Archangels: Gods of the North

Copyright © 2017 Eyitemi Egwuenu.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-7795-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-7797-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-7796-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017905041

Balboa Press rev. date: 04/26/2017

Contents

Author’s Notes

Part 1 The North

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Part 2 Agnus Dei

Chapter 17

Part 3 Shiloh Comes

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Gabriel

Epilogue

Appendix

Glossary

By The Same Author

Author Profile

When these lids close in the sleep of the blessed,

When this spark within flies back to the Light from which it came,

When limbs return to dust,

When thoughts become one with the Wind;

When this earthly robe is shed,

When immortality calls …

When The North trembles with the songs of The Ten Thousand,

And The Throne blazes with The Host of the Seraphim,

When Michael thunders with joy,

When Gabriel nods with pride at the homecoming of the Scribe,

May the spark have set the world on fire,

May the limbs have fulfilled their destiny,

May the thoughts have swayed the race of men;

May I not have lived in vain …

May I not have lived in vain.

–- Eyitemi Egwuenu

For my King! … For The North!

I walk with the Angels

Author’s Notes

T raditionally, the Christian Angelic hierarchy categorises Angelic Beings into nine separate Orders: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels, and Angels . While there may be biblical passages that allude to some of these Orders, there is no conclusive biblical basis for this rigid classification. In the traditional categorisation, Archangels are considered a distinct class of Angelic Beings. I do not agree with this classification, as I find the definition too narrow.

The term, Archangel, is from the Greek, Archangelos, which means Chief-Angel. Therefore, any Angel who belongs to a high-ranking Angelic Order could be an Archangel. In order words, there are Archangels, amongst the Seraphim, Cherubim, Dominions, Thrones, Dominions, or Powers. That said, there is no certain way to place Angels into strict categories.

In the telling of this story I have used the name, Immanuel, for the pre-incarnate Jesus Christ, and Elohim, for the name of God.

– Eyitemi Egwuenu

For Geraldine Osatohanmwen Egwuenu

My Earth-Angel

Part 1

The North

"The joy of the whole Earth,

is Mount Zion on the sides of The North,

the city of the great King"

Psalm 48:2

I will exalt my Throne above the stars of God; I will also sit on the mount of the congregation on the farthest sides of The North.

Isaiah 14:13

ALL CREATION

The Dateless Past

Prologue

I t appeared as a speck of white in the distance. It grew quickly. From a dot of light, it fanned out, and expanded into a huge cloud. The cloud wasn’t static, and it didn’t look calm either; it was a Whirlwind raging with white fire. The intensity of its blaze was as fierce as the sun, and as turbulent as a tempest. This was no ordinary storm. This was the boisterous, moving front of a S ahar .

A Sahar is a Whirlwind ridden by Angels. It consisted of seven concentric rings of light. These luminous rings could telescope into a huge inverted cone-shaped structure. When all seven rings spun, usually at immense speeds, they blurred into one another. The faster the rings spun the bigger the Sahar became. Angels could stand on the broad base of the cone with the apex pointed downwards. Although by default, Sahars are roughly cone shaped, they could take on any conformation at the will of the rider. The speed with which a Sahar travelled, the height to which it soared, and its manoeuvrability were all determined by how much the riding Angel could power it with his aura. The most powerful Angels, at the peak of their auras, could inflame Sahars to the size of mountains.

This Sahar charged through the dark clouds. The air around it swirled and tumbled with violent currents churning in its wake. Its rider surged with the currents; a figure of light at the helm of a violent windstorm. The rear end of his Sahar was raised high behind him like the crest of a massive sea wave. Momentarily, he paused. He hovered in the sky. Suddenly, he diverted the roiling rage of the Sahar beneath him towards The North.

His face was grave. Stern.

The Whirlwind responded to the prodding of his will. It cut across the pale, scarlet backdrop of the sky. It carried him swiftly towards his destination. He cast quick glances about him. Danger was all around him. Death stretched out in every direction he looked.

Destruction ruled.

Death was alive!

He looked away from the terror and dread of his surroundings. As bad as it was, it could get worse. If Life was to rule this realm again, he must hurry. He must focus. He must get to The North. His eyes were vibrant with the energy of a lustrous flame. He leaned forward slightly and the huge gust gained in speed; it sliced through the ether as seven roaring rings of light flew towards their mark. He ignored the chaos that was raging across the sky. A stream of X-shaped projectiles of light, called Kyros, flew in his direction, – twenty in number. He guided the Whirlwind expertly, easily evading them. He rose high into the ether, and in one sweeping glance took in the tattered sky as he observed the vista of this vast theatre of war. Quickly, he appraised the endless field made desolate from slaughter. He could not believe the fury and the relentless violence that was unfolding around him. He dove down, zipped skilfully around bolts of lightning, pulses of exploding auras, and a sea of flashing swords. This horrendous display of events only heightened his resolve.

He must get to The North!

He shifted his attention to his destination again, – to the Mounts of the Congregation. He was not far off now from the seat of power in the Heavenlies. In the distance was the vague outline of the Mounts; a huge curtain of mist blanketed their peaks.

Beneath the mist, at the base of the mountains, across the immense flat plains, warring Angels did violence to one another. Lightning sizzled and scorched the plains, thunder crashed and split the ether, streams of red and blue mists, – the ominous remnants of decimated Angels, rose to the clouds, shrouding the mountains.

His eyes flashed again, and the Sahar beneath him accelerated. It picked up pace. It travelled faster still. His gaze did not waver. They were fixed on The Throne of Elohim. But the same could not be said of his thoughts; his mind was in another place, – in some distant precinct, – in some faraway space, some lonely outpost of his subconscious, haunted by images he would gladly forget, if he could.

He had seen Darkness and Fear. He had encountered Desolation and Pain. He had witnessed the birth of a strange, abominable entity called Death. The wellsprings of Chaos were all around him. Ruin and Despair strangled the abode of the Sons of God, and Darkness encircled the Heavenlies in an unyielding grip. Evil had made its way into their realm. This was the end of all things as he knew it.

What was to become of their world?

How would Creation recover from this fall?

What fate lay ahead for the race of Angels?

The Mounts loomed larger, and the clouds looked angrier as he approached them. Ferocious and unrelenting, the area around The Throne was blistering with the rage and rampage of warring Angels. Winged streaks of light punctuated blue and red currents of mist as the sons of light on both sides of the conflict met their end. He stayed the course towards his mark. A bolt of lightning suddenly flashed in his direction. He increased the glow of his aura, sending out waves of pulsing light. His aura repelled the lethal bolt. The lightning bounced harmlessly away. He ducked to avoid the deadly waves of an Aura-pulse expanding towards him, and parried a flying Kyros to a nearby assailant severing his head from his torso. The separated head and torso of the unlucky Angel vanished quickly in a red vapour. The red mist joined the fog-filled sky.

As he drew closer, the cloud shrouding the mountain peaks thickened, and the nimbus took on a dark hue, plunging the Mounts in Darkness.

Evil, unknown to their realm, had seized The North and aimed to subdue The Throne of Elohim.

The Throne still shone in glory but Darkness formed a thick circular wall around it. The shadows suffused the plains, and spread out for miles around the Mounts.

He felt he was close enough, – he could wait no longer. In one swift move he leapt off his Sahar into the air. The unridden Whirlwind morphed instantaneously into seven distinct concentric rings of light. Gradually, the luminous rings faded from view. There was an explosion followed by a blinding radiance, as two monstrous wings of light flared out with violent energy from behind him. Descending rapidly, the wings bore him through the air the rest of the way to the vicinity of The Throne. He landed nimbly on the lush plain. The massive wall of Darkness was in front of him. He raised his right arm, and immediately, a sword of light flashed in his hand. He had a good bit of ground to cover, and an army of relentless adversaries to fight his way through to get to the wall, and then, The Throne.

Memories came flooding back to his mind.

Memories of his battle at the Pethak, the portal to the physical dimension of Creation. Memories of violence, and butchery and death, both in the Heavenlies and beyond to the physical worlds of the universe. The recollection did not give him pleasure. The thought of brother falling upon brother in violence revolted him. A pang of remorse tore through his spirit. It was an abomination, – an act that galled him but which he could not forget, and from which he could not turn away.

It had to be done.

Here at The Throne, he must kill his brothers.

He must do harm to those he had for aeons embraced in love. He must add to the violence if he must find peace. He must purchase peace at the price of war. His heart sank at the lives he had already taken. He mourned silently for brothers and friends he had decimated to quell an insurrection. He shuddered in disgust.

It had to be done!

The seeds of sedition had taken root and its malignant fruits had ripened to bursting. Princes of The North were deserting their Lord; the fallen Cherub who walked the path of the Stones of Fire now commanded the loyalty of an increasing horde that was determined to bind Creation in Darkness.

He had no reference frame with which to gauge the magnitude of this tragedy; no measure to appraise this war in Heaven. He had known only order. He had known only a tranquil peace. Until now!

Now, Chaos reigned. A dark kingdom had arisen, and The Shining One led it. From every corner of Creation, the reports were the same:

Death was born!

Discord flourished!

And the Sons of God had abandoned their King!

It was beyond belief; it was beyond anything he could have imagined. How could the pure in heart know so much corruption? How could the Sons of Light harbour so much Darkness? How have the Sons of God been inflamed by the Serpent’s venom?

The dread depths of Evil spread across the abode of God and His Creation. A nameless fear assailed the hearts of the Angels. The First-Prince, The Shining One, had vacated his estate. The leading light of all Creation was blighted, set on a path of rebellion. He, who was created from the purest essence of the Morning had forsaken his birthright, choosing instead to curse the name of Elohim and to wage war against his brothers. No one could have imagined this. No one could have believed that Angels cloaked in light could have hearts draped in darkness. No one could have envisaged that members of an eternal brotherhood could be at swords-drawn to do one another harm.

Evil was unshackled and the full expression of its terror was unleashed. Rebellion’s door was opened and there was no shutting it. From the realms of the spirits to the worlds of the physical, from the ends of the Heavenlies to the farthest moving boundaries of Creation, battle lines had been drawn and alliances had been made. Elohim was being forsaken. The clamour of Chaos was on the ascendancy. Conflicts erupted at every turn, exploding with all the mayhem and devastation of Angels at arms. Caught in the hot, sweaty grip of terror, only the courage of the faithful could keep The North from falling.

He must kill his brothers!

His spirit cringed at the thought of the brutal deeds he must do here, – here at the sacred Mounts of The North, if the Heavenlies was to live through this onslaught, – if the Heavenlies must survive this rebellion of The Third.

For the briefest of moments, he bowed his head to calm his thoughts.

He sighed.

He repeated the words to rouse his heavy spirit.

"I stand on the field of battle.

Darkness surrounds me.

My sword, a gleaming edge,

In the swirl of the Dark Mist.

My brothers rage – they war!

Thousands have fallen,

Thousands yet will fall.

I am the light.

I am the guardian.

I am the Archangel.

I am … Michael!"

Chapter 1

"I mma nuel!"

Almost a whisper. Almost the thinnest slice of a hush. The voice trilled, it rippled its brooding energy back on itself. The energy wave spiralled into a tight coil; turning, churning, slowly at first, then faster. It picked up more pace, it accelerated inwards, into an infinitesimal miniscule of overcrowded Nothingness. A Singularity. A Node.

Immanuel!

The voice was stronger this time. It was more assertive. The timbre was more than an exhaled breath in this Place that was not a place, and in this Time that was not time.

In this unknowable Place-Time, in this non-temporal null-space, there was a Presence, – A Mind. And that Mind was stirring in a Cloud around the Node.

I Am You. A voice said from within the Cloud.

You Are Us. Another replied.

We Are One. A third added.

The Node shrank even more, crushing its essence into a tightened point of emptiness. The Cloud swirled around the Node, glowing brighter as it twirled in complex patterns around the shrinking Singularity.

Holy! Holy! Holy! All three voices called together from within the Cloud.

Slowly, the spinning Cloud stopped. A tranquil calm followed. All was quiet. No sound. No motion. Just a dark, dense Node cloistered in the Cloud. Suddenly, the Node exploded in a gigantic ball of light. The Sphere of light expanded in all directions. It was red-green at its core and blue-white at its edge. It increased in volume quickly and evenly, accelerating as it raced outwards, pushing against the Nothingness. The Cloud churned in the midst of the Sphere. It shot out cylindrical plumes from the core in all directions. Enormous jets of energy poured out from the plumes; they flashed through the yawning void and galloped apace with the expanding space. The blue-white margin of the Sphere crackled with energy – flashes and statics sizzled like lightning bolts, their fiery rays rolling unabated as the Node pushed out a fabric of newly-created Space.

Immanuel!

The expanding Sphere accelerated even faster, it surged outwards with unbelievable speed, – faster than light, faster than thought, – more powerfully than both.

The edge of the Inflated Ball now burned a fiery indigo, then it switched swiftly to a blazing violet. The Core pulsated, bleached to a scorching white.

The Cloud was now a storm. The Node was its centre.

Limbs of lightning sprang from the Node. Streaks of light pierced through the bubble, travelling past the expanding Sphere. Their tips were like tongues, – they licked the boundary of the Sphere and recoiled like whips back to the centre. Back to the Node.

From the midst of the storm, Three Forms emerged. Their faces and frames were partially hidden by the fiery Cloud. The Cloud churned beneath them as They rode the shafts of lightning and Their voices roared with the thunderbolt. The Cloud spun like a cyclone around the Three Forms; They were obscured completely by countless furnaces of leaping fire strewn along the spiral arms of the Cloud. The billows pooled and twisted; columns of rainbows sprung from massive volleys of cosmic surf, and patches of incandescence stretched out into innumerable tendrils of light.

Echad!

A voice, fiercer, and louder than the thunder roared from within the Cloud.

The fury of the nimbus splayed out in a splash of brilliant colours. The Three Forms burst forth again through the shower of variegated light, but this time as a Single Form. They surged above the boisterous waves, and They rolled with the thunder.

There was another explosion, – there was another splash of kaleidoscopic light in its wake. And again, They were Three.

One moment, They were Three. And the next, They were One.

A Triad funnelled into One.

The One, melted into Three.

A shard of light pierced the Cloud and unzipped the mysterious bubble of gas. The vent created in the bubble unleashed a flood of cosmic dust as the Thrice-Holy One criss-crossed the vast expanse of endless space.

Echad! … The One! The voice called out again.

The Cloud sizzled, and exploded again. It spewed a spray of countless particles. The Triune stood within the shower of living lustrous fragments. Their hands were interlocked with one another.

I Am You.

You Are Us.

We Are … Echad!

He remembered the Void from which he came. Across the immensity of the aeons, the memory had not faded. They had remained as vivid as the very first moment when he had become conscious of himself, and of The One.

He had come out of Nothingness in a splash of glory. He was born in an explosion, in a burst of splendour. He streaked out of the Void in an eruption of blue-white light. As he moved swiftly through the air, extruded from the Void, his right arm was stretched out above him, and his left arm was by his side. His eyes burned with fiery intensity as these words thundered from his lips, echoing throughout Creation,

"I am Michael, Prince of The One. Commander of the Hosts of the Heavenlies!"

Light and static hissed around him as he hung there in the ether of the Heavenlies. He took in the splendour around him. He basked in the magnificence of this strange realm. He had no memory of a time before now, no recollection of any other place before here.

He allowed his eyes to roam the breathtaking panorama of this new reality into which he had suddenly been thrust. The ambience of his surrounding permeated his being. He soaked in the majesty and the beauty. Everywhere he looked, everywhere for as far as his vision could probe, was sheer brilliance and sublime grandeur; it was endless stretches of light and sky, … glory and resplendence.

He felt as one with this realm. He sensed he had always been here. His instincts suggested, strongly, that this was his home.

His attention was drawn to a slight vibration on his back. He felt a slight ripple down his torso. He cast a glance behind him to determine its source. He saw six broad shafts of light protruding from his back. These broad wings of light came out slowly at first, and then extended outwards rapidly till the combined span of each pair was four times his height. He moved his shoulders, and watched with fascination as the shafts of light responded to the subtlest command of his gestures. Swiftly, he lifted his arms sideways, his face upturned to the sky, and immediately, the bright pinions rose high in the ether, vertically above him as six immense wings of living light.

He heard his name.

Not audibly. There was no sound in the air except for the slight hum of the breeze punctuated by short trills of bird-songs. The sound of his name was not in the air, but intuitively, he sensed that someone, or something, called his name. He looked around him again. There was no one else in sight. Beauty and glory was around him on every side, but he saw no one else. One spectacle stood out among all others: stretching far beyond what he could see in the distance, there was an endless swirl of energy that danced in strings of light, and ripples of the ether. In the middle of this dance of energy, was a huge Column of Light. Gradually, he found his bearing, and sensed that the call came from the huge Column of Light that stood in The North.

Like a flash of lightning he was gone, – his wings propelled him at great speed as he flew towards his call. He soared across the breathtaking vastness of this realm. The whirls of light in the air curved around him in a jetstream. Down below, from that height, he could see plains of lush fields of green and lavender, there were shimmering rivers and lakes, and waterfalls of liquid light. Trees dotted the expanse, their lithe stems swayed gracefully in the ethereal winds. It was a panoramic display of one splendour after another as he continued on his excursion across this realm of the wondrous.

Not everything in the Heavenlies was made of gold. That was a common misrepresentation of this divine realm. It was a human failing to perceive the shadow and not the reality. It was a misguided fancy to think that the castle-like structures, the roads and every object in this eternal realm was made of solid or transparent gold. Elohim was far more imaginative than that. Why would He, who created an infinitude of worlds in all their variegated wonder, create His own dwelling place by a single monolithic base metal such as gold? Why would the Heavenlies be empty of the organic beauty of trees, birds or flowers, or, if they were present, be made of gold? A golden tree was not