Empyrean

Sebastian Gloom
Part Seventeen

The ground continued to rise as they approached Empyrean, as if they were climbing the steps to the doors of a great cathedral. The light was brighter here and everything was more beautiful. The most mundane blades of grass, the simplest flowers, seemed to hold wonders and mysteries forever beyond the comprehension of man. The damned souls fell silent as a sense of awe and fear fell over them, and many began to drag their feet, visibly wishing they could just slink away before God noticed them. The mass of invaders now stretched all the way to the horizon to both sides and behind as all the armies joined up at last, forming a solid ring around the Throne itself, a throne that they were finally beginning to see in the dazzling brilliance ahead of them.
All the blessed souls that had retreated before them were gathered before the Throne, trapped there with nowhere else to retreat to. They stared with horror and terror at the advancing massed ranks of the damned, and at the few remaining demons not busy restraining angels that soared overhead on widely spread black wings. They glanced back at the Throne, wondering when God would rise to defend them and hurl back the invaders, but nothing happened.
Some of the blessed souls stepped forward to confront the invaders. Dozens of popes, Gloom saw, along with bishops, archbishops, cardinals and common priests, all dressed in the full finery of their vestments. There were also a great many men and women wearing poor quality clothes and even rags and Gloom guessed that they were saints from all over the world and all ages of history.
“The greatest and holiest now stand against you!” shouted Father Anthony. “Do you dare look them in the face, Gloom? Do you dare even breathe the same air as these great men?”
“Great men?” replied Gloom. “Did you ever study the lives of the popes, Anthony? Pope John the twelfth murdered quite a few people and was killed by a man who caught him in bed with his wife. Is he one of those fine people standing against us?”
“Just because one pope went bad...”
“Pope Urban is said to have tortured the Cardinals who conspired against him. It's said that he complained when they didn't scream loudly enough. Alexander the sixth was guilty of nepotism. Leo the tenth spent money like it was going out of fashion. He’s estimated to have spent a seventh of the entire fortune of the papacy on one ceremony. Sergius the third ordered the murder of another pope and had an illegitimate son who went on to become yet another. John the twelfth raped female pilgrims, drank toasts to the devil and invoked the aid of pagan gods. And what about Innocent the fourth, an ironic name for the man who started the inquisition. He had quite an imagination when it came to devising new instruments of torture. He said again and again that the end justifies the means.”
“The end does justify the means,” said Anthony. “As for the others, I fully accept that bad men occasionally rise to power. No doubt the others you mentioned went to Hell for their crimes and are now members of your army. Most popes were good men, holy men, and it is they who now stand against you.”
“Good, holy men who have no problem with healers being tortured forever for not being Christian. There is not one man ahead of us with the moral authority to denounce my friend here.” He indicated Nacoma, standing beside him.
“Your friend had every opportunity to embrace the true faith. He has no-one to blame but himself. Had he done so, he might very well be standing among the saints ahead of you right now.”
“You think the saints are all wonderful people? Do you know how many saints had anti Semitic views, denounced the Jews in the vilest terms, called for them to be tortured and killed...”
“Again you fixate upon the handful of bad examples and ignore the vast majority whose lives you would have done well to emulate. You are a small, spiteful man, Gloom. Petty and ignoble. You have decided that all of Christianity is wicked and evil, and wherever you look you see only those things that confirm your preconceptions. I wish you could have known true Christians whose lives are shining examples of all the finest virtues of mankind.”
“The finest virtues of mankind are to be found in people of all cultures all around the world, but most of these wonderful people are condemned for the crime of being the wrong religion. I will believe that these Christians are good people when they recognise the virtues of people who are not Christian.”
“If they were good people they would be Christian. The truth of God is obvious after even the briefest glance.”
“No-one doubts the truth of God. What I question is His right to judge people based only on their religion, ignoring all other considerations...”He broke off as he became aware that a spokesman had emerged from the delegation of the Catholic dignitaries and was stepping forward to confront the invaders.
It was a man in the uniform of the Roman army and he was carrying two swords. The one in his left hand looked quite ordinary, but the other glowed with a soft blue light and the assembled Catholic dignitaries gave a great cheer as he raised it over his head, as if they expected him to throw back the invaders all by himself. The man looked confident, as if he thought he could do just that, and a murmur of unease ran through the ranks of the damned souls. Could his confidence be justified? Surely they had to come across serious opposition sooner or later, and what better place than this, so close to the very throne of God Himself?
“Sinners!” he cried, pointing the divine sword at the damned souls closest in front of him. “Begone! Go back to the fires from which you came! I, Mercurius, command you! Defile this holy place no longer, or the punishment you have suffered so far will be as nothing compared to what will come!”
“Mercurius,” said Gloom. “I know that name. One of the warrior saints, I think.”
“He looks like a Roman soldier,” said Benson.
“Yes. Many of the early saints were Romans who converted to Christianity. Mercurius... Yes of course, I remember now! Mercurius, the warrior saint, the strong and courageous, also called Abu-Seifein, the holder of two swords.”
“That'll be him, then. He's got two swords.”
“Indeed. The second sword was said to have been given to him by the Archangel Michael himself, to help him defeat the Berbers. It's said that when the Roman Emperor Decius went out with his army to fight the Berbers he became afraid when he saw how many of them there were, but Mercurius said “Do not be afraid, because God will kill our enemies and bring us victory.” It was during that battle, after several days of fighting, that Michael appeared and gave him the sword, with which he led the Romans to a great victory. He was named a prince by Decius as a reward.”
“Nice. Always wanted to meet royalty. Speaking of Michael, where is he? Could he have been defeated, do you think? Are there a couple of demons holding him prisoner, like we left Sammael holding Netzach? That just doesn't seem possible! Michael is said to have defeated Lucifer himself in single combat during the first rebellion.”
“Michael may well be stronger than Lucifer, but Netzach was stronger than Sammael,” pointed out Gloom. “Sammael won with the help of thousands of human souls. It's possible that Lucifer defeated Michael the same way.”
“You don’t sound convinced,” said Benson.
“I'm hardly an expert on such matters, and we've seen only a tiny part of this war. Who knows what‘s been going on elsewhere while we've been trudging across Heaven? What I do know, though, is that Michael has a reputation for honesty, fairness and justice. He can't be happy with the way God has been treating people.”
“You think he might have joined Lucifer?” exclaimed Benson in astonishment.
Gloom laughed. “No, I can't see him going that far, but I can sort of imagine him taking a back seat for the duration of the war. Maybe making himself scarce for a while.”
“But God would command him to fight, wouldn't He? And if Michael refused to obey then he would be siding against Him even if he never lifts a finger in combat!” Gloom nodded, but before he could reply his attention was taken up by a commotion in the crowd ahead of him.
A small man holding a sword was walking forward from the ranks of the damned souls to confront Mercurius. He had clearly been a military man in life, it was obvious from the way he walked and the casual, familiar way he handled his weapon, but there was no way of knowing what country or army he had once fought for. That so many of the other damned souls stood aside to grant him the honour of facing Mercurius told Gloom that he was someone of tremendous fame, though. Or perhaps infamy. He strained his eyes in an attempt to see his face, even though he knew there was almost no chance he would recognise him.
“Why do you wait until now to challenge us?” the damned soul demanded in a strong Japanese accent. “We have been ‘defiling’ your fine land for many months now, and only the common folk have tried to stand against us. The answer is obvious. You fled before us, like everyone else behind you. You fled until there was nowhere else to flee, and now you try to bluff your way out of your final fate. Put down your swords and accept that we will pass, whether you like it or not. You cannot stop us.”
“You think you can defeat me?” laughed Mercurius. “I have killed enemies beyond count! Never in all my years have I met an enemy that could match me in battle!”
“Until now. I am Miyamoto Musaji the Swordsman. In my life I was called Undefeated under Heaven. Never have I lost a duel, not even against my own training masters.”
Mercurius laughed. “Undefeated under Heaven? Have you forgotten where you now stand?”
“I have not, but you have, I think. How much fighting have you done since you died? You no longer have a body. The muscles that wielded your swords have long since turned to dust. We are souls now, you have been dead long enough to know that. Even if I had never held a sword before, I would be able to defeat you. It is not the strength and skill of our bodies that will decide the day, because we no longer have bodies. The martial skills we had in life are of no use to us now.”
“Then I will rely on my faith. It is not we who will defeat you, but God Himself! Even a wretched sinner like you must know that!”
“Then stand aside and allow our defeat at His hands to take place.”
“We shall do so, but first I shall demonstrate to your deluded followers just how hopeless your situation is. Prepare to defend yourself!” The two men raised their swords, and Gloom noted that Miyamoto was holding his weapon as though it were a Japanese katana, even though it was in fact a European sabre. How well would he be able to fight with an unfamiliar weapon?
The answer was very well indeed. Mercurius launched himself at the Japanese blademaster, the holy sword leaving a trail of fire behind it as it swung through the air, but Miyamoto dodged nimbly to the side and both of his opponent's blades passed harmlessly by his head. At the same time he swung with his own sword. If he’d been armed with a katana the duel might have ended there and then, but the European sword was heavier and balanced differently and it hit low, striking the top of his breastplate with a shower of sparks instead of lopping off his head, as he'd intended.
Mercurius spun around to attack again, swinging the holy sword and holding the other sword back to stab with as the blademaster parried the first attack, but Miyamoto ducked again, saving his sword to parry his enemy's second attack. He doesn’t want his sword to touch the holy sword, Gloom realised. He's wary of its power. A moment later the blademaster launched another attack of his own, this time compensating for the weight and balance of his blade, and it flew unerringly for the saint's throat. Only a desperate parry with his ordinary sword saved the defender.
Miyamoto recovered quickly enough to meet the Roman saint's next attack and launch another attack of his own, and Gloom noticed that the blademaster missed an opportunity to run him through, striking instead with the edge of his weapon. That was the weakness of having trained only with katanas, he realised. A sword that lacked a point and that couldn’t stab. In the intensity of battle there was no time to think and plan. He was acting entirely according to his trained instincts, and they kept telling to use the edge only.
They also told him that he only needed to defend himself against the edge, and that was almost his undoing a moment later. Mercurius swung the holy sword again and Miyamoto dodged it again, leaving him in a position in which no possible swing of the Roman saint's other sword could touch him. Mercurius didn't swing, though. He stabbed with it, and the tip of the blade pierced the blademaster's side. The Catholic dignitaries cheered in delight, but the injury was a minor one and was already healing as Miyamoto dodged away to a safe distance while he recovered from the shock and the upset.
The blademaster only needed the lesson once, and didn't ignore the point again. He also started attacking with the point of his own sword, and a moment later Mercurius was entirely on the defensive as both his swords were fully occupied fending off one attack after another. At one point Miyamoto's sword made contact with the holy sword, and the divine, flaming blade sliced cleanly through the mundane steel of his own sword. Fortunately, the point of contact was high up towards the tip and Miyamoto only lost three inches of his weapon, leaving him with enough to continue fighting with, but it brought another cheer from the Catholic dignitaries and a groan of dismay from the invaders.
Miyamoto didn't see it as a setback, though. To him it was an education, an opportunity, and he made use of it immediately. He made a full on attack, this time making no effort to avoid crossing blades with the holy sword. Mercurius brought the flaming sword up to parry it, a sneer of contempt on his face, and another groan of horror went up from the invaders as they foresaw their champion's imminent defeat. As the two blades met, the holy sword once again cut neatly through the mundane steel of the blademaster's weapon, this time just a few inches from the hilt, but Miyamoto didn't abandon the attack. He continued to thrust his blade inwards, now inside his enemy's defence, and plunged it deep into the meat of the saint's upper arm.
Mercurius cried out in pain, a cry that was echoed a thousand times over from the watching Catholic dignitaries. Miyamoto dropped the now useless weapon and snatched up the holy sword before it could hit the ground, spinning away to give himself time and space before his opponent could recover enough to stab him with his second sword.
The saint's injury healed fast, but the damage had been done. The holy sword was now in the hands of his opponent, considered by many to be the finest swordsman ever to have lived. Against it and his enemy's skill Mercurius had no chance. Determination filled his face, though, and he readied his sword for another attack. “God will bring me victory!” he cried, and launched himself at the blademaster. Miyamoto lifted the holy sword with an expression of sadness and pity, and as the saint came within reach he swung it in a graceful, flaming arc.
The sword passed through the steel breastplate and the muscle and bone of the saint's body without even slowing, and this time it was the defenders who cried out in horror and dismay as Mercurius's body fell to the ground in two almost equal sized halves.
“Now do you see?” cried another of the damned souls, coming forward to stand beside the fallen saint. “You cannot stop us! If you truly believe that God will send us all back to Hell, why do you keep trying to stop us from meeting Him? Stand aside and let us pass!”
The reaction of the Catholic dignitaries wasn't what Gloom had expected, though. They were neither confident, as if they still expected that God would deal with the invaders, but neither were they afraid for themselves. They were still afraid, but it seemed to Gloom more like the kind of fear he'd seen in people whose beloved family member was accused of some terrible crime and against whom the evidence was overwhelming. They know the truth of God! Gloom suddenly realised. They knew all along that God was a cruel, sadistic monster and they didn't care so long as He kept giving them special treatment. You b******s! He almost said out loud. It didn't bother you, what He was doing to us down in Hell? You didn't care one little bit? Did you truly believe that anyone not of your religion deserves to be tortured forever, no matter what kind of lives they led?
Or maybe I'm misjudging them, he suddenly thought. Maybe they did care but didn't dare protest in case the wrath of God fell on them as well. Maybe they were just cowards who deserved pity rather than anger. He remembered something a client had told him once, a traveller who'd been to many remote and exotic parts of the world. He’d told him about something he'd seen in Persia, which at the time had been ruled by the Shah Bahar Shokof. One day the Shah had decided to go on a walkabout to meet his people. Surrounded by dozens of heavily armed guards, he had walked the streets of a prosperous residential district, and everyone had come out of their houses to dance, clap and cheer in a frenzy of jubilant madness. They had to do that, his guide had explained, because anyone who didn't cheer loudly enough was thrown in prison and tortured.
Was Christianity the same? Wondered Gloom. Was that the truth behind the whole rotten religion? People only worship God because they don’t want to go to Hell, and then they tell themselves that God loves them. What kind of love was that, though? Love me or I'll punish you. Seeing the looks of shame on the Catholic dignitaries, now that they knew they couldn't stop the invaders from seeing the truth of God for themselves, Gloom felt sick inside. There are genuinely good Christians, he knew. Many of them. They deserved a better God.
The invaders were pressing forward now, seeing that the defenders were powerless to stop them, and the Catholic defenders could do nothing but step aside. Before the damned souls could get very far, though, a murmur of surprise and amazement began to rise from their rearmost ranks, spreading forward as heads turned to look behind, to see what was causing the disturbance. Gloom, Benson and Nacoma, standing near the front of the crowd, were among the last to become aware that something was happening, and they turned to see four gigantic beings flying on spread wings towards the Throne of God. Three of them were angels, larger and more powerful than any other they’d seen during their time in Heaven, but the fourth was a demon, even larger and more terrifying than the angels.
They weren’t fighting, though. They were flying in formation, the demon in the lead, the three angels behind as if escorting him. “Is that a prisoner?” wondered Benson. “That demon! Could that be Lucifer Himself?”
“Is the war lost then?” asked Nacoma. “Was it all for nothing?”
“That doesn't look like a prisoner under guard,” said Gloom, though. “It looks more like an ambassador, arriving under a flag of truce. And the other three...”
“Archangels,” said Father Anthony. Gloom gave a start of surprise, he'd forgotten all about the priest. “Michael, Gabriel and Sarakiel. And the Arch Fiend Himself! Satan! What is going on here?”
“I would guess, the prelude to peace talks,” said the investigator.
“Never! There can never be peace between good and evil! Satan has offered his surrender, there can be no other explanation!”
The damned souls were pressing forward now, pushing their way through the Catholic dignitaries who fled out of their path. Ahead of them, the Throne of God grew clearer in the dazzling brightness as it drew closer, and those at the head of the surging mass began to see a figure seated on it. Before they could get any closer, though, Lucifer and Gabriel dropped out of the sky and landed on the polished marble floor right in their path, blocking their advance. Those further back continued to surge forward as the leaders came to a screeching stop, and many cried out as they were crushed in the press of bodies. The two Archangels were so huge that everyone, even right at the back, could see them clearly, though, and the press quickly stopped as every damned soul stood where they were, staring in amazement. Above, the other two Archangels circled lazily like impossibly huge seagulls. Beautiful, glorious and magnificent, wearing robes that shone like liquid fire.
Lucifer, in contrast, was hideous. Dark, horned, with jaws filled with jagged fangs and gigantic bat wings spread behind him. His eyes glowed red like hot coals, and his hands were armed with black claws. Behind him, a long, forked tail swayed back and forth like the head of a cobra.
The sight of him caused most of the human souls, damned and blessed alike, to rear back in fear, but Gloom noticed that some of the souls were reacting differently. They were looking at Lucifer with awe and surprise, even reverence. At first he thought they were devil worshippers, but then he saw that some of the blessed souls amongst the Catholic dignitaries, the ones with the most ancient, archaic looking clothes, were reacting the same. The oldest souls, he realised. The ones that have been dead the longest.
“We're still seeing what we expect to see,” he realised. “What we've been told Lucifer looks like all our lives. We’ve been conditioned to see him that way by a lifetime of Sunday school classes. The oldest souls have learned to see the truth though. It's about time I saw the truth too!”
“It took them thousands of years!” Benson reminded him. “You can't do it just by trying hard enough!”
“Why not?” replied Gloom. “That’s how we beat the flames.” He summoned all his willpower, therefore, and forced himself to ignore what his human senses were telling him. I have no eyes, he told himself. My eyes have long since rotted to dust in a grave somewhere. Stop seeing the illusions. See the truth! See the truth! He closed his eyes (I have no eyes!) and shut out the illusion. He never opened his eyes again.
Suddenly he was seeing without eyes. He was seeing the truth of the afterlife, the truth of all reality, and his friends heard him give a great gasp of astonishment, wonder and awe.


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