To Reign in Hell: A Novel Read Free Page B

thinking. Sorry.” He shook his head. “Maybe they do need a Wave before they can understand—that’s what Yaweh was afraid of—but I don’t think so. We, the Firstborn, didn’t, and we are all of the illiaster. No, I think our brethren will aid us.”
    “Perchance, milord. An they do not?”
    “Have more wine.”
    Beelzebub felt the hair above his eyebrows twitch, and he bent his ears forward. “I have not yet finished the dregs of this bowl thou hast poured. An they do not aid us, Lord Satan?”
    “Perhaps some brandy, then. I’ve some as a gift from—”
    Beelzebub felt his ears lie back against his head. “Milord,” he barked, “I crave an answer! Suppose our younger brethren aid us not? What then wilt thou do?”
    Satan sighed and sat back. This time Beelzebub remained silent.
    “All right,” said the Regent at last, “what if they don’t? What if we do nothing? I’ve been thinking about this for the last twenty days, Beelzebub. I haven’t been able to find an answer I like. What if they don’t help us, and we do nothing? What then?”
    “The task will not see its end.”
    “And eventually another Wave will come. We’ll lose more friends.”
    “Aye.”
    “If the angels from the Third Wave help with the plan, we can save tens of thousands—millions—of our future brethren.”
    “Aye.”
    “So it is in everyone’s interest that they help, even if they don’t know it.”
    “Aye.”
    “So we have the right to coerce them.”
    “Nay.”
    “I agree—”
    “But—”
    “Or rather, I’m unsure. Yaweh isn’t sure. Michael isn’t sure. Lucifer is sure and Raphael is sure. We haven’t spoken to Belial or Leviathan.”
    Beelzebub absent-mindedly lapped up wine from his bowl and then rested his head on his forepaws. “Meseemeth,” he said at last, “that thou and thy friends have taken much upon you e’en to think on’t.”
    “I agree,” said Satan. He shrugged. “Nothing like this has come up before.” He drained his glass. “I admit it, Beelzebub: I have doubts. I reassured Yaweh, but his questions have worn off on me.”
    Beelzebub looked up as Satan’s voice rose.
    “You think we can sit here asking ourselves if what we do is right, while the Storm rages out there? Do
I
think so? By what right do I argue the right and wrong of saving millions of lives? Answer me that!” Satan gave a short laugh. “Coercion? We are the ones being coerced. By
that.”
He gestured vaguely southward.
    “How so, milord?”
    He shook his head. “Lucifer is right, as usual. We know that we risk all of Heaven, if we do nothing. Each Wave has come nearer to destroying us completely—Lucifer proved it with numbers, somehow. Sooner or later, we’ll have to do something.” He laughed again, bitterly. “No, I shouldn’t say that the flux outside is coercing us; what is coercing us is our own understanding. We can’t know what the problem is, and know what to do about it, without acting. That is our curse.”
    Beezlebub watched him, his mind unclear but his heart filled with pity. “Thinkest thou to have no choice at all, then?”
    “The greater one’s understanding, Beelzebub, the less choice one has. For the love of Heaven itself, my friend—if you can, remain ignorant!”
    The dog lowered his head and his voice. “Then thou hast chosen, milord? An the hosts wish not to help thy plan?”
    Satan stood. His eyes flashed green fires; his cloak shone gold in the flickering light. Two paces brought him to the buffet, where he grasped a brown stoneware bottle. He brought it back to the table, throwing the cork impatiently to the floor. He sloshed red-hued liquid into his glass, unmindful of the spillage. He slammed the bottle down, then lifted and drained the glass. He fixed Beelzebub with his gaze.
    “Then,” he said icily, “it is my task to make them.”
     
     
    Yaweh stood by the sword of Michael, regarding it in its glass case. He stood in a spacious chamber of white curtains, tiled