Pantheocide tsw-2

by Stuart Slade

  “It is not the arrests themselves, brother, that trouble me so. Sometimes, even the best-willed are led astray.” Careful, don’t hint that you include the congregation of the Temple of Ceaseless Compliance in that category. “It is the reaction of the Angelic Host itself. I had expected rejoicing and exultation that the threat to Our Almighty Father had been removed. Instead, I see fear and suspicion.”

  As they had been speaking, Lemuel and Perpetiel had drifted off the street into the Temple itself. Unnoticed by Lemuel, Perpetiel had glanced around to ensure that the opiate-loaded scent baskets were in place and already filling the air with their sublime odor. “Brother, does this surprise you? The Eternal Enemy always has been sly and devious in his ways. If he is indeed dead and never to return, does it not surprise you that his successor would be of equal qualities? So the Host fear that they too, have been swept up into the net and deceived unknowingly. When they realize how much work the League of Holy Court has placed into hunting down all those afflicted, they will realize they are safe and their joy will become manifest.”

  Lemuel felt his heart lifting and tranquility beginning to suffuse his soul. That alone made him doubt his assessment of this place. If it was so misguided, how was it that every time he visited here, his spirit was uplifted and his doubts and depression removed? Could it be that this place was, in fact the true path? He prostrated himself on the floor and started his recitations of adoration for the Great Father Of All.

  Behind him Perpetiel left the altar room of the temple with unseemly haste. He didn’t want to breath the atmosphere there any longer than he had to and he seriously wanted to get some clean air into his lungs. Although he didn’t know it, Lemuel was well and truly hooked now and Perpetiel didn’t want to follow his example. Anyway, he had some preparations to make for this was the night that Lemuel would be introduced to the Montmartre Club.

  Secret Viewing Gallery, Interrogation Chambers, Headquarters, League of Holy Court.

  Salaphael ‘s screams rang through the heavy rock of the chambers, shaking them and causing a steady trickle of dust to fall on those picked up in the great purge. It filled the air, causing the torches that lit the chambers to become misted, their light diffuse and dispersed. There was even a slight red tinge to it. To Michael-Lan and his companion watching the scene below, it was unpleasantly reminiscent of Hell.

  Qaphsiel-Lan-Shekinah watched the sight with horror. Salaphael had been pinned down to a table, his feet raised over his head, a cloth over his face and buckets of water poured over him. That had just been the start of a long process, now the interrogators were moving to more destructive and agonizing methods. Ominously, a long metal rod had been placed in a brazier and was already beginning to glow red hot.

  “We call this the Edward The Second treatment. A human king once upset his nobles so they killed him that way. We don’t think it will kill an Archangel but we’re not quite sure. Nobody has ever tried it up here – at least up there – before.”

  Qaphiel realized what was intended and was suddenly, violently sick all over the stone floor. Michael-Lan rather envied him for that, he would like to do the same but would have to wait until later. Qaphiel wiped his mouth and stared at the mess disfiguring the flawless stone slabs.

  “You’ll have to clean that up Qaphiel. One of the Ishim will get you a bucket of water and a mop.” Michael’s offhand comment underlined Qaphiel’s position more clearly than any threat could have done. Normally, such menial tasks would have been the lot of a human servant. Getting the job put Qaphiel on a lower level even than them. “By the way, has it occurred to you that, since this is the fate of a Chayot-ha-Kodesh who dared to be part of this conspiracy, how much worse that awaiting a Hashmallim must be?”

  The comment produced another burst of vomiting, causing Michael to move his feet clear in case they got splashed. Qaphiel stared at Michael-Lan, his eyes filled with terror. “No, I beg you. I, we, were mislead.”

  “You’ll be trying ‘we were only obeying orders next’. Didn’t work for them, won’t work for you.” Michael looked at Qaphiel and sighed. The allusion had been missed completely. Well, that was the problem that destroyed Hell he thought. They didn’t watch humans closely enough. Pay attention to humans, they really are worth the effort. And not doing so is lethally dangerous. “There is only one thing that can save you from this fate Qaphiel-Lan-Shekinah. You, your cell in this ridiculous insurgency and a few others have been spared from arrest – temporarily. I have tasks for you, tasks that fit in well with what Salaphael had planned. Tasks that only you can perform. Do them well, do exactly as I order you and the files that condemn you will be mislaid, never to be found again. Believe that and you’ll believe anything sucker.

  Below them, Salaphael ‘s screams reached a wildly demented climax that cracked the stone slab floor in the viewing chamber. Damn, that will make cleaning this place up so much harder. Still that’s Qaphiel’s problem. Michael-Lan stole a quick glance at the Hashmallim standing beside him. Qaphiel caught the look and nodded urgently.

  “I am your servant Michael-Lan. I will do as you command.”

  Chapter Forty Six

  Michael’s Lodge, Aukumea, Heaven

  “Well, we managed the fire falling from the heavens bit. Without your assistance.” Michael-Lan kept his voice casual and friendly but the result stirred Belial into fury anyway.

  “Then why do you keep me here? I have work to do and there is an eternity of suffering awaiting those who have betrayed me.” The voice rolled and thundered around the bronze-plated lodge.

  “Well, I had thought of putting you on a treadmill in my palace. Generating electricity to run my human toys is quite a problem you know. I use humans down there at the moment but they tire so easily. You’d have been very useful down there. Of course, I’d have to get a bigger treadmill made.” Belial roared in anger at the concept. Michael-Lan ignored it and carried on in the same pseudo-friendly manner. “I’ve got a film you might like to see by the way.”

  He produced a DVD player and set it up. The film was of some nuclear test shots that had taken place many years before on Earth and showed the destruction inflicted on test dummies and target buildings. It closed with a shot of the crater made by the Ivy Mike test that had vaporized three quarters of an island. To Michael, it was a very satisfying film because it left Belial silent.

  “We knew nothing of this.” When Belial finally spoke, his voice was small and quiet with shock. “Even my lava attacks were nothing compared to this.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, old fellow.” Michael had adopted the British accent that went with the phraseology. “Your attacks did a lot of damage and the humans want to speak with you about that. They want to speak with you very badly but don’t worry about it. You’re safe up here. I’ve shut down all the entry points to Heaven so they can’t get in.”

  “We never knew.” Belial was still appalled by what he had seen. “Satan watched the humans, every two or three centuries he sent observers down to see if anything down there had changed. It never did, for visit after visit, everything was the same. Oh, the rulers changed, empires rose and fell, but nothing really changed. Then, this happened.”

  “If it’s any consolation, most people in Heaven have missed it as well. Yahweh certainly did. All this happened in the last hundred years or so, in the gap between visits. If I hadn’t been down there on other business, I wouldn’t have seen the problem either.” And that is quite definitely not true. Michael added mentally I saw something was happening much earlier than that but it was subtle, quiet. Yet it caused this explosion of destructive power and military skill. And changed me as much as it changed them. “Anyway, this brings us back to my original point. The Fourth Bowl of Wrath has been poured and the Fifth is ready. So, what do I do with you?”

  Belial shook his head. “What you will. I have no power here.”

  “You understand perfectly. Still, as it happens I do have a job for you, one eminently suited to your talents, suc
h as they are. You have heard of the events in the Eternal City today?” Another shake of the head from Belial. Good, then the policy of keeping you tucked away and isolated has proved its worth. “Well, there was a plot against Yahweh, a very foolish one as it happened and the League of Holy Court got in to it very quickly. All the members were arrested, their leaders are confined within the Eternal City but there were too many for the facilities there. So, we have had to establish a detention camp for the lower ranks, one far removed from the city. In his great wisdom.” Michael barely stopped himself laughing. “Yahweh has decided that the command of that camp should be placed in one with millennia of expertise in punishing those who oppose him. In past millennia we would, of course, have cast them down into Hell but that option no longer exists”

  Michael-Lan looked reflective for a moment. “In fact, being sent to Hell is hardly a punishment at all any more. The Humans are already at work and they are making the place quite tolerable. Anyway, we have to have a commander for that camp and Yahweh immediately thought of you. ‘Why,’ he said. “We have a daemon from Hell here. Let him earn his keep and make those who would betray me suffer every agony his fertile imagination can devise.’ So, that is your assignment Belial. Take over this camp of traitors to Yahweh and inflict upon its inhabitants every suffering you can devise. Do not hold back, do not show any mercy to them. Make them pray for death as they consider the foul path that led to their betrayal of the One Above All. Spare them nothing Belial, those are the commands of Yahweh.”

  Belial rose to his feet, his eyes shining. “I will do as Yahweh orders. Tell Him my powers are at his disposal.”

  Sure. Michael-Lan thought. I’ll tell him that. About the same time as I tell him I intend to take his throne.

  “One question, Michael-Lan. Who will I have as my staff for this camp you describe?”

  Michael snorted. “Recruit your own from the prisoners. You’ll be surprised what some will do to save themselves from the agonies inflicted on the others.”

  Belial nodded, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. “So shall it be.”

  And when the humans get up here and find that camp, and they will, you can be sure of that, they will learn its lessons well. The lessons I want them to learn that is. And then you, you poor sap, you will have played your part in preventing the humans wiping out the Angelic Host. Now, I’m off to join Jesus and I’m going to get completely stoned. After all this hard work, I deserve it.

  The Montmartre Club, Eternal City, Heaven

  “What is Pennsylvania six-five thousand?” Lemuel-lan-Michael’s voice was slurred. He’d been partly stoned before he’d set foot in the club and he’d sunk enough whisky since to leave him almost completely blasted.

  “Pennsylvania is a human way of saying ‘praises to the Lord of All’. So, it just means ‘sixty-five thousand praises to Our Immaculate Father.” Perpetiel explained the line without wincing at the distortion involved. “See how the people chant it with triumph? These may be human ways but they all serve to increase people’s devotion to The One Above All. Perhaps it was the discovery of these new ways of praising Him that brought about this increase in their powers.” Perpetiel did wince at that, although Lemuel was too drunk to notice.

  The evening had been carefully chosen. It was big band night, the usual floorshow of exotic dancers and erotic exhibitions were on hold while the various bands that Michael-Lan had so carefully saved from the Pit competed to put on the best show. At the end of the battle, the patrons would vote on the issue and the winning band would have bragging rights for a whole month. That was a prize worth having since money was of little value to them. Up on the stage, the Glen Miller Orchestra transitioned smoothly into Tuxedo Junction. The floor girls noted the difference in the music and started to circulate amongst the clientele. This was the last number and there would be a pause while the customers ordered fresh drinks and food.

  Lemuel noted the change in the music also and his foot tapped the floor in rhythm with the beat. This really was an excellent way of worshiping Our Immaculate Father, he thought. There’s a fervor and dedication here that I have never seen before. “Who is the singer? Her voice is beyond compare.”

  Perpetiel squinted at the stage. “That’s Bessie Smith. She’s really hot… holy and devout.” He cursed the stumble brought on by too much liquor. “Her anthems of praise to He Who Reigns Over all are inspiring to hear.”

  Lemuel agreed, although he couldn’t quite work out how the words he was hearing, ‘They all drive or walk for miles

  To get jive that southern style,’ was a hymn of praise. He missed the next few words but then another line solved the mystery for him. ‘Come on down, forget your care. Come on down, you’ll find me there.’ Lemuel was deeply touched by the wonderful tribute to The Eternal Father’s love for all his subjects and he could feel a tear beginning to form in the corner of his eyes.

  Perpetiel noted the reaction and realized Lemuel had reached the maudlin’ stage of being drunk. That meant the timing was just about right. He waved unobtrusively to Charmeine-Lan. She nodded and turned to one of the female angels who were working the floor. For a year now, Charmeine and Michael had been playing ‘break the cutie’ with the girl with just this meeting in mind.

  “You know what to do Maion. You’ve had enough practice. Everything perfectly clear?”

  Maion nodded. She’d had a year to learn her part in this game although she hadn’t the slightest idea what that part was or even that she was a piece in the game being played. In fact, she had no idea that there was a game in play. What she did know was that, once her shock and horror at what her work here entailed had worn off, she’d appreciated the security it provided. In this case, security was defined as an uninterrupted and guaranteed supply of heroin.

  Lemuel was still trying to focus his mind on the words of the hymn when the female angel moved in next to him. “Some food, most honored Ophanim? And a fresh drink?”

  He started at the words and then looked at the tray she had brought. A blend of fresh fruits in a sweetened cream sauce, topped with some strange, tiny, multi-colored rods. The fruit in sweet cream was one of his favorite dishes, something he had not eaten for weeks. Not since Onniel had ceased to perform her duties as his mate. That thought gave Lemuel a strange, unfamiliar feeling in his groin. Was it the long period since Onniel had provided her proper services to him? Or was it the Hashmallim female who was now sitting beside him. He squinted up his eyes, they seemed remarkably reluctant to focus, and took in the sight. She was beautiful, although very thin, and was wearing a version of reverential robes that seemed to be much smaller than the ones he’d seen elsewhere. Poor girl, he thought a little muzzily. She probably can’t afford enough cloth to make the robes full-size.

  “Thank you…” He hesitated. “What is your name?”

  “I am Maion, honored Ophanim.”

  “Thank you Maion. I am Lemuel-lan-Michael.”

  Across the table, Perpetiel-lan-Paschar grinned to himself. Lemuel was so drunk and stoned he hadn’t noticed that he had stumbled out with his real name. Maion, however was perfectly on cue. “Oh, Our Eternal Father be praised, that I should have the honor of serving the great Lemuel. I am told you saved He Who Is Above Us All from a foul plot today.”

  Lemuel reached out for the two wooden sticks that were used to pick up the fruit. He tried to hold them properly but his fingers weren’t working very well and he dropped them. Maion quickly reached out and picked them up for him. “Most honored Lemuel-lan, if you would put your head in my lap, I will be privileged to help you eat. May I only ask that you tell me the story of how you exposed the machinations of those dreadful traitors?”

  Maion moved careful and lowered Lemuel’s head into her lap. Then, she reached out to the bowl of fruit and carefully speared a piece that he knew to be his favorite. She dropped it into his mouth with exquisite care and watched fondly as he chewed it with delight. Charmeine-lan had explained that this was her chance to hook a pe
rmanent patron, one who would reserve her so she wouldn’t have to go with clients from the showroom floor any more. That had been incentive enough but already she was sensing that beneath his drunkenness, Lemuel was a kind man who would treat her well. Or at least not treat her badly. She picked up another piece of fruit for him, carefully remembering how Charmeine-lan had briefed her on what were his favorites and which he disliked. She had watched this dish being prepared to make sure that it would be ideal for him.

  “What are these strange things?” Lemuel’s question indicated the odd little colored things.

  “They are called sprinkles exalted Lemuel-lan. A human sweet intended for such dishes. You like them?”

  “Very much.” Maion relaxed as Lemuel started a long, rambling story of how he had compared lists and gathered reports about the conspiracy against Yahweh. Even though she had managed the first step and was carefully make sure he was being fed with his preferred foods, he listened very carefully to what he was staying, remembering to look enraptured by the account. She gave little gasps of excitement when he told of how comparing the contents of two reports had revealed yet another name for the growing list of those who would betray The Eternal Father. Perpetiel-lan-Paschar winked at her but she ignored him. Her attention was focussed on Lemuel, determined to convince him that she was drinking in every word he had to say. Eventually, the long, semi-coherent story was over, the food dish was empty and the supply of drinks had run out. Lemuel was semi-asleep despite his efforts, and the music from the bands had quietened to a background melody. He was a very happy Ophanim, his gloom and depression gone. It had been a long time since he had been the center of attention and affection like this.