glanced back toward Heaven.
“Keep it down; do you want someone to hear you?”
“I no longer care.”
“That much is obvious. God is our creator, Biqa, the creator of all things. His will, His plan, must be done.”
“His future is built on the bones of the past. His Heaven is being constructed from the husks of those dead things—you know that, don’t you? Our homes are the corpses of those things in the Darkness. His precious Earth is being built of the same cadaverous matter as well.
“His will is not infallible, His dominion not absolute. He didn’t create them, did He?”
“Most of us doubt they are truly alive; they may well be some kind of parasitic canker on the walls of eternity. Why does it matter?”
“They fight too well, too craftily, too savagely to be unaware,” Biqa said. “They fight to win, to survive, and that scares Him.”
“Silence!” Aputel cringed awaiting the blistering presence of the Almighty, but it did not come. “You speak blasphemy! The Lord fears nothing.”
“Then why did He banish the Darkness? Why did He make us? Why does He plan to create an entire universe of doppelgangers to worship Him?”
Aputel was silent. His own annoying concerns on the ride out returned to him, but he kept his own counsel.
Biqa nodded. “He was afraid of being alone. A natural enough fear, one we can all understand, surely. But after He was no longer alone He grew fearful of losing control of it all, of no longer being the one whose thoughts and feelings, moods and whims mattered the most in the entire cosmos. He has become obsessed with the Voidlings—they represent something He cannot control and didn’t create. And for that crime, they must all be obliterated so that His glorious new universe may proceed along, unhindered.”
“But, but they are so, so unnatural,” Aputel said. “I mean they hate, us, Biqa—surely we have as much right to endure, our way to endure, as they do. Surely.”
Biqa smiled, a sad, fleeting thing. “I hate them too. I’ve seen them rip apart my brethren, my friends, and feast on their ichor, like wine. No, Aputel, we are invested now. It’s war. I just blame Him for making us to fight and suffer and die in His place; I blame Him for creating more and more layers of control and isolation between Himself and those He creates, those He claims to love.”
“Have care, Biqa; you again tempt His anger!”
The dark angel shrugged and turned back to the yawning eternal night.
“Mark my words, one day it will be His undoing. But today, I do my duty. I know my place and I shall serve Him and do His bidding. However, in this commission I shall not act with the zeal He breathed into us. I’ve had my fill of war.”
“You would do well to be careful,” Aputel said gently. “Others know of your disquiet. Some say you are correct; others call you dangerous and think the Almighty should punish you. Even Lucifer has been heard speaking of the merit of your arguments.”
“Sharp one, that Lucifer. I see why he is God’s most beloved. Best watch himself, though, if he wants to stay at the head of the table. No, my friend, I have no desire to make my concerns a cause, or my misgivings a revolt. I’m loyal and I always shall be—I give you my oath.” The angel loosened his blade in its scabbard. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Let us be about our duty, my friend,” Aputel said eagerly, hoping to infect his dark companion with some enthusiasm for the task to come.
The two angels turned their mounts in the direction of the battle when the Darkness began to roil. Great nebulas of dirty light bubbled up through the oily infinity. A sound vomited from the depths of the Darkness. It was unlike anything either of them had ever heard. The closest approximation to its timbre and its scope was the voice of the Almighty, singing. But this was no hymn; it was a dirge. In its annihilating cadence there was the menace of retribution, of an awful reckoning, an
“Keep it down; do you want someone to hear you?”
“I no longer care.”
“That much is obvious. God is our creator, Biqa, the creator of all things. His will, His plan, must be done.”
“His future is built on the bones of the past. His Heaven is being constructed from the husks of those dead things—you know that, don’t you? Our homes are the corpses of those things in the Darkness. His precious Earth is being built of the same cadaverous matter as well.
“His will is not infallible, His dominion not absolute. He didn’t create them, did He?”
“Most of us doubt they are truly alive; they may well be some kind of parasitic canker on the walls of eternity. Why does it matter?”
“They fight too well, too craftily, too savagely to be unaware,” Biqa said. “They fight to win, to survive, and that scares Him.”
“Silence!” Aputel cringed awaiting the blistering presence of the Almighty, but it did not come. “You speak blasphemy! The Lord fears nothing.”
“Then why did He banish the Darkness? Why did He make us? Why does He plan to create an entire universe of doppelgangers to worship Him?”
Aputel was silent. His own annoying concerns on the ride out returned to him, but he kept his own counsel.
Biqa nodded. “He was afraid of being alone. A natural enough fear, one we can all understand, surely. But after He was no longer alone He grew fearful of losing control of it all, of no longer being the one whose thoughts and feelings, moods and whims mattered the most in the entire cosmos. He has become obsessed with the Voidlings—they represent something He cannot control and didn’t create. And for that crime, they must all be obliterated so that His glorious new universe may proceed along, unhindered.”
“But, but they are so, so unnatural,” Aputel said. “I mean they hate, us, Biqa—surely we have as much right to endure, our way to endure, as they do. Surely.”
Biqa smiled, a sad, fleeting thing. “I hate them too. I’ve seen them rip apart my brethren, my friends, and feast on their ichor, like wine. No, Aputel, we are invested now. It’s war. I just blame Him for making us to fight and suffer and die in His place; I blame Him for creating more and more layers of control and isolation between Himself and those He creates, those He claims to love.”
“Have care, Biqa; you again tempt His anger!”
The dark angel shrugged and turned back to the yawning eternal night.
“Mark my words, one day it will be His undoing. But today, I do my duty. I know my place and I shall serve Him and do His bidding. However, in this commission I shall not act with the zeal He breathed into us. I’ve had my fill of war.”
“You would do well to be careful,” Aputel said gently. “Others know of your disquiet. Some say you are correct; others call you dangerous and think the Almighty should punish you. Even Lucifer has been heard speaking of the merit of your arguments.”
“Sharp one, that Lucifer. I see why he is God’s most beloved. Best watch himself, though, if he wants to stay at the head of the table. No, my friend, I have no desire to make my concerns a cause, or my misgivings a revolt. I’m loyal and I always shall be—I give you my oath.” The angel loosened his blade in its scabbard. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Let us be about our duty, my friend,” Aputel said eagerly, hoping to infect his dark companion with some enthusiasm for the task to come.
The two angels turned their mounts in the direction of the battle when the Darkness began to roil. Great nebulas of dirty light bubbled up through the oily infinity. A sound vomited from the depths of the Darkness. It was unlike anything either of them had ever heard. The closest approximation to its timbre and its scope was the voice of the Almighty, singing. But this was no hymn; it was a dirge. In its annihilating cadence there was the menace of retribution, of an awful reckoning, an
Similar Books
