Alizel's Song (Angel Ward Saga Book 1)

by Pottle, Bill

  “You’re getting slow,” Abbadon mocked, spinning away from another of Azazel’s strikes.

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  “That’s funny, coming from you,” the golden one retorted. “I’m surprised you can swing a sword at all with that bloated body of yours. Things are not always what they seem.”

  “You haven’t begun to see what this body is capable of!” Abbadon was about to elaborate, but decided to shut his mouth. Instead, he put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle to signal the retreat. He turned to Azazel and smiled. “But now is not the time. Don’t worry, Azazel. Soon all will be revealed, no?”

  He returned Azazel’s salute and jumped into the air with surprising agility. The two angels that remained from his original attack force flew by and grabbed him by the shoulders and they sped off into the distance.

  Alizel landed right beside the Power. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “You saved us.”

  Azazel nodded in recognition. “Just doing my job.”

  Something about the whole confrontation still struck Alizel as odd. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, can’t we give chase? We could catch them.”

  “We could,” he agreed. “And we could also be walking into a trap. Lucifer is crafty. Rushing in headlong is just the thing to get us destroyed. Or, they could be waiting to come and reclaim the swords we’ve captured from them. We’ve won the day here. No need to go and risk everything.”

  Alizel immediately saw the sense of his words. He cursed himself for ever doubting Azazel. It was hard to get used to this new reality with traps around every turn. Militarily, they had won a great victory. Not only had they destroyed ten of the traitors, but they had captured nine of their swords.

  But, it didn’t really feel like they had won anything. Eight of his fellow angels had been sent into the Containment, including Katel. Alizel had known him for fifteen billion years and now he was gone, just like that. That night Alizel’s tears flowed freely, and he was not ashamed of them.

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  Upon reaching the outskirts of Lucifer’s camp, Oliver was at least somewhat relieved to see that his information was correct. Gabriel had taught him everything that was known about the traitors, and now he confirmed it with his own eyes. The camp was really a mobile operation, moving and shifting wherever they could to avoid Michael’s forces. They would meet out in the open when they could, sentries posted around the perimeter to avoid any attack. It really wasn’t as difficult to keep the camp safe as it would seem. They had enough armed might to deal with anything but a full frontal assault, and putting something like that together would take time. By the time Michael’s troops were ready to strike, the camp could be disbanded and scattered.

  Lucifer’s sentries were in an unenviable position. The Bright One was protected by three concentric rings of protection. He insisted on meeting each new recruit personally to test their mettle and teach them how to use hate. Oliver knew that Lucifer believed that by looking deeply into the soul of each angel he brought to his side, he would avoid the trouble of dealing with traitors later. So he was in the unique position of meeting a lot of unknown and as yet untrustworthy angels, and also being Heaven’s number one assassination target. The main burden fell to his sentries, who were forced to check and recheck arriving angels for weapons, and signs of their developing hate.

  Oliver was being repeatedly questioned by a large angel with a thick brow that spent so much time furrowed in distrust that it had seemed to become permanently stuck there.

  “I’ve already told you, sir,” Oliver stressed the last word in such a way that showed he was at the very edge of civility, “that I have no Heaven’s Blade on me, and you yourself have searched me three times. It is only common sense that if I had such a blade, I would not be able to conceal it.”

  It was to be Oliver’s first lesson that using common sense to reason with Lucifer’s lot worked about as well as using a stick of butter to fight against a hot knife.

  “Oh you don’t have a sword, all right, that’s plain enough,” the guard muttered. Dahaka spoke in broken, confusing phrases that

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  made sense by themselves, but when assembled together, the only thing that was plain was how easily they contradicted each other. “But that Azazel’s a crafty one, that he is. What if he’s made some kind of new weapon, some mini-blade? You’d sure like to pull it out right when you walk up to Lucifer, that’s for sure.”

  “The only thing that’s sure,” Oliver reiterated, “is that I wish to help Lucifer, not hurt him. I can do something for him that no one else can. And the longer you keep me here, the longer it takes before I can give this gift to him.” He paused for dramatic effect. “And, the longer it takes before we win once and for all.”

  Dahaka still eyed him suspiciously, but Oliver’s last statement seemed to have finally gotten through to him. He puffed up his chest as he waved Oliver through. “You just remember what I said, you hear? If you even try anything, I’ll be on you faster than…” Dahaka was at a loss for a simile, and just trailed off, doing his best to look intimidating.

  The next sentry was completely different. It was immediately obvious, however, that he was much more competent. He took one look at Oliver and nodded.

  “Our lord will receive you in ten minut—shortly.” The demon caught himself and then looked quickly around to see if anyone had noticed his near slipup. In Lucifer’s camp, it was a grave offense to use anything that referred to Earth—its method of counting time, the use of words the humans had invented, and especially the mention of the Sons of Mud themselves. That was another of the points that Gabriel had impressed upon Oliver. He could not afford to make an honest mistake and lose his position.

  “Are you the last sentry, then?” Oliver questioned. “I was told that I would have to pass through three rings of protection.”

  “You’ll pass through the last ring,” the guard replied. “But you won’t see them.” He stopped, wondering how much he should say. “If your intentions are honest, you need not fear.”

  “Finally,” Oliver sighed, “I meet someone competent who’s not paranoid that everyone coming to join our lord is a threat to him.”

  “I don’t guess to know your intentions,” he replied. “But if others had seen what Lucifer has become, they’d know that all this security is unnecessary. The way he is now, well—no one is a threat to him.”

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  Oliver kept his composure and didn’t speak again for a few minutes until the sentry received a signal and let him through to Lucifer.

  Oliver recognized Abbadon standing beside Lucifer, though it took him a moment to realize who it was. Lucifer was sitting on a rough hewn stone fashioned into a crude throne. Oliver showed no outer emotion when he realized that the throne was a bad impersonation of the one that God Himself sat upon.

  Lucifer was just finishing up with another recruit. Oliver didn’t recognize him, as his body was smoking and hairless, cruel sores dotting every open space. Oliver felt the bottom of his stomach drop out as he realized that the new recruit had just undergone a transformation to fueling his body with hate.

  Lucifer looked up at Oliver and his face broke into a smile, if it could even be called that.

  “How can there still be doubt as to our ultimate triumph?” Lucifer asked his unanswerable question to no one in particular. He looked around at the blank faces of his assembled advisors. When no one said anything, he resumed his grandstanding. “How can there be doubt, when our numbers increase day by day, almost without bounds? Soon, soon, we may not have to fight a war at all.”

  Abbadon’s face turned crestfallen before he realized that Lucifer wasn’t being serious.

  “Do not worry, my friend,” Lucifer turned to Abbadon, even though he hadn’t been looking at him before. How did he know what the other had been thinking? Oliver won
dered. “There will be a war. But if recruits keep coming over to our side as they are, the war will be short indeed.”

  Lucifer finally turned his attention to Oliver. “Well met, my friend.”

  The Principality dropped to one knee and lowered his eyes. “Well met, my lord.”

  “You call me ‘lord,’” Lucifer mused, “and so shall I soon be over all. But I am not your lord yet. No, first you must prove to me that you are…worthy. I shall be lord over all, but not all shall be my servants.”

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  “I wish to be your servant,” Oliver said, not raising his eyes. “But let me first prove my loyalty.”

  “Very well,” Lucifer said. “Let no one say that I am not accepting of all. I shall teach you to use the alternate, powerful energy to glorify your body.”

  “I cannot use hate,” Oliver spoke hastily, then slowed himself down. “I fear I am not strong enough yet to survive the transformation. But I do believe that in time, with your guidance, I would be able to make the leap.”

  “All my troops must learn to use hate,” Lucifer frowned. “It is what fuels the very soul of our army.”

  “Please forgive me,” Oliver spoke each word carefully, for if Lucifer suspected anything, each word could be his last. “I do not presume to give such a one as brilliant as you advice. However, there is a way that I can prove both my loyalty and my worth. But it is not something that can be shared with anyone but you, for doing so would compromise our position.”

  Lucifer looked at Oliver, really looking at him for the first time, scanning him for a potential threat. All around, hands went to swords, but the swords stayed in their sheaths. Lucifer chuckled and shrugged. “Why not? One such as you can do no harm to me.” He looked around and his guards all withdrew a few paces.

  Oliver crept forward and leaned in slowly, trying to bring his mouth to Lucifer’s ear. The ear flap now hung limply from the side of his head, and Oliver wondered how well it could work with the dark, splotchy skin hanging over it. The whole of Lucifer’s body was covered by the same substance, as if thin strips of beef had been cured and left too long in the sun. He wondered if he should reach up and open the skin flap, but he couldn’t bear to touch Lucifer’s skin. If he did, he was sure Lucifer would sense his thoughts through the connection. Instead, he just leaned as close as he could bear and began to whisper rapidly so that he could finish telling his plan before he became ill from the stench.

  Lucifer nodded once and then his face grew angry. “You dare to come here and waste my time with such drivel? That is the stupidest and most inane suggestion that I have heard from any potential recruit.”

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  Oliver’s face showed a shocked expression. “Well then, I’m sorry. That is all I have to offer you. If you don’t appreciate it, then I’m afraid I cannot be a part of this.”

  “Let’s destroy him now!” Oliver recognized Verin when he spoke, drawing his sword. While the others hadn’t heard what was spoken between them, they had obviously heard Lucifer’s reprimand. There were murmurs of agreement all around.

  “No.” Lucifer held up a hand. “No, we are not like them. We will not slaughter an unarmed angel who is so close to the truth. We will not force anyone to transform his body. We pride ourselves on having and using free will, and we will not deny this gift to another.”

  “Thank you.” Oliver was doing his best not to tremble. “Oliver, you are free to go. Let no one trouble him on his way

  out. You are very close, and coming here was a positive step. We will wait for you, for we are patient. When you see more of God’s sins, you will become stronger in your convictions. When the time is right, you will return here and your body will be glorified. This is my will.”

  With that, Oliver’s interview was over. He bowed once and walked away, leaving space for the next recruit to come in and present himself under Lucifer’s gaze.

  This time, Lucifer’s smile was just a little bit wider.

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  CHAPTER SEVEN:

  A COUNCIL OF WAR

  The new recruits that joined his camp certainly helped, for almost immediately, Lucifer started winning more and more battles. It was never anything major, but they always seemed to show up at the right time to catch small groups of angels unawares. Azazel continued making more and more swords, but Lucifer’s forces were focusing in on those, capturing weapons almost as fast as Azazel could make them.

  By most estimates, Lucifer now had upwards of thirty thousand angels following his every order. The numbers and details of the host were sketchy, as they never congregated in one place for long. His mobile camp had been replaced by a series of seven camps, with several thousand hate-filled demons in each.

  The loyalists had taken to congregating together as well. The rule of ten was abandoned for the rule of a hundred and this in turn became the unspoken rule of a thousand. To walk outside in a small group meant near certain annihilation.

  It was that time when fear became a normal emotion for them. Some angels feared for Heaven, and some just feared for themselves. Alizel didn’t know if some even started fearing for God Himself. To be perfectly honest, he wouldn’t have been all that surprised.

  The Father just sat there on His throne, almost as if the whole affair was meaningless to Him. Alizel really didn’t see how His neglect was going to help anything. But, as Alizel reminded himself, God’s

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  ways weren’t their ways. They knew it, but it didn’t help some from getting so frustrated that they defected to the other side.

  The tone of their conversations started to change, too. The phrase “It is complete and utter madness to oppose God” began to be heard less and less, although most still thought it. Subtle questions now worked their way in, some beginning to wonder if Lucifer did have a legitimate plan after all. As their numbers grew their status and legitimacy grew in turn.

  Whether or not they feared, everyone was worried. They knew that without God’s help, it was up to them to prepare. They couldn’t rely on God to just say a word and return things to normal. Some said God wouldn’t intervene, and some were even bold enough to suggest that He couldn’t, but to Alizel all that talk seemed pointless. The end result was the same: they would have to prepare themselves.

  A special meeting of the Angelarch was called to discuss just what they could do. Some were of the opinion that there wasn’t anything to be done, though they still came to the meeting, mostly just to be in a well-defended place. Once the meeting got underway, however, it was clear that there were a number of things that they could do to be ready.

  Michael addressed the greeting first. Though everyone else may have, Alizel was certain Michael never doubted the Father. He was so strong, so capable. Just seeing the poise with which he addressed everyone gave Alizel another sliver of resolve.

  “Well met, my friends,” he said, turning to look at the assembly. “Although the times are dire, the loss of others has helped us to realize the value of the friends we have left.” He paused, running a hand through his black hair solemnly, and then continued. “We have come here to discuss our strategy and preparations for Lucifer’s coming onslaught. Make no mistake. He will not rest until he is sent into the Containment.”

  A muted murmur passed through the crowd. Most had already guessed that Lucifer wouldn’t back down until he had waged a massive war, but hearing it spoken from someone ‘in the know’ like Michael just made it all the more inevitable.

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  Azazel rose then. “Michael is correct, but the numbers, both of angels and swords, still favor us. With proper preparation, we will easily be able to defeat Lucifer’s armies.”

  “What do you propose, sir?” Uriel cried out, the first time he had ever spoken at an Angelarch. Alizel guessed his Principality was one of the most anxious
about the oncoming assault.

  “There are several things that will help us,” Azazel continued almost as if he did not hear the outcry. “The first, absolutely critical one is that anyone who has so far refused to train in the use of a sword must do so without delay. You still may learn enough to be of use in the coming battle.” The way he said it was as if he blamed the angels who had decided not to train originally. Alizel looked around to see if he could spot Eleleth. If anyone had a right to say “I told you so” it was her. If the swords had never been invented, then none of this mess would ever have happened. But Eleleth was not there. Since the day Katel’s troop had visited, Alizel had not seen her again. He couldn’t bear to. He heard that as the war become fiercer she had continued to waste away a little more each day.