Reign of the Rebel, Chapter 1 (of 4)
The following is a sample from a forthcoming novel by Alexander Lawrence. If you like what you read, please visit the Kickstarter campaign for Reign of the Rebel.
The first four chapters are also available in audio format at https://soundcloud.com/user-243061771/reign-of-the-rebel-chapters-1-4
CHAPTER ONE: THE DIVINE COUNCIL
Fresh, warm blood dribbled down the man’s beard as he drank. With eyes closed, he guzzled half of the contents of the shallow wooden bowl he held before passing it to the woman at his side. She took it and lifted it to her lips without hesitation. Behind them, a young ox lay on the ground, twitching as its life drained from a gash in its neck.
When the woman had drunk her portion of the ox blood, she set the bowl aside and bowed her face to the earth. The man did likewise. Chants of adoration and thanks flowed from their lips unto their god, whose clay effigy, set high on a rock ledge, stoically received their praise.
Though they knew it not, the worshipers were not alone, for a pair of celestial beings looked on from a nearby knoll. The beings appeared as men, but mightier of stature, and radiant. Handsome but grave, they stood silently documenting the scene before them with the use of an otherwordly scope.
As the man and woman rose from their worship, the onlookers turned and left, satisfied that they had made enough recordings of the humans of Shinar. It was time for the Watchers to return to Empyrean and present their evidence to the archangels, who would take it before the Council.
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A trumpet blasted, clear and bright. Its long call resounded throughout the third heaven, from the holy mountain to the dark edge of the cosmos. Penetrated by the commanding tone, all of the spirits in Empyrean turned from their tasks to face the Mountain of God. They bowed deeply out of respect, knowing that important events would soon be decided, for the sound of Gabriel's trumpet summoned the Divine Council.
At the center of Empyrean stood a glorious mountain surrounded by clear waters: Mt. Zion, dwelling-place of Adonai Most High. Its base was broad and its slope gentle, and it glowed softly because of the stones of fire scattered along its granite faces. Halfway up the mountain on the eastern flank grew Eden, the Garden of God, a paradise fed by waterfalls that descended from the peak. As the mountain continued upward from Eden its sides became very steep and altered, and its appearance was like basalt columns made of smoked glass. At the top of the mountain sat the Great City and its Holy Temple, ringed by thick clouds awash in light. The sky overhead rolled with quicksilver.
Figures rose from the water and gathered on the mountain's rainbow shore. Dozens of them arrived from all directions, beckoned by the trumpet call. After waiting silently for their full number to arrive, they gracefully made their way up to Eden on stairways carved in the granite. They were nobility incarnate, stately and radiant in every aspect, possessing not the least flaw. Of all the spirits they were the most beautiful and august, though perhaps not from the perspective of a human.
These were the Sons of God.
The Sons of God were the elders of all Creation, beings molded in the primal fire beneath the throne of the Lord of Spirits. At the dawn of all things, before the lower realms had been fashioned, the Sons had been spawned--mature and complete--from the sacred flame. They had celebrated together with legendary praises when the Almighty and his Anointed One, his eldest son, had laid the foundations of the earth.
The other inhabitants of Empyrean, an innumerable heavenly host, were the handiwork of those blessed Sons of God. It had pleased the Most High to give his sons authority to create the lesser spirits, while the Anointed One and the second eldest, Mastema, had created life on Earth.
The younger sons had done well, filling Empyrean with multitudes upon multitudes of diverse spirits in but three days. On the fourth day, the Most High had rejoiced greatly over the work of his sons, and had ordered the creation of stars in the firmament for the host to indwell. Much had happened since that day, and now those stars—possessed of spirits—were being worshiped by ignorant and debased mortals. Some of those mortals had begun to drink blood, and to fornicate, and they had established a great city on the earth. The council had come to discuss these matters.
Set in the midst of Eden, the chamber of the council was an imposing, open-sided rotunda second only to the Temple in glory. Its domed roof sat on massive columns of mixed jade and ivory. At each of the four cardinal points were a pair of golden trees between adjacent columns, forming portals. The Sons of God entered through the northern portal, walking five abreast in a line twenty-four ranks long. They numbered one hundred twenty spirits in total. Each knew his place within the arrangement of the chamber, and took it.
The Sons were not the only spirits in attendance. Nobles filled the terraced pews which ringed the structure, and many lesser denizens of Empyrean stood or floated beyond the columns, eager to watch the proceedings even from a distance.
The Anointed One of God was the last to enter. He came from the East. Great was his light, and magnificent his garments. The hair of his head was brilliant white, and upon that head rested a crown of purest gold inset with twelve gems. His skin was like molten metal and his eyes like lightning in the midnight sky. He stood still momentarily, giving the Council time to acknowledge his presence, which they did in concert. The one hundred twenty members bowed as one towards the Anointed, and they remained bent until he had taken his seat on the throne in the center of the chamber. They then straightened and with perfect order lowered themselves sequentially onto chairs more splendid than the thrones of any earthly kings.
Gabriel, Raphael, and Mezariel, three archangels, accompanied the Anointed to the gathering. They remained standing in a group at the right hand of their lord. Having been crafted by the Sons, the archangels were not numbered among the members of the Council, but they attended the Anointed as his chosen servants. They resembled men, but with skin as hard and translucent as topaz, and faces that gleamed like polished metal. Gabriel held a silver trumpet, Raphael a scroll, and Mezariel a sword.
Raphael frowned as he took in the scene. He tilted his head towards Gabriel and whispered, “I sense a peculiar note in the set of their faces and the form of their postures. Too rigid, I think. Or am I imagining it?”
“Nay, I perceive it also,” said Gabriel, “teeth set on edge, the same as when they learned that Noah would be spared. They worry.”
Mezariel nodded and said, “Not without reason.”
The other angels looked at him inquisitively, and he could see concern on their faces. Mezariel said, “Peace, brothers, I harbor no ill intent. But it pains me to see the mortals degenerate again.”
“And I,” said Raphael. “It is like watching a ship escape the waves of a squall only to crash into a reef.”
“Yet the land beyond the reef may hold the greatest treasures,” retorted Gabriel. “Surely the Lord foresaw these events. Will the Sons not trust him?”
The question went unanswered. The archangels looked out at the shining aspects of those gathered around them and wondered if any concealed a seed of darkness in their hearts.
The council’s seats were arranged in concentric rings divided into twelve spokes. Only one member occupied the innermost position of each spoke. These were the twelve chief archons. Behind each archon, on the larger circles, sat sets of two, three, and four lesser rulers.
Although these one hundred twenty Sons held various ranks and enjoyed different privileges, they all shared a likeness. In form they were as men, having four limbs and twenty digits, but their semblance was like that of feathered serpents. They were covered in iridescent scales, and beautiful plumage grew from their shoulders, backs, and elongated skulls. In diversity and richness of color they were like hummingbirds, but they had no beaks or talons. Accenting their bold colors were opalescent jewels set at pleasing intervals among their scales. One of their most striking features were golden eyes with irises shaped like four-pointed stars. Their kind were called seraphiym, the dragons of Empyrean. Among the sons, only the Anointed One was not a dragon—the firstborn defied classification altogether.
In a voice both sonorous and sweet, the Anointed addressed the gathering, saying, “Blessed be the Lord of Spirits, whose glory is eternal. May his goodness preside over this assembly.”
And the spirits said, “Amen.”
“We have convened to determine the fate of the rebel city-builders of Shinar,” said the Anointed. “Raphael will state the allegations.”
The archangel unfurled his scroll and held it at arms’ length. He read, “Concerning those sons of Adam who dwell in the city called Babili, the Watchers bring accusation on the following four charges: Count one, contempt of the Most High, demonstrated by refusal to spread out over the face of the earth. Count two, exceptional hubris in attempting to use fame as a recruiting tool against the young. Count three, use of forbidden and unlawfully-obtained knowledge with the intent to invade Empyrean. Count four, additional violations of the oral precepts taught by Noah, including but not limited to the consumption of animal blood. Recordings of these behaviors have been assigned to the sixth well of the Watcher miskenotope.” Raphael closed the scroll and took a step back.
Suddenly the chamber was full of voices as the Sons launched into deliberations. As they discussed the charges, they accessed the Watcher archives through instruments strapped to their inner wrists. By bringing together the disk-shaped devices on each wrist, forearms crossed in an uneven X, a seraph could mentally engage with the miskenotope and other information storehouses of Empyrean.
After a time, Gabriel called for silence.
“You have seen how the matter stands,” said the Anointed. “Archons, share your thoughts.”
Susarakh was the first archon to respond. He stood, and a cobalt blue symbol appeared, coruscating, in the air above his forehead. A dot between overlapping crescents, it indicated careful regard. Being an involuntary function of the seraphic mind, it took no effort to manifest such sigils—though, as with breathing, the function could be controlled somewhat.
Susarakh said, “This turn of events greatly disturbs us. Only a few of the descendants of Noah have not rebelled, a paltry few. How can this be? And while Shem, righteous son of Noah, yet lives!”
“You are right to be disturbed, Susarakh,” said the Anointed. “The mortals are quick to turn away from righteous instruction. Their spirits are dead, thus they succumb easily to desire and deceit. For this reason, Wisdom counseled us that long-suffering would be required on their account.”
Another archon spoke up: “Yes, Lord, and patiently we waited for men to reform during the days of Methuselah, yet they would not. They shut their ears to the prophets. In the end, they corrupted all flesh.”
“Should we show lenience in the face of renewed defiance?” asked one of Susarakh’s subordinates.
“This latter defiance surpasses the former in consequence,” added Susarakh. “Before the Great Deluge, the wickedness of men was confined to the earth. Now they threaten our very home!”
“Lord, could mortals indeed enter Empyrean?” inquired one of the Sons.
The Anointed nodded. “It is possible but exceedingly difficult,” he said, “requiring more knowledge than they now possess. Nonetheless, consider: they are one people with one language, and together they have begun to accomplish this. Given time, nothing they imagine to do will be impossible for them.”
Intense murmuring filled the chamber. This new revelation was fuel on a fire, and Mezariel could see that many of the Sons were struggling to keep calm. Mezariel himself was unsure what to think, and even if he’d had an opinion, it wouldn’t have factored into the deliberations, for legislation was not his role.
After a moment, a blue-green archon named Agadoth rose to speak. “Mighty One, the disloyal mortals have removed themselves from under the authority of Noah, and thus from under yours. Hence they dwell within the jurisdiction of the Adversary—this we understand.” Some of the Sons glanced involuntarily at the empty, scorched seat to the left of the Anointed, remembering the traitor who had once occupied it. Agadoth continued, “Nonetheless, we fail to grasp the Dark One’s strategy. What does he hope to accomplish with the rebels? Surely he cannot endorse their quest to enter the realm of spirits. Why then has he not hindered it?”
Other archons voiced their support for the query, but it was Susarakh who initiated the request for an interrogation. “Lord,” he said, “Let us bring up the Adversary and question him.”
“Are you certain?” asked the Anointed. “Though he is compelled to speak truth in this chamber, the traitor is a gifted manipulator. His perspective may influence you all in unexpected ways.”
“Our hearts will be flint,” said Yaedrith, one of the chiefs.
Susarakh and five of the others in the innermost circle showed sigils of agreement, but the remaining five displayed unease.
Respecting the consensus, the Anointed gave leave by nodding to Mezariel, who stepped away from the other archangels. He touched the tip of his sword to the floor, which was paved in huge slabs of sapphire. The stones were clear, revealing what lay underneath—not the dirt or rock of the mountain, but deep liquid filled with auroras of shifting light. Mezariel quickly traced a hexagram onto the sapphire before him and circumscribed it with a circle. As soon as the circle was completed, the glyph began to glow, and a blurry shadow rose up from beneath it. When the shadow met the floor, tendrils of vapor swirled up through the glyph and solidified into a kneeling crimson seraph with six pairs of leathery wings. Mezariel stepped back as the red serpent materialized. He kept his blade between them.
Many in the crowd of onlooking spirits hummed with displeasure.
“Mastema,” said the Anointed in an even tone, “the Council wishes to address you.”
Mastema was a dragon like the other seraphs, but his aspect had been changed at the Fall. His matte scales and steel-gray apparel clashed terribly with the splendor of his surroundings. He no longer shimmered, and his feathers were gone. The jewels among his scales had turned as black as ink.
“It warms me to be needed,” said Mastema snidely as he rose to his feet. His twelve wings folded in, shrank, and disappeared into his back. Then the traitorous seraph performed an exaggerated bow to the room. “How may I serve, brothers?” he asked in a voice that sounded like a swarm of locusts.
Susarakh looked around at the other Sons, seeking their permission to act as spokesperson. Sigils of affirmation flashed from his siblings, and he proceeded. “Explain why you have allowed men to undertake a project whose end will be the tearing of the veil.”
“As you wish,” said Mastema. “But is it not obvious? I am surprised you need my input.”
“Simply answer the question,” said Susarakh.
Mastema laughed at their dullness. “My reason is two-fold, and the first is now accomplished. You see for yourselves that it was wrong to put the divine image into those weak and naïve creatures of clay. They were impulsive from the start, not to mention disloyal, as I proved to my own detriment. Rash, selfish, and inventive: a perilous combination, Brothers. Very perilous. By leaving the humans to their own devices, the Anointed has endangered all of Empyrean, and the Most High allows it.”
Mezariel glanced at the Anointed, aware of his zeal for the Father’s honor. The Lord’s eyes were a raging storm, but he kept his peace.
Mastema continued, “If the mortals do pierce the veil, they will be sealing their own doom. As I said, they are predictably impulsive, and they will push through before they invent a control valve. My forces will then launch a counter-invasion and annihilate the hairless primates. Their destruction will be of their own making.” The dark archon looked back at the Anointed with arrogant eyes, saying, “It will not be my spirits who open the rift, therefore the Almighty will have no right to stop us from using it.”
“But he has the right to protect those who serve him,” protested one of the lesser archons.
“It is as you say, Brother,” said Mastema, finger in the air, “but even those righteous few must sooner or later die—it is the law. The penalty for sin is death, is it not? I will make a world so inhospitable to human life that reproduction will be unfeasible.” He closed his eyes to imagine the future. “Then verily, verily I will watch as the last of Adonai’s servants age and die, and leave behind a world free of human filth!”
An uproar erupted among the council, and Mastema smiled.
Raphael looked about with shock. “Never have I seen the sons so agitated,” he said to Gabriel under a sigil of self-control. “This does not bode well.”
As the Divine Council bickered, Mastema leveled his gaze upon Mezariel, whose expression had gone blank. “I sense indecision within you,” said the Adversary. “It is not too late to join me. Act soon, for I will not extend mercy in the day of my victory.”
Mezariel’s eyes narrowed and he scribed the sigil of resolve in the air over his forehead. “You may have crafted me at the behest of the Almighty,” he said, “but I will not entertain your corrupt speech. You are a fool.”
Mastema said, “I am surprised, Mezariel, that you do not demonstrate greater courtesy in addressing your own father.” The seraph sounded genuinely pained.
“I have but one father, the Lord of Spirits,” replied Mezariel.
“Am I not called a son of the Most High, he who shaped me in the forge of his brilliance?” retorted Mastema, “And did he not allow me to forge you in turn?” As he spoke, he conjured the symbol for loving-kindness, a möbius knot of many colors.
Resolve faded from before Mezariel, and he turned his face away. “Adonai rebuke you, Mastema,” he said, but the words were half-hearted.
“My firstborn—” Mastema began, but the Anointed One interrupted.
“Silence, Mastema. You are dismissed.” As quickly as he had appeared, the Adversary faded into the sapphire pavement.
Gabriel called the assembly to order so that the Anointed could speak. “You have heard from our enemy,” he said. “Much is at stake. Offer your proposals, that we may act.”
Susarakh was the first to respond. “The mortals have become hazardous to the entire Creation. We see no choice but to place them under the strictest subjection. As slaves to the upright spirits, they would not be allowed to transgress.”
“If they are entirely subjected to our will, what of love?” asked the Anointed. “The Father gifted them freedom of choice, regardless of the consequences, precisely because of his great love.”
“He also granted freedom to the Watchers,” rebutted Susarakh. It was all he needed to say, for not a single spirit in Empyrean was unaware of the sins of the Watchers who had lived upon Mt. Hermon and bred with mortal women.
“The Watchers were neither naïve nor deceived, nor driven by the flesh, as are humans. Their mutiny was deliberate and extreme.”
“Which is why we do not suggest that the mortals be eradicated. But it has become obvious that they cannot contend with the desires of the flesh, much less the deceptions of the Adversary. They are… they are weak and wretched creatures who must be controlled!”
“Susarakh, my friend, do not allow the Adversary’s distaste of humanity to become your own.”
Susarakh lowered his head and took his seat without response.
“Further recommendations?” the Anointed said to the council.
One member suggested a month of impenetrable darkness, another argued for a devastating famine, and still another advocated a regional flood. Finally, an archon named Trinius campaigned for confusion.
“Is it not mankind’s collective intelligence that poses a risk? If we frustrate their ability to cooperate, their schemes will unravel and they will choose to separate,” he said.
The Anointed One nodded, saying, “Wisdom has spoken through you, Trinius.” The Firstborn stood, and as he reached full stature, his body lifted from the floor and rose nearly into the dome of the rotunda. Ending further deliberation, he declared, “Come, let us go down and confuse their speech.”
Want more? Go on to chapter two!