Chapter One________________________________________________________

Gabriel Raquia

Why are there so many locks on this?  I wonder, staring at the door behind which waited one of the seven—well, eight counting that shell of a body—fragments of Lucifer Morningstar.  I study the door for a while longer; it looked very much like the door of a human bank vault, round and thick and steel, but covered with all sorts of chains and locks such that it looked like nothing short of the Almighty Himself could open it.

Well, maybe this was the one that broke out and got Eve to eat the apple.  No matter…the Most High said to let them all out and bring them back up to Heaven so He could judge them again, and that is what I fully intend to do.

I still sigh heavily as I take the key the Creator had given me out of my pocket and hold it—as directed—up in front of the door.  The effect is immediate:  all the chains and locks fall away before the door slowly swings outward.  I can feel something stirring at the edge of my consciousness—it almost feels like someone is trying to bespeak me—but that’s ridiculous.  No one would do that without first asking permission.

I very cautiously step over the raised lip of metal and receive a slight shock when my foot discovers that the floor is half a foot further down than expected, but recover quickly.  The blackness within the chamber behind the door is so all-consuming that even my night-eyes—far better than any mere animal’s—can’t pick out the slightest detail of my surroundings.  I feel about on the walls to my right and left, but of course there is nothing to bring light to the room.

So I reach into my pocket and pull out a stone enchanted with Heaven’s Light and set it to float a few feet above my left shoulder.  It had been a gift from Lucifer before the War; I had never needed it before now.  

The soft, pure, white light shows me a human-looking boy, maybe six or seven years old, with hair as pure a white as my wings, crouching in the corner farthest away from me.  Not very far…the room is only four feet square, if that.  He has curled into the fetal position to make himself as small a target as he can.  What is he afraid of?  I wonder, watching as he very timidly peeps over his crossed arms to meet my gaze.

He seems to realize that I am not whatever he feared I was and very slowly uncurls, but in absolute silence.  In equal silence, I kneel down so that I can appear less intimidating, and gently take his hand.  He flinches, either in fear or in pain, but when nothing further happens, he calms again.  In as gentle a voice as I can manage, I tell him, “My name is Gabriel.  I’ve come to take you away from here.”

The effect is astonishing; he jerks away immediately and curls back up in his corner, staring at me in deep distrust.  I have no idea why; it makes me sad that he would.  Was he this young so many Ages ago when he was sentenced here?

I couldn’t really remember, but I was sure he hadn’t been.  I stay as I am, hoping that maybe he will overcome his fear and come back.  Again, I feel a light brushing against the outer surfaces of my mind, as though someone is trying to bespeak me, but I again dismiss the idea as impossible.  No one would do such a—

No hurt?  someone else asks, and I blink in total astonishment.  Why surprise, Gabriel?  the same someone asks, and only then do I understand that the voice is the boy’s.

How did he do that?  And why?  I’m right here…it wouldn’t take that much more energy to talk.  I wonder to myself, but when I finally see that his eyes are open wide in innocence and timid expectation, I force myself to answer.  I…didn’t think that you would be able to do that, Lucifer.  And because it’s very unusual for angels to mindspeak to each other when they’re so close, and it isn’t done without first asking permission by speaking out loud.

Sama.  We all Lucifer.  And mouthspeak—speak out loud—mean will hurt to us.  Is why took hand back, he replies immediately.

What on God’s green Earth and shining Heaven does he mean by ‘we all Lucifer’? I wonder, but I make an understanding pattern towards him, causing him to creep forward again and clasp my hand gently, but he does nothing else.  I smile encouragingly and stand up before leading him out of his prison cell.  The pace irritates me, but the snail-crawl is necessary, because Lucifer—Sama—stumbles every other step, dragging my arm down towards him.  I close my mind again and try to ignore the flickers of pain I can still catch from Sama’s mind, along with other flickers of thwarted desire, directed at someone or something named Belial.

Eventually, he asks where it is we’re going; instead of telling him ‘Lucifer Fragment Two’—as he is titled on the list Dobiel Araboth pressed into my hands right before I left God’s Palace—I describe his punishment:  to build without aid of any kind a temple to the Almighty in the middle of the harshest and coldest ice plain in all Hell.

Mephis, he states simply, and then is silent for the rest of the journey.