Iris Harper

The Betrayal

My dear demon,

It may seem a peculiar kind of fancy for a prey to leave messages to his hunter, and indeed I acknowledge it is. But I know you will read it, for you are what you are, and you will not refuse wilfully given information about your quarry. It is perhaps true that it will be this letter, or perhaps another, future one, that will lead to my demise. But it is a chance I am willing to take, for frankly, we both know I will not run long now anyway.

Perhaps you are wondering why I am running at all if there is no hope. It merely prolongs the agony of fear, despair and self-pity: Of that you are right, but as the protagonist of the first story I am going to tell you learned for himself, life is not easy to let go of.

But forgive me: I am getting ahead of myself. Have you ever heard of Scheherazade, the Persian queen who artfully saved her life by telling a cruel man one thousand and one tales? I am no Scheherazade, and no queen, and at any rate she did not exist. I am no great storyteller, no wordsmith or a cunning woman. And my hope in enchanting your frozen heart enough for you to feel love for me is impossible, I do know that. My life will not be spared because of my tales. But nevertheless, tales are what I am going to tell you: tales of truth, if you will believe them. If not my life, then perhaps I will gain the small comfort of a measure of pity in your eyes when you finally catch up with me. But because I know this is all I can hope for, I will not, like Scheherazade, break off stories in the middle to continue them another time; there might be no other time.

With those needed explanations and without further ado, I will launch myself into the telling of my first tale, the one of the fall of Lucifer.

Oh, it is a tale familiar enough to you and yours, I am sure, just as it is much known in Heaven. But has it never struck you, my dear demon hunter, that the stories we know, and the stories the humans have turned into myths, differ so widely? Our charges believe that Lucifer was an Archangel who contrived to make his throne higher than the clouds over the earth and resemble the highest of powers, and for this great crime he, and the host of angels loyal to him, were cast down into the abyss. We, on the other hand, know that there was no dramatic casting down, no exit worthy of myths. That the archangels among themselves merely decided who takes which role, and Lucifer, being one of the mightiest, assumed the difficult task of leading the other side. Yet, if that were true, then why is there so much bitterness between our two sides, and what led to the Great War that almost shattered this world? Why would a simple agreement like the one we believe to have happened lead to such devastating anger and hate?

Because it is a lie, that is why. Both versions contain but a grain of the truth, yet in effect, they are a lie. Time twisted and convoluted a rather simpler story, and turned it into myths that all the sides could handle-the myth of the fall for humanity, and the myth of friendship gone wrong for us. But what happened in fact...

It all begins with the Valkyries, at the time when they still comprised the better part of the angel legions. It is now often attempted to deny their sibling connection to what today we perceive as the seraphim, and I have heard it claimed that they never were proper angels, since all angels are male. But why would all angels be male, when demons, your kind, are both sexes? Is the male gender in some way holier, or more supernatural, or stronger than the female one? Indeed, the famed prowess and devotion of the Valkyries proves this assumption to be false. No, the reason why angels nowadays are only of one kind is to be found within two actions we consider all too human: love and betrayal.

The Valkyries are and always were fierce warriors and defenders. Often they were called shield maidens, for this is what they were in Heaven: the shield and sword that defended it and the world. Their battle prowess was legendary, their loyalty and fighting spirit unshakeable, their decisiveness in the face of evil undoubted. Additionally, they possessed something much more fearsome and feminine that turned them from merely useful, to extremely dangerous-a cunning of action in the fray and an unrelenting fierceness. None of this would have been a problem in and of itself, however, had it not been for the fact that, despite the pretence of equality among all the heavenly host, only one Valkyrie had ever been granted the rank of Archangel. Humanity cannot claim any authorship in the idea of gender inequality, I fear, for it originated in Heaven even before humanity was born. Valkyries were all too aware of the slight, and while they did tolerate it, they also were fiercely loyal to the one in their ranks who represented them: Archangel Brynhildr, the Light of Battle. Oh, of course the Valkyries had other commanders, and in theory they answered to all Archangels, but only a Valkyrie could really command the respect and love of the Valkyries. All the power of the shield maidens resided in the hands of Brynhildr.

You can imagine, I gather, how much this situation was to the liking of the Archangels. They were much more numerous in the Echelon of Heavenly Power, overwhelmingly numerous, in fact, but the one female that had sneaked amongst them held all but a tiny sliver of the military power.

And much like humans, when angels feel threatened they defend themselves in any way they find, including such that are overwhelmingly unwise and destructive. You could say that they should have merely raised more Valkyries to the rank of Archangel, merely ensured that both the slight to their pride, and the concentration of their loyalty, is done away with. But such a solution was even more distasteful to the archangels than the idea of Brynhildr holding all the power, I fear. They begrudged her presence among them, and the option of allowing even more Valkyries in the highest of ranks was not one to be considered. No, the archangels only saw one way to defend themselves from the perceived danger of Brynhildr and her Legions. Unbeknownst to their sisters, a plan was hatched, a plan so ugly and monstrous, that it is nowadays a taboo to even be remembered: an elimination plan.

It is surmised, as much as the topic is ever mentioned, in whispers and in secret, that there were a few who suggested that perhaps just eliminating Brynhildr would be enough. Do not doubt, however, that even they had no higher motives for this proposed mercy, than the mere possession of weak hearts and stomachs that turned at the idea of carnage on such scale at their doors. Nevertheless, had they been the majority, perhaps some of the consequences could have been avoided, but that was not to be. Most had no doubt the destruction of Valkyrie leader would hatch nothing but the desire for revenge in the hearts of those so loyal to her. And I would venture the guess that they were not far off the mark. Nevertheless, the archangels were not above using the death of their leader to demoralise their sisters-in-arms and soon-to-be enemies, for they needed every advantage they could gain, and seemed to have no qualms seizing each. The plan was, therefore, to assassinate Brynhildr at the offset of the attack, to seed disorganisation and confusion in the ranks of the Valkyries.

And I believe the plan would have worked perfectly, much like the destruction of the Knights Templar did, eons later (another despicable idea which had its origins with the highest and holiest among us), had the archangels not been too sure of themselves to notice the hesitation of one of the most powerful in their ranks. It is true, I believe, that Brynhildr and Lucifer were lovers, as it was later speculated, for what other reason did they have to keep their close friendship a secret? And there is little doubt, from what ensued and how things turned out, that indeed the closest friendship had connected those two inexorably. It was this loyalty to what his brothers perceived as a danger, which divided his mind and made him restless for weeks as the fateful moment approached. Lucifer, the Betrayer, had to choose which of his friends to betray. But in the end, in all but the last possible moment, he chose.

When the Archangels and the other seraphim came to their sudden attack, they found the Valkyries ready for battle. It is a testament to the shield maidens' discipline and training that with very little warning they mounted a defence so impressive and deadly. Betrayed, infuriated, they gave their all in this fight against their own brothers, in this first ever civil war. The assassination attempt on Brynhildr had failed, naturally, and she was in the forefront of the battle, dealing death with the three-pronged spear and shield that were the Valkyries' signature weapon. Many fell under her wrath, and she was terrible and beautiful to behold this last night of her life. Yes, last, for before the night of the betrayal, the night that used to be known in the annals as The First War before it was forgotten, was out, Brynhildr fell to one of the many Kefara blades aimed at her heart. The archangels, in their persistent conceit, thought this to be the only possible outcome of the battle, thought that Brynhildr's death would end the bloodshed. But instead, as Brynhildr fell among blood and fire, as her shriek pierced the hearts of those who loved her and those who followed her, another leader arose, a leader with the fire of anger in his heart.

It was Lucifer who led the Valkyries to victory. It was he who took the spear from the bloodied corpse of his beloved, and he who, in blind rage, slew friend and foe without discernment. This terrible night Heaven lost many angels and Valkyries to death, but the most terrible loss, the one that would mark our future forever, was the loss of Lucifer. He fell to no blade, took no wound and no bruise, but he was lost nevertheless: to pain, to love, and guilt. When the battle itself was won, it was the Valkyries who had to restrain him, and he wounded some before they could. His anger had not spent itself, would never again spend itself, and he wanted what he named justice, but was in fact revenge. Both were denied to him, however, for no one had seen who had wielded the blade that had sapped the life of Brynhildr, and even angry as they are, the Valkyries would not put all angels to the sword. They had seen enough blood, death, and betrayal for one night.

A peace treaty, the first peace treaty ever, was drawn up. The Valkyries would leave Heaven and seek a path of their own. They severed all ties to their former home and would never again use the title of an angel. As a symbolic gesture of their "fall," the Valkyries one by one severed their wings with the sword that had slain their leader, and of them they built a path of blood and feathers to the Gates of Heaven. Those who saw the crimson, mangled wings on the ground, who saw the tall, beautiful warriors tread on them with contempt and anger as they followed Eir, Brynhildr's lieutenant, out of the Gates, had no doubt that all ties between the Valkyries and the Angels were severed that night, that any hope of reconciliation and peace died with the last breath of Brynhildr. And although ages have passed, I suspect even today the Valkyries are not done with Heaven, and with the great wrong that had been done to them. The role they played later on, in the Great War and the creation of the treaties, proves if nothing else that they are working on their own agenda and I have little doubt this agenda still has something to do with Brynhildr and the hundreds of Valkyries who died during those terrible few hours, ages ago. Immortals do not forgive and do not forget.

The angels, on the other hand, were left with no choice but to turn back to their defiled home and attempt to rebuild it. The coming of the Children (the humans) was soon approaching and the shepherds had to be ready to take care of them. Whether they harboured guilt and regret at the atrocities they had committed, I do not know, but I can only hope they did and still do.

As for Lucifer, he took no part in any of those proceedings. Grief and pain consumed him, and guilt tore his soul to pieces. Only Eir's attempt to part him with Brynhildr's bloody spear stirred him into any action, and this was a fury terrible to behold. His rage was without direction, he wanted no friends and compassion, and revenge was denied to him. He turned away from brother and sister alike, and only those closest and most fiercely loyal to him remained by his side, both Valkyries and angels. The main host of the Valkyries left without asking him to come with them, but they made it clear that would he or any of those that remained by him be hurt, they would come back to Heaven and this time they would not leave until all angels or all Valkyries were dead. The angels, however, could not have him and Brynhildr's spear among them, for they knew all too well that he would never again be one of them, never again trust them or be trusted.

It was Azrael who finally found the solution, not in death as one would expect of him, but in Hell. The division of responsibilities as it is today was not initially planned, but dividing the caretakers of the Children into shepherds and wolves sounded like a good plan: the angels to steer and nurture the flock and the demons to cull them and suppress them when necessary. Again, in their conceit, the Archangels believed that it would be enough to remove Lucifer from their ranks, to give him a small prize to keep him occupied, and they would be safe from him forever. They did not understand the powers they had unleashed upon his soul this very night, or the might they were putting into his hands. And it would take ages for them to begin to comprehend, and until the Great War and the Flood for the message to finally sink in. Immortals do not forgive. Immortals do not forget.

And yet, I ask you, my demon... who fell that night? Was it the Valkyries, who were betrayed and who shed their wings and their holiness for the life of mercenaries and perhaps revenge? Was it Lucifer, who chose to attempt to save the one he loved and his sisters-in-arms from a cruel betrayal, and instead lost all he knew? Or was it the angels, who bloodied their swords and spears on their own kin, and who destroyed more than just unity that night?

Stories are never simple, my demon. And maybe this one is not even true, for why should you believe me? This I leave to you to decide, my judge, my jury, my executioner.

Ezariel The Fallen

Read next chapter at Chapter VIII: The Raven