“I don’t understand why I did some of the things that I did.”
Pathiel-Sa seemed to come closer then, or at least the whiteness warmed once more, her presence wrapping me like a blanket around a shivering body. “Of course not, Doloriel. Because you did not mean to do what was wrong, and it was not clear to you at the time. Or did you put your own judgement above God’s?”
“I don’t know. Probably.” I had the strangest feeling of wanting to cry, but instead of tears from my eyes, something larger but even less solid wanted to burst out of my soul, wanted to free itself even if the escape killed me. “I wish everything had been different!”
“It can be. Heaven is forever, which means there is always enough time. But you must see your errors before you can do better. You must admit your mistakes before you can forgive yourself. The Highest has already forgiven you, but you still hold yourself in a prison of regret.”
That was exactly right. A prison of regret. This cold, white nothing was a prison of my own mistakes. And there were so many of them!
“You must think about it,” said Pathiel-Sa. The quiet sincerity of her tone as reassuring as sunny skies after a storm. “You must consider your mistakes. You must see them before you can escape them. Where did you step from the path of the Highest, Doloriel? Where did you stray from His love?”
So I told her. I brought out everything I could remember, from my first moments of doubt back at Camp Zion to the very last secret I had hidden from Heaven before Temuel gave me up. I told her about Caz, and about Sam and the Third Way, and about the lopsided war I had fought with Eligor the Horseman. I even described my journey to Hell itself. The only thing I didn’t tell her was that Anaita was behind so many of those things, even though I hadn’t always known it at the time. In fact, I didn’t mention Anaita or even think of her.
Only later did I realize how strange that was, since Anaita had been front and center in my troubles for a long time, and one way or another had been responsible for many of my worst crimes against Heaven. But as I poured out the contents of my soul to Pathiel-Sa, Anaita might never have existed.
As the Angel of Conciliation listened I described every single ugly thought I had entertained against Heaven, every petty act of defiance against my superiors. At times I wept with the horror of what I’d done. At other times I felt a fire of joy kindling deep inside me as I shed myself of these old, sick fears, of my countless petty crimes and insubordinations, the lies I had been forced to live, the fellow angels I had betrayed with my falseness. Pathiel-Sa barely spoke, but I could feel her quiet approval. When she asked me a question, I could feel that it came from love, which made me answer all the more fully. She loved me—the Highest loved me—and more than that, she understood me. She saw the good underneath the mistakes, the benevolent impulses that had turned bad, not through evil intent, but through clumsiness or bad luck. Pathiel-Sa loved me. I never wanted her to leave.
It seemed to take days, but at last I finished. The Angel of Conciliation thanked me and assured me for what might have been the thousandth time that God did indeed love me. Then she was gone and I was alone in the white—floating, calm, relieved. I had cleansed myself. I was empty, ready to be filled once more with God’s light and truth.
I am good, I told myself. Despite everything. She knows I am. And the Highest knows I am.
It was only later, after many more centuries surrounded by endless blankness, that I realized I had met Heaven’s torturer after all, and that I’d surrendered to her every last detail of my own certain damnation.
thirty-five:
gag order
THE NEXT time I surfaced, I felt more like my regular self. Which means that I was angry, because it was clear that I’d been dunked in angelic glamour, then skinned and scraped clean by the Angel of Conciliation. I’d given up my every secret, so whatever happened between now and my sentencing would be nothing but a formality. I’d thought I could stand up to the big boys and girls, but I’d been embarrassingly, painfully wrong. Any way you look at it, I was in a bad mood.
“Do You Know Where You Are, Advocate Doloriel?” a voice asked me. This one was male, but although familiar, I didn’t immediately recognize it. I might still have been a little groggy from too much white.
“It depends on where ‘here’ is,” I said. “If this is Carmel, I’m probably here for 17-Mile Drive and the expensive souvenirs, because I’ve never been much of a golfer.”
I had the satisfaction of a clear moment’s silence before he answered. “You’re In Heaven, Doloriel.”
“Okay, then I’m guessing it’s because of that ‘Kill everyone’ thing I put in the suggestion box.”
Whoever he was, I was confusing him. “Are You Disoriented?”
“No, I’m making jokes. You haven’t left me much else to do, seeing as I have no body, no way of leaving, and no option to discontinue this interview. Unless I do. Do I?”
“I Am Chamuel, Doloriel, Principality Of The Third Sphere And One Of Your Ephors. Do You Remember Now? You Are Here Because You Are To Be Judged. Are You Aware Of The Sins That Have Been Ascribed To Your Record?”
“Well, ‘pain in the ass’ is probably one of them, as you’ve noticed.” It wasn’t Chamuel I was mad at, particularly, not compared to Anaita or even the deceitful creature Pathiel-Sa, but I was furious that they had bled me dry of information so easily, that Heaven’s Ephorate had made me jump to their tune like rich folk teasing a lame beggar.
“These Are Serious Matters, Doloriel.” Chamuel’s mellow voice took on a subtle but distinctly disapproving tone. “You Have Been Charged With Grave Sins.”
Yeah, and already found guilty, I silently added. I knew this was all just for show. “Let me guess—Attempting to Overthrow the Order of the Universe? Questioning That Which Cannot be Questioned? Blowing my nose on my sleeve?” If I was going to get burned at the stake, I was at least determined to go out with, if not class—I know, way, way too late for that—at least some spunk. And I was determined to take a bunch of other angels down with me, Anaita first and foremost. Oh, I was going to make plenty of noise, believe me.
However, the next thing Chamuel said pretty much knocked all the grit out of me.
“You Must Answer These Accusations.” He sounded like Newscaster Delivers Sad News, which is even half a notch grimmer than Newscaster Contemplates Disturbing Trend. “You Are To Be Judged For Your Part In Creating The Place Called Kainos Or Third Way, Which Is A Terrible Crime Against The Highest, And For Numerous Interferences In The Work Of The Highest, Including Seducing Souls From Their Proper Path To Heaven And Hiding Them From The Heavenly Host In That Illegitimate Place. Do You Understand?”
Did I understand? Suddenly I didn’t understand anything. I’d confessed enough secrets to the Angel of Conciliation to condemn an army of saints, so why was I being bum-rushed for the Third Way, something I didn’t actually have much to do with, except after the fact? My only crime in that case was neglecting to arrest my friend Sam, who had been involved. And what about the things I’d really done? Falling in love with a high-ranking demon? Traveling to Hell, for goodness’ sake? Making deals with Grand Duke Eligor, one of the Bad Place’s major Ring-a-Ding Boys? My list of crimes would go on for a long time before it ever got to the stuff like Falsely Phoning in Sick and Failure to File Proper Reports, but I was still more guilty of those than I was of the Third Way bullshit. So what was going on?
“What rights do I have in this judgement?” I asked. I couldn’t see Chamuel—or anything, for that matter, except white and more white. I was getting a little bored with the view.
“Rights?” His voice was still calm and kind, but I thought I noticed a little edge in it. “That Is Not A Word That Applies Here, Doloriel. You Are A Piece Of The Highest. Does A Drop Of Water Ask What Rights It Has Against The Greater Ocean? Does The Cell Of A Mortal Body Ask What Rights It Has To Dispute The Needs Of The Entire Organism?”