Philon then expanded on the living prophecy and proclaimed to the Chayil, “Our creation is lost in itself, consumed by the insidious Netherlife. But we have journeyed into the dark caverns of their despair. We have joined ourselves to them in their rebellion. I stand before you fully human, yet fully divine. I am the Truth about them, about you, about all of creation. And now I bring this mystery to bear in the Consummation.”
Philon’s personage transformed into a glorious image of radiating beams of light, as was in Abriel’s vision on Zenith, Philon was filled with what seemed to be a steady stream of sunrises and sunsets until one sunrise appeared and he proclaimed, “A new Eon is dawning!” And then He was gone from their midst.
Kalandra raised the royal banner of the Image Maker, an emerald green flag and shouted, “Now is the hour my brothers and sisters! Now is the Consummation! Come, let us converge at the Bridge in Time and station ourselves at our assigned places upon the earth. Meliose and Jonas! You know well your mission. May Abba be with you!”
◆◆◆
Meliose and Jonas entered the Silver Sea and penetrated the enigmatic Void intent on rescuing Ivy! Coming upon the entrance of the Void, Meliose unsheathed his sword, pointed its gilded end toward the white emptiness of the Void, and exclaimed, “By the authority vested in me by the Image Maker, enchantments of the Netherlife, be no more!”
Jagged bolts of lightning coursed from his sword out into the cryptic atmosphere of the Void, piercing its occult veneer and shattering its illusionary façade. The light of day began to pierce through the fog, as the Void simply began to evaporate before them, until it was no more. And there, sitting under an apple tree grove, was Ivy, cuddled under protective arms and clinging to the one whom Abba sent to her, one who needed Ivy as much as Ivy needed her…Lupa!
The two Chayilian princes alighted on the beach, keeping their distance so as not to frighten their young charge. Drawing near, his voice seasoned with tenderness, Meliose said, “It is time, Philon does not want this precious one to miss the unfolding of the mystery kept hidden since the dawn of the universes.”
Lupa looked up and smiled, “You do my heart good, my brothers.” Gently placing her hand on Ivy’s cheek, she whispered, “Sweet Ivy, the Void is no more, Abba has sent his most noble warriors here to rescue us!”
Ivy, still clinging to Lupa, slid her face sideways, her one eye peering up at Meliose. She slowly turned up to fully view who was standing over her. But when she saw Jonas, her voice, raspy and grasping, cried, “Jonas….Jonas…Jonas!”
“Yes dear Ivy, it is your Jonas!”
Ivy leapt to her feet and ran into his waiting arms, “Oh Jonas!” Ivy wept, as did the courageous Chayil.
“Come, let us minister healing to this dear one,” Meliose entreated.
The Chayil enfolded Jonas as he held Ivy in the cocoon of their wings and sang the Song of the Image Maker in a tongue known only to them. Waves of effervescent emerald green and pearlescent energy engulfed them emitting the life of the Image Maker onto and into Ivy.
Finally, when the Song ceased and the wave of healing dispersed into the air around them, they pulled back from Ivy revealing the work of the Image Maker’s love. There she stood, dressed in an azure colored ephod, her long brown hair glistening and dancing to the breeze filling the trees around them. Her smile was broad and her eyes keen and alive with life! She lifted her arms to the sky, and her voice sang melodies of thanksgiving to beloved Abba.
The Chayil spread their wings and rose into the sky above them. Ivy jumping on Jonas’ back followed them back to the Garden.
Chapter 13
The armed host of Noab marched to the doors of the Garden around mid-day, with Primus ordering the Garden to be surrounded and to await his orders. He knew he was on holy ground, he could feel it. And though the memories of the Presence were vague and distant, still somehow he knew it was Him.
Primus sat on a black steed, with Satrina to his left and Banedread to his right. He seemed mesmerized by the gate that lay open, so inviting before him. Could this be the final blow to you, Philon? Could the destruction of the accursed followers of the Song render you ineffective once and for all? Surely the despicable actions of the human race would alienate them forever from your graces, especially now that they were filled with the Netherlife and ardent followers of Intheism? He thought, his mind racing. The Dark Prince convinced himself that he had indeed won!
Raising his crimson saber high into the air he shouted to his following, “This day we forever crush the rebellion and begin a new race created in my image and likeness! Today we are victorious over Philon!”
He ordered his captains to begin the march into the very center of the Garden. Flying was prohibited, for if there were Chayil present they would surely engage them. Instead, they used the forest cover to their advantage.
Primus, Satrina, Banedread and Damios entered the gate. Before them was a wide road, that unbeknownst to them, was not there earlier. It was a path designed by the Image Maker Himself.
It took several hours of patient marching before the encircling army came upon the followers of the Song…asleep in the mid-day! Primus signaled for his army to stop, while he and his comrades continued down the path to investigate this strange phenomenon.
“Maybe Philon had enough of their weak and cowardly souls and killed them himself!” Banedread barked, his sinister laugh echoing into the forest.
When they had come upon the followers of the Song, a force suddenly closed, like a trap door behind them, leaving them without their armed warriors, standing amidst the Rest.
“What sorcery is this?” Primus demanded.
Satrina dismounted from her steed and walked back up the road, so that she was face to face with the warriors. She attempted to touch them with her hand but was unable to broach the invisible shield. “Primus! Banedread! Come, let us combine our powers and break this curse that is upon this Garden!”
The three stood shoulder to shoulder and began screeching with abominable chanting, swaying to and fro’, invoking the powers of the Netherlife. Lightning cracked, and a ghastly specter appeared, it was the Netherlife personified: a non-being of utter depravity. It hurled itself against the invisible wall, again and again, wailing like a banshee! Each time it struck the wall, a howling filled the unearthly silence of the Garden. But with each strike the specter diminished in size and power until it dissipated into the thin air.
Suddenly, they heard and felt an energy humming behind them, growing in intensity, eliciting their curiosity to turn and see where such power emanated. They beheld the Frame. It glowed in a soft light, and an unseen power flowed like waves from it, bathing all in its influence.
As Primus, Satrina, Banedread and Damios stood speechless at the sight, Kalandra and a host of Chayil had arrived and surrounded the Garden, undetected. They took up positions behind a wall of golden, impenetrable, shields, and with steely resolve awaited Kalandra’s command.
Just then, alighting down from above them, Meliose, Lupa, and Jonas, carrying Ivy on his back, landed upon the ground facing their adversary, swords drawn.
Primus, the sight of Lupa tearing at his stone cold heart spat, “Lupa! You traitor!”
“Traitor? You, the vile murderer you are, call Lupa a traitor?” bellowed Meliose.
Satrina hissed, “I would see you all dead before the setting of the sun this day!”
Ivy pointed a shaking finger at Primus, “He is the one who confined me to that wretched Void!”
Primus laughed, “I see the little earthling survived, albeit a bit of mental instability lingering from her time in my Void!”
“Your Void is no more, Primus!” snapped Jonas.
“Matters not, any despicable human that I can torture, the better!”
Meanwhile, Satrina, with wide-eyed wonder, was mesmerized and drawn to the Frame’s alluring energy. She found herself walking toward it.
“Satrina! No, do not go near it!” warned Primus. “A trap is set!
”
Satrina stopped, paused, and then turned, smiled at Primus, and resumed her intention toward the Frame.
All the warriors, Muspellum and human, though battle ready, helplessly watched Satrina position herself in front of the Frame. Primus and Banedread, their narcissistic hearts now more apparent, protected their own interests, staying far from the Frame.
Satrina lifted her arms skyward and chanted:
“Eternity for time
Flesh for divine
Life into death
Until death becomes mine…”
“No!” screamed Primus.
“What is the meaning of this father?” Banedread squeamishly asked.
“She has recited the ancient incantation written on the Frame!”
Just then, colors swirled within the Frame, emitting more energy and light, so much so that Satrina stumbled backwards, and the steeds that Primus, Banedread and Damios sat upon, spooked and threw their masters off of them, landing them upon their backs upon the soft, velvet grass.
They rose to their feet just in time to see a wonder that struck fear even into their malevolent, depraved hearts.
Philon’s face appeared in the Frame, fully human, yet fully divine, an ethereal radiant glow shone outward onto the whole Garden, even onto the Noabitian army and out onto the Chayil.
Just then, Abriel and Infinitum unfolded their wings, suited in heavenly battle dress, they stood like burning Sentinels of holy light.
Kalandra smiled, “Philon, he is here in our midst!”
A great trumpet blasted from up above their heads, causing all to look skyward, and there a portal yawned, and out from its silvery doorway two Chayil, massive in strength and size, appeared, one on each side of a gilded cage, and within the children of Primus and Satrina, the Abbandon.
The mutated beings shook the bars to no avail, screamed and wailed, gnashing their teeth and yelling obscenities, as they were lowered upon the ground adjacent Primus and Satrina.
“Silence!” Philon commanded.
Immediately the Abbandon cowered like a pack of frightened animals and rolled up into fetal positions on the floor of their prison.
A second trumpet blast filled the air and from the silvery portal appeared two figures on the winged horses. Valerian and Aurea!
“Behold, my first children,” Philon exclaimed, “now healed and living in their rightful places before Abba!”
In a regal way, befitting such children, their steeds came to rest upon the ground, taking their places to the side of the Frame.
Through all this, Satrina stood in awe of his Presence, but not in fear of his power, for she, deluded by the toxic Lie of Intheism, thought herself, eons old…divine. A moment seemed an eternity, as Philon’s piercing eyes engaged the Destiner Elder. For a brief moment she enjoyed his perceived fellowship until a gnawing fear grew in her mind. She could not turn her gaze from him! Though she tried, his eyes penetrated the shroud of the Netherlife and Intheism, stripping her bare before him. Satrina, her face aghast, never had she felt such love, yet such fear.
Then a horrid dread, something Satrina had never experienced before encroached upon her heart and her mind, so much so that her body shuddered and she screamed in terror. “No! Leave me! Leave me Philon!”
Primus ran toward Satrina, saber drawn, but was struck down by the words of Philon’s mouth.
“You dare raise your sword upon your Creator, oh Son of the Morning!”
A force unseen by those who witnessed it, pressed Primus to the ground, his face pushed into the velvet grass, unable to move or speak.
Now overcome with terror the Muspellum and human warriors, who were captured witnesses to Philon’s power, dropped their weapons and retreated into the forest like mad men. The Muspellum attempted to fly, but their wings disintegrated off their backs like decomposing rot, and they too retreated on foot toward the outer Garden boundary, only to encounter the golden shields of the Chayil blocking their withdrawal, to whom they quickly surrendered. Kalandra commanded them to turn and face their Maker. And they did.
“Banedread, come forth!” Philon commanded.
Banedread, his pride and pretense melting off of him like snow in the heat of a brilliant sun, shuffled forward before the Frame. He now stood next to his mother, who, now seemingly frozen in time, fixed her eyes forward in a dire stare.
“Primus! Arise your time of judgment has come!”
Primus stumbled to his feet, and, though in his mind, facing certain death, cocked his head back, broadened his shoulders, and presented himself, stubborn and obstinate until the end.
“And you, Damios, come, stand next to your masters.”
Damios, humbled by the sight of his superiors stripped of their powers and stature, quickly responded to Philon’s command.
With an exhibition of authority now displayed, Philon’s face appeared on every television screen, in every movie theatre, in the skies above small towns and remote villages in the dense jungles and remote islands. There was not one human being who did not see His face and hear His voice.
“Awake, children of the Song!”
Nate, Emma, Chad, Melinda and Ahuva awakened and stood with their brothers and sisters. They knew instinctively who spoke to them, for the Life Weaver filled their hearts and minds.
Lupa leaned down and whispered into Ivy’s ear, “Go to them dear Ivy!”
Ivy kissed Lupa upon the cheek and ran across the soft grass to an overjoyed Emma and friends, who started this journey to the Garden, now enjoyed a jubilant embrace.
Their celebration however, was short-lived, for suddenly Philon’s voice grew in intensity, “All of you, children of Valerian and Aurea, and Muspellum, I call you to an account this day.”
At once, all activity ceased, and the Race stood silent, knowing full well who He was, for the revelation of who He was, now was imparted to their minds by the voice of the Life Weaver. In that moment all beings, celestial and human, now stood before their Maker: Abba, Philon, and Life Weaver, the fullness of the Image Maker residing in the Son.
“And now, I, the Image Maker, will end the madness that has held captive my creation, not only in this universe, but in the Silver Sea! Behold!”
Every eye on the surface of the earth beheld in the sky above them an appearance of blurry images, slowly forming and shaping until at last all were astounded at the sight! The drama unfolding in the siege of Aeton, in the Silver Sea, was now evident before them! Two universes, now connected, now revealed!
Philon appeared in the skies above the coastline of Aeton. His personage shown with the brightness of a new day sun, and yet, none were blinded, all could see His glory.
“It…it is Philon! Yenna, He has come,” cried Natriel with shouts of joy, tears flowing down his battle weary face.
Yenna fell to the ground, prostrate, as did all the Destiner Elders before His incomprehensible Presence.
Maxim, stood still on the deck of his flagship, faint memories of the Image Maker trailing off like tiny flickers of light in his mind, enthralled at Who appeared before him.
Balik spewed, “It cannot be! He does not exist! He can’t exist!”
All the Xcelenes ceased their warring, and bowed before One greater than they. Balik felt a creeping weakness begin in his feet, and slowly rise into his legs. A foreboding overwhelmed him, and he cried, “Maxim! Save me!”
But Maxim himself was experiencing the same grim nightmare!
Their wings shriveled and tattered, simply fell off of their once proud backs. And in that moment, both were bent over, aged creatures, their pride swallowed up in Philon’s justice.
“Primus, Satrina, Banedread, Damios, and all who inhabit this earth and all who dwell in the heavens, and you in the Silver Sea, hear my voice! Before creation, Abba’s intention was to include you in the Shared Life, Who is the Image Maker. But, in your desire to pursue the nefarious, deceptive lie of the Netherlife, Consummate Self, you have disqualified yourselves from such privilege. And so, yo
u must now be accountable to my justice. You must now answer for the life freely given to you, that you have discarded and polluted in the depravity of your pursuit of Intheism.”
Philon’s face grew in intensity of light and flame! All beings beheld the sight and despite the intense trepidation that filled their souls, they knew instinctively, it was the Flame of Divine Love. The Flame of Light burst out upon all beings and in the Silver Sea as well. Screams filled the air, like the screams of a myriad of souls.
As for the Destiner Elders and their kin, they all stood, hands uplifted, aflame in the holy fire, knowing in their ancient wisdom the just purging of the Image Maker was just the beginning of the Consummation, the birthing of the next Age.
Every being was standing ablaze with the sacred fire of the Image Maker’s judgments, even those who sang the Song.
The cleansing heat of the Image Maker’s love, like the heat of an intense burning that separates the dross from the gold manifested in some a spewing rancor and pungent blasphemy’s directed at the Image Maker.
“I hate you Philon!” screeched Primus as he groaned in the intense white flame.
“Primus! Save me!” begged Satrina.
“Shut up you Destiner hag! You deserve to burn!” bellowed Banedread.
The tormenting sounds of excruciating pain filled the Garden as Muspellum and dark souled humans writhed in the flame of the Image Maker’s love. And those cries of agony were heard in every land upon the face of the earth and in the Xcelenes and the tribes who allied themselves with them.
But those in the fellowship of the Song stood in the holy blaze, not resisting but embracing the love of the Image Maker and the work it must accomplish in them so they could then live in the Age dawning upon them.
Suddenly, Primus, Satrina, Banedread and all the Muspellum, were pulled with such force into the Frame that it was all over in a matter of seconds. They were gone.
Return of Philon Page 10
