course, he might die himself, but if he didn’t, there was at least some chance that all of those who were after him would die.

  And if not, well, he would make them remember him, anyway!

  He chuckled to himself. “The angel who started the Fourth Wave.” Not a bad name to be remembered by, he mused. And they would certainly regret having listened to those who—

  “Good morning, Abdiel.”

  Abdiel looked up and saw Mephistopheles standing at the edge of the pit, looking down at him, the corners of his lips turned up into a half smile.

  “Hard at work, I see. Mind if I interrupt?”

  SEVENTEEN

  God would not permit such a crime.

  —Alexander Dumas

  Yeshuah stood on a large stone and surveyed his army. Thousands of angels, swords gleaming in the morning light, looked at him. He smiled and nodded, then turned the other way.

  He could hear the sound of the surf just a league or two distant. He could smell the salt in the air. And he could see Satan’s army lined up in their thousands across shore.

  To Satan, the sea would be a place to stand, to hold from. To Yeshuah, it was a place to drive the enemy into.

  Yeshuah reflected that it was odd, but not surprising, that Satan was on the defensive despite his larger numbers. All of the recreant angels who served him knew deep in their hearts that their foe was the Lord God, omnipotent, immortal, timeless, and eternal. How they must be quaking!

  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 ou
t 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 Ab-diel’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.”

  Zaphkiel 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 angles 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 went 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 Ca-mael 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 ra
n 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.