Angel Warriors - HeavenBound Section 2

ANGEL WARRIORS – BOOK THREE: HEAVENBOUND
By: Melinda Reynolds

CONTINUATION, PART 2:


CHAPTER THREE


"I have relayed your message to him, Michael, but he does not wish to see you now," Raphael’s quiet voice did little to ease the sting of his words. "It is too soon; the memories, the events, they are too recent and it is difficult for him to cope with all of it. He needs to come to an understanding with himself before he can...face you."


"I need to talk with him: I need to explain why I--" Michael broke off. How could he explain? Had Mihdael already told Raphael all that had transpired in Hell, and of his Commander’s involvement in it? "Did he... speak of anything to you? Did he seek your counsel, your assistance in any way?"


"No, he has said very little; and he has made no mention at all of his time with Satan and Lucifer. It is not difficult to see that he does not wish to think upon it. He is quiet, withdrawn, and keeps to himself. He will speak when spoken to, but will not initiate conversation on his own; nor will he elaborate on any given answer or subject.


"He is...different, Michael. Whatever happened, whatever he saw, or heard, or experienced, it affected him at the deepest level of his being. He cannot - or will not - come to terms with it. Do not push him, give him time and understanding. When he is ready, he will come to you."


"How long, Raphael? How long am I to be without my Second-In- Command?" Michael’s exasperation crept into his voice, "I need him back. I cannot command him to return, or see me, or even listen to me. I can only wait. Wait, and wonder what he is thinking, what he is enduring by keeping his...experience locked tightly within him.


"He can not continue like this. He has not ventured from your sanctuary since I brought him here; he has not seen or spoken to anyone, aside from yourself. He... he has not even been in our Father’s Presence.


"He can not have changed that much; neither Lucifer nor Satan could inflict any torment or temptation that would turn Mihdael away from God." Michael’s great wings extended, and he avoided looking at Raphael as he continued, "It is important that I speak with him, and soon. I cannot wait for him to decide to come to me on his own.


"Tell him that I am asking him to listen to me. At my aerie, at the next Light; he need not remain any longer than he wants to, but I do ask that he come alone. Stress the importance of this to him, Raphael; I have to speak with him." Michael lifted off the ground, hovered momentarily, "I entrust you to convince him to do as I ask."


Then he ascended on the swift current, not waiting for Raphael's reply.



***
Michael's aerie soared high above the other towers, second only to the Tower of the Seraphim. An arched dome, the curved ceiling a lattice-work of silver and onyx, topped the spire; the crystal columns rose the height of two Archangels, the floor a mosaic of translucent agate and jasper. The furnishings were sparse and utilitarian; the walls held panels of inlaid gold and silver, woven in geometric patterns.


Confident that Raphael would somehow succeed, Michael placed his armor and sword on a table near an arched window. He draped the golden cloak over the armor, leaving only the purple tunic. His attire was now informal and, he hoped, non-threatening. He wanted to put Mihdael at his ease, and appearing sans armor and weapon would take the edge off their first meeting since... Michael shook his head; he could not even bring himself to recall his 'rescue', how could he expect Mihdael to be willing to do so?


He knew Mihdael would forgive him of anything; it was what would happen afterwards that concerned him. The warrior was not bound to remain with him, to serve as his lieutenant; he was not even bound to the Army itself. He could leave... and, he probably would. Michael gazed out the North archway, toward Raphael's refuge in the distant hills, then turned and crossed to the gravity-defying fountain in the center of the aerie.

Amid a slight disturbance of the air, Uriel took shape before him. “Art thou certain this is necessary, Michael?”

The Archangel turned to watch the continuous circuit of falling water. “I must anticipate any occurrence, Uriel; and the worst case would be Mihdael’s complete defiance and rejection of myself and Heaven. If such an event should occur, then I would need the Fire of God to… stop him.”

“And the best case?”

Michael faced him. “He would forgive my presumption of his character and loyalty, and once more claim what is rightfully his.” His gaze lowered. “I do not see him doing that.”

“Do you want him to know I am here?”

“No, just be at hand if I should have need of thee—”

“Michael,” Uriel’s hand closed tightly on the Archangel’s forearm. “Mihdael is not the enemy; do not treat him as such.”

“Until I know his true mind and soul, until I am certain he harbors no… resentment towards me, he is a potential danger to myself, Heaven, and God.”

“I do not understand how he could be so.”

“Mihdael has a … latent… power granted to him by God at his creation. Mihdael knows naught of it; only God, Lucifer, and myself know of it for we were the only ones involved in his creation. He could destroy all, and never be aware that he could do so.

“I am not certain of his current state of mind, nor am I certain he will listen or accept any explanation or apology I would offer.

“Remain out of sight, Uriel, but remain close at hand.”

Uriel considered for a moment, then released his grip on Michael’s forearm. “I have never perceived any ubiquitous insurgence in Mihdael against God or Heaven. Perhaps you are transferring your own uncertain and indeterminate feelings about Mihdael to the Warrior’s faithfulness and trustworthiness itself. As you feel threatened by him, he must, therefore, be a threat.”

“I will ascertain that when he arrives. Will you stand ready?”

“Yes, for I am most interested to see what transpires.”



***
Mihdael appeared quietly, the slight flutter of descending wings announcing his arrival. He stood for a moment as if uncertain, then crossed from the columnned entry to the room proper. Staring straight ahead, back rigid, his head jerked in a curt nod in a semblance of respect.


"I am here, Commander."


Michael glanced up at the toneless voice, noting with some annoyance that Mihdael still wasn’t wearing his armor. He was still attired in one of Raphael’s long-sleeved, hooded robes that draped and fell to the ground. His attempt at concealment fell short, seeming to perversely emphasize rather than hide. The wide, square collar revealed part of the scarred cross on his left shoulder, the red-purple lash marks on his back and shoulders... The wings were drawn down and lowered, the large primaries trailing on the floor. His hair was pulled back, loose strands falling around his face and neck. Golden Light shimmered around him, pale and indistinct next to Michael’s radiance.


That aspect, however, Michael noted in an instant; what was even more startling was the drastic change in his physical being. Although he had never openly verbalized his opinion of Mihdael’s appearance, the warrior had obviously picked up on his disapproval. The tightly bound hair was blue-black; dark, steel-blue eyes stared at him indifferently. The beautiful, pure-white wings – which he had, over the years, grown accustomed to seeing in the midst of battle – were now steel grey at the arches, darkening to blue, fading into black at the tips. And once-golden skin was now a deep bronze.


It took a moment to assimilate the changes, and even then it was a lot to deal with at once. “I…was not expecting you to appear…thus…”


“Obviously.”


“Why have you altered your appearance?”


Mihdael tilted his head slightly, gaze unnerving, “Is this not more in alignment with your perceptions of how a warrior should appear?”


“I only meant that one’s demeanor and attire should reflect one’s station.”


“Has this appearance made me any different than what I was? Or does it simply influence the way others perceive me to be?” He straightened, head held high, “Do I not now embody your prerequisites for a second-in-command?”


Michael leaned against one of the crystal columns, trying to think of some way to begin; someway to break through Mihdael’s reserve. They no longer seemed to have any common ground; they were simply angel and archangel on a first name basis. And Michael would not have that.


"You have not reported to your Legion. Have not, even, contacted your lieutenants." His voice softened, "Why have you kept away from them?"


"I was...not certain I would be ... welcome."


"Warrior Liftheon has inquired after you several times. As have Matafiel, Gabriel, and several others. They are your brothers, Mihdael; you will always be welcome among them.


"You have refused all contact since your...return. I can understand your reluctance--"


Mihdael interrupted, eyes cold with anger. " Can you, Commander? Can you understand anything at all? After all, you were there. "


Michael met the angel’s gaze levelly. "Yes, I was."


The Archangel waited, wondering if Mihdael would ask all the myriad questions that were evident in his eyes. Instead, the warrior’s gaze lowered, and he remained silent.


"Your armor, shield, and sword are here, awaiting your return. You need only to take them up again."


Mihdael laughed, short and humorless. "And that is all?" Lucifer’s voice echoed in his tormented memory, the words taunting. "And all will be as it was?"


Mihdael’s reaction was unexpected, and Michael tried to cover his concern. He shook his head slowly, his sharp gaze missing nothing, "No... Too much has happened to you, to...us. I would hope that it would not be the same as it was."


The warrior turned away from the Archangel’s probing gaze, avoiding a direct answer. He wasn’t sure of Michael’s meaning, wasn’t sure he wanted to know... Why was he even here? Why did Michael ask him here, what did he want? Worse, what did he expect...?


"Mihdael..." He didn’t turn, waiting for Michael to continue, to finish... "Mihdael, I do not like this...this... animosity...between us."


The Archangel spoke in a low, and gentle, tone. At any other time, Mihdael would have responded in kind; at any other time, he would have welcomed the concern that had prompted such a gentle tone. Mihdael’s reply was as cold and distant as he felt. "I was not aware, Commander, that there was anything between us."


Michael straightened, eyes narrowing. It was difficult for him not to react to Mihdael’s insubordinate attitude with anger. But there was also an icy twinge of fear within him, for Mihdael had never behaved in such a manner; never had he been disrespectful or coldly sarcastic. It was almost as if the warrior was challenging him, daring him to react with... what? As much as he wanted Mihdael with him, to rebuild the friendship they once shared, he couldn’t order the warrior to do so. "Do you no longer wish, then, to be a part of the Armies? Do you no longer wish to retain the Office of Warrior, and the title of Second-In-Command?"


Mihdael was quiet, and still, for such a long space of time that Michael thought he wasn’t going to answer. He started forward, then halted as Mihdael turned to face him again. The bowed head lifted, and deep blue eyes looked up at him, eyes that were neither submissive nor subordinate. "It was my understanding, Commander," he said, voice cool and level, "that you relieved me of both... quite some time ago."


"...Yes...that is so; I was...mistaken to do so. Would you have them back, if I asked it of you?"


" ‘If...’ ? You have asked much of me lately, Commander." Mihdael moved away from the fountain, eyes catching sight of the silver armor on a nearby table. He paused next to it, traced the Star and Cross design on the breast plate absently. His eyes fell on the sword: the Sword of the Archangel. It was beautiful in its elaborate craftsmanship, deadly in its simplicity of purpose. The one time he had wielded the sword, it had felt more his property than his own weapon had.


Mihdael touched the warm hilt of the sword. The blade glowed faintly, channeling his own energy and combining it with the power it held. The Sword of the Archangel - there was only one in existence at any one time in the entire Universe. He picked up the sword and scabbard; he felt Michael’s eyes on him, felt the sudden wave of apprehension.


"Is something troubling you, Commander?" He drew the blade from the scabbard. His hand closed tightly around the grip, and the familiar surge of raw energy, of unleashed power, flowed through him.


Michael remained silent, watching him intently. Mihdael held the sword up, gazing at the finely woven silver interlaced in the ruby guard; the intricate pattern of pinpoint rubies clustered at the base of the blade, the design covering half its length. The blade itself was crystal clear, a thin line of pure blue-white energy running through the center. Lifting the sword to eye level, blue eyes looked over the faintly glowing blade to meet his gaze, eyes that were as sharp and dangerous as the finely honed edge.


"It is naught but a sword; harmless in any hand save yours." The eyes narrowed, "Is that not so?"


"Mihdael," Michael approached him cautiously, "No weapon is harmless--"


The warrior’s glare halted him in mid-step and sentence. "Do you take me for a fool? I am well aware that my intellect is far below that of the great Archangels, but I am not totally bereft of acumen." His gaze swept the room quickly, then settled on the Archangel. "Retrieve my sword, for I will grant thee the same as I was given."


Michael’s form vanished for a moment, then re-appeared; he held Mihdael’s golden sword, its crystal blade glowing a faint blue-white. There was no formality, no prelude; Mihdael lunged forward and Michael countered with a split-second to spare.


"Mihdael, stop... Wait, I did not ... ask you ... here for this..." Each word was accompanied by the clash of swords. Mihdael’s concentration was total, blocking out everything else. The Archangel held his own, but by a hairsbreadth; it was as if the warrior was driven by a single-minded purpose. A purpose he could not even guess at. They locked, blades crackling with arcs of blue energy. Michael attempted to employ the same maneuver that had disarmed Mihdael twice before, but this time the angel’s grip held. Michael pulled back and disengaged, then quickly countered the downward arc of his own blade. He had to exercise more caution than usual, for a slight cut or nick would be far more serious this time. Mihdael was neither slowing nor giving evidence that he would be willing to call off this...contest. Michael reacted only in defense; knowing that the warrior needed an outlet for his pent-up emotions, needed to strike out at something, at someone. Just as he himself had done, the Archangel realized, when he had challenged Mihdael’s loyalties. Had Mihdael felt the same during their earlier conflicts, when they fought, when he had tried to deter Michael’s anger, to explain...?


Michael fought instinctively, as he weighted the few options open to him. Only defeat would end this; and he had to make Mihdael listen to him. The Archangel’s defense tactics changed imperceptibly, and he allowed Mihdael to feint him out, then allowed him an opening to strike. But instead of the downward slash he had expected, and had braced for, the fiery blade swept under the guard, tore the golden sword from his grip. Instead of hindering Mihdael’s actions, the long, dark robes concealed them. A foot hooked behind Michael’s ankle, upsetting him; and he fell flat on the floor, wings bent under him in awkward angles. Unarmed, the Archangel looked up into cold, blue eyes as the point of his own sword touched the curve of his collarbone lightly.


"Commendable," Michael said dryly, "Your strategy has improved… somewhat. You have learned from your past mistakes."


"I hope to be able to say the same of you, Commander. You find yourself where I was, the last we fought. You sought my destruction then; should I seek yours now?" There was no response from the Archangel, and Mihdael’s eyes lifted to the open arches towering over them. "Do you not hear it?"


The Archangel gave him a puzzled look, "Hear? I hear nothing."


The cool gaze lowered to him once again, "Exactly. Does not the very silence tell you all you need to know?"


"I do not understand your allegory..."


Mihdael interrupted impatiently, "Do you not wonder why God has kept silent? That He has not interfered with my actions--as He did with yours?"


Michael nodded slowly. "He knows…that you do not truly wish my destruction…" he said quietly.


The warrior stepped back, allowing Michael to regain his feet -- and his composure. The angel lifted the sword closer to his intent scrutiny, as if the glowing blade held the answers he sought. "Each time I hold this sword, it seems to...’recognize’ me. It reacts to me differently than it did in Lucifer’s hand, or Liftheon’s, or anyone else’s.


"Is it my soul and personality it is relating to... or is it your traits, your being that is within me, that it recognizes? And your own reactions, Commander; each time you see me with this one weapon, your entire being is distraught, and wary. You pull back, yet I have more of your attention and concern than at any other time.


"If any other Archangel reacted in such a fashion, I would say that he was afraid of me. Is that what you feel, Archangel; fear? Fear of your own unreasoning anger and contumacious temperament?"


Michael chose to ignore the last question, and focused instead on the one before it. "If thee knows that part of my being comprises your structure, then thee must know that part of Lucifer’s being is also within you, as well as God’s spirit. Perhaps it is Lucifer’s traits my sword recognizes, and therefore reacts to." He would keep the third condition to himself for the moment. If Lucifer had not revealed Mihdael’s ability to him, then perhaps it should remain unknown to him for the time being. At least until he was in a better frame of mind.


"If that were so, Commander, would you not be dead by now? Is that the cause of your distrust and apprehension? That I would hearken to Lucifer’s call; that I would innately follow his manipulations?


"Why would Lucifer even have need of me? As I understand it, your sword, alone, has the capability to slay all that exists, including the Heavenly Hosts. But...that is not completely true, is it?"


"No."


Mihdael nodded thoughtfully, as if Michael had confirmed what he had long suspected, "Lucifer had your sword, Commander, and the desire for your destruction-- yet he did not employ it against you himself. At the time, I thought it was because he would not go against a fellow Archangel, regardless of the Ha-Satan’s directive; or that he felt unsure of its use. He did not, however, hesitate to give it over to me.


"I admit that at that time my reasoning was slow, and I did not make the connection as quickly as I might have been expected to. Certainty not as quickly as Lucifer expected me to. Perhaps he thought my intent to cause you harm would be stronger than his own would; that my desire for revenge would access not only his traits, but also connect with your factious temperament as well. Such a combination could well empower the sword to complete destruction...


"Therefore, the sword and the intent must work in tandem - is that not so?"


The silvery eyes looked at him, and he smiled faintly. "Now, you know the true nature of the Sword of the Archangel. The sword--the sole possession of it alone --will not kill; the intent--the desire alone --for destruction will not access its power..." He let the sentence trail, not ready yet to reveal to Mihdael the third condition needed to unleash the sword’s destructive power.


Mihdael frowned, "I feel...something is missing. Lucifer had both the sword and the intent. Why did he urge me to wield the sword?"


"Lucifer wished for himself all that I had. As you stood next to me in battle, so he wanted that as well. He wanted to recruit you to his cause; he wanted to be certain that your intentions would align with his own. He hoped your own desire for revenge would be enough to have you do as he wished.


"And if you had allied yourself with him, and had done as he wanted, I would have died by your hand, and Lucifer would have had both you and the Sword of the Archangel to serve him. He would not actually carry out his own directives. He envisions himself more the ruler than the ruled."


"Yes, I am familiar with the concept."


Michael would have laughed, if he had not had a more pressing, and serious, matter to deal with. "I asked you here to explain my...involvement with your release from Satan’s domain."


"You need not explain. Your...actions were quite clear; there was no margin for misinterpretation."


"I was there without order or sanction; but I could not circumvent God’s covenant with Satan. I had to... deal with Lucifer for your release."


"I am surprised he made it so easy for you. And I am very surprised that he held to his side of the bargain. You must have threatened him with total destruction."


"Something like that. And, Mihdael, it was not easy for me..."


"No, I suppose not. He would find a way to force you to go against your own nature. There is no need for explanations, Commander. Having dealt with Evil on a first-hand basis, I know you had little choice in the matter. Lucifer intended to release me, but only on his terms; you were simply a means to an end -- which pleased him greatly. He would not expend effort or energy on physical coercion. Words are his arsenal, knowledge his ammunition; with these he can destroy and torment. He is expert at it: To turn truth to lie, and lie to truth...


"Lucifer has always had an… unique...ability to torment with words, whether truth or lie. He took great delight in tormenting me with words more truth than lie."


Michael approached him, placed a strong hand on his shoulder. He did not look up as Michael spoke to him, "He is the Master of Lies, of deceit and cunning. His words hold truth as the sieve holds water. Pay them no heed; hold to what you know to be true."


"He...undermined the very basis of my existence; gave me cause to doubt and question. Showed me that I was never a part of God’s Master Plan, never a part of anything that God had intended to be."


He looked up into Michael’s strong features, uncertain and anxious, "He told me...that I was not created with the first group of angels... or the second, or third. Not even, he said, with the last group. Is that true, Commander?"


The Archangel hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes."


Mihdael’s gaze lowered, "I...had never given any particular thought to my creation - only that God did create me.


"I gave no thought to the underlying reason for it."


"And Lucifer told you that reason?"


"Yes."


"Which was...?"


Mihdael looked up at him steadily, "That I was not created because God wanted me to exist--but to correct an apparent oversight. I do not even have that much individuality to call my own.


" You, Archangel, wanted a warrior less than yourself, but greater than those you already had...


"God never had any need of me.


"God never wanted anything of me.


"Only you... And I still do not know what you want of me."


He pulled away from Michael, and, when he continued his voice was hard, "Was it Lucifer’s friendship you envied; or was there something more that earned your disapproval?"


"He always had a disquieting influence over you. You tended to see his viewpoint, more often than not. And--"


"And you feared that a warrior--an angel that you specifically asked for --would side with Lucifer against his Creator?" His irritation increased with each word, until his voice was harsh with renewed anger, "Did you doubt me that much? Or... were you that jealous of Lucifer?"


"Lucifer had nothing - or any one - that I envied."


"Then, it comes back to the same thing, does it not? Me. Your made- to-order warrior who dared to exercise his right of Free Will; who dared to have a mind of his own."


"You are as I wished you to be."


"Am I? Is this what you wanted in a warrior...a second-in-command... a friend?


"I was intended to provide all that you found difficult to express. To be not so much a ‘companion-in-arms’, but to serve as your ‘buffer’, your sounding board, and, in a way, your conscience.


"You distanced yourself from the Heavenly Hosts, then yearned for their fellowship. Your every word, every thought, is law; but you required confirmation from one your equal. Your self-confidence is steadfast, unwavering; your decisions unquestioned... still, you doubted them enough to need a peer’s opinions.


"You knew that no other Angel or Archangel would ever doubt or question you. I do not believe you wanted censure so much as you wanted approval - from a supposedly impartial source. And then, you were not even certain of that.


"If Lucifer had not spoken when he did, I would have been enslaved to you."


"No, I did not want that--"


"Yet, Lucifer did speak first; you only supported his request."


Michael tried to keep his voice calm and reasonable, "Lucifer was always quick to take the initiative, quick to intercede, quick to draw attention to himself.


"But at that time, he stood next to God, and was highly favored. I believe now he saw your...possibilities, and sought to work them to his advantage. He, as I did, gave you what was of himself.


" He gave you aggressive power; power without benefit of conscience or guidance.


"He gave you his own pride of self, without regard to our Creator.


"And he gave you an argumentative nature. All that is willful, and proud, and negative in you is of him."


Mihdael stood firm, not backing down from Michael’s revelations. "And what of yourself did you impart to me? Traits not to make me stronger, but weaker … more tractable for you to deal with, to command.


"Did you strengthen my arm, sharpen my intellect? Did you hone my reflexes, refine my skills? Or did you instead give me kindness, gentleness, compassion, beyond what is required of an angel? Of what use are such traits to a Warrior, to anyone, other than yourself?"


"What I granted you was the best of my Self. It is what has made you the exemplary warrior that you are. Raw power without mercy, intellect without compassion, pride without charity… such would result in absolutism. If I had not balanced your nature, you would have been Lucifer’s duplicate--"


"Instead of yours? Is that why you doubted me? Did you fear that I was more of Lucifer than I was of God, or of you?


"I could never understand why you refused to listen to my words; why you would believe I was capable of such...treachery." He folded the wings tightly against his back, and walked over to the largest archway overlooking the golden city below. His voice grew quiet and resigned. "Did you come to regret my creation; did you seek then to correct it?


"You can only see in me that which was of Lucifer...


"…And Lucifer could only see that which was of you.


" Neither of you saw what was the most important: The part of me that was of God. The part of me that is truly my being; the part I chose to be. Not Lucifer, not you, but me ... I chose."


The blue-black wings extended, and Mihdael looked to the sky, face turned to the breeze. "Perhaps you can still correct it. If God will not change my nature to suit you, then just replace me with another angel. But next time, be more specific about what you want..."


The wings caught the gusting current, lifting Mihdael aloft; his voice trailed behind as he glided toward the ground, " If you know what you want."


***
Michael crossed to the window, watched as Mihdael’s gradual descent carried him from sight. "I have what I wanted.


"Or, I did...


"I had asked that he be a ‘different kind of warrior’:


" 'One who was my equal in courage, unafraid to question me when necessary' -- and that you have always done, even under the most ... adverse...conditions.


" ‘One who was my equal in loyalty, willing to accept my decisions even if he should disagree with them’ -- and how you disagreed, yet I knew you would do as I asked of you.


" ‘One whose integrity would not crumble under the weight of Evil, but stand strong and firm under any temptation’ -- and you were strong, my friend; you withstood torments and temptations that would have broken an Archangel - and cared not if none knew of your travails.


" ‘One whose strength of arm and spirit would not falter if I fell in battle, but stand to fight in my stead’ -- and you were there, always beside me; always there when I needed you, even if I didn’t know I needed you; always... my good right arm.


"It was that I asked of Him, and He granted my request.


"And never have I regretted it.


"No, Mihdael, I have never regretted your creation. I only regret that my own pride prevented me from asking for a companion first...


"And a warrior second..."



CONTINUED IN SECTION 3:"Angel Warriors - HeavenBound Section 3"