Month: September 2010

  • Orders, Part II

    Back to Orders, Part I.

    It all started when the Watchers Sabrathon and Kochabiel informed Michael that a deranged human—a dark magician by the name of Jiang Xuande—had stolen a powerful grimoire from the Apokomistis Astaroth. Allow me to provide some background (per usual) so that you can understand what this means (before we angels got involved).

    Demons are well-versed in black magics, and they also have a healthy understanding of white magics for, like the best of adversaries, they know the tools of their enemy. A few of the ancient ones consolidated their knowledge of black magics into books containing spells and magical secrets called grimoires. Grimoires are plentiful within the demon world and have varying degrees of potency. Every Apokomistis has at least one that he or she relies upon. Grimoires are most often books or scrolls or tablets, but they have been known to exist in other forms. Regardless of shape, they have often been sought by many human magicians for the vast knowledge and power that they hold, but in most cases, they are completely useless to mortals on account that most spells require demon blood to make them work.

    (Incidentally, there is a white magic counterpart to the grimoire known as an ellamadus. As far as I know, the very few ellamadi in existence were either captured or destroyed by a few Apokomistai during the era that humans refer to as World War II. Remind me to tell you about ellamadi after we’ve wrapped up this tale.)

    However, there are exceptions to most every rule, and if we return to the state of Qin, in ancient China, in the year 354 BC, this particular grimoire and this particular magician Jiang Xuande were a recipe for disaster.

    Temple at Hua Shan
    Hua Shan is one of the sacred mountains in China. This was one of Sabrathon’s favorite vantage points for overseeing matters in the state of Qin, as it gave him a nice view.

    Jiang Xuande was born in 421 BC, and he served as an astronomer and alchemist in Duke Xiao’s royal court from 361–354 BC. The Duke and his advisers all held an understanding that Jiang Xuande’s predictions were beyond reliable, and there were whispers that he had an army of spirits at his disposal to do his bidding.

    This wasn’t entirely far from the truth. Jiang Xuande had nurtured a passionate quest for immortality from the time he was a young boy and had witnessed several members of his family succumb to smallpox. He was subsequently raised by his uncle, a doctor and alchemist himself, and he taught the boy the arts of using the elements and herbs to balance the body. However, Jiang was certain that the science of alchemy could be stretched so as to bestow immortality upon anyone who discovered its secret formula. It led him to dabble in black magics by means of a watered-down grimoire that he acquired through great difficulty during a trip to India.

    Not many of the spells worked in the grimoire, but there was just enough information in it for Jiang Xuande to realize that it was useful. He wanted more, and so he used his little grimoire to summon a Nekudaimon by the name of Ninalla in the autumn of 368 BC.

    Ninalla wasn’t pleased to have been summoned to serve a lower creature, but she sensed that Jiang Xuande’s thirst for immortality had the potential for too much fun for her to pass up. She answered Jiang Xuande’s call, possessing his pet cat, and pledged her services and wisdom to him under the condition that he volunteer his wife’s body for the Neku to use as a human vessel.

    Jiang Xuande didn’t think twice about Ninalla’s proposition. He had long fallen out of love with his outspoken and barren wife Zhou, and he had begun to regard her latest failed pregnancy as a sign of an inferior stuff in her family history. He idly wondered if the metaphysical bond between the spirit of a demon and the body of a human might improve what was wrong within Zhou and endow her with the strength to bear him a healthy child when he was finished playing around with demons.

    Ninalla had an agenda in mind as well. Serving a human gave her an excuse to escape the tyranny of serving Astaroth for a while (I’ll let you imagine how demanding a master an Apokomistis can be over hundreds of years). She knew that eventually Jiang Xuande would die and she’d be able to convert his possessions into capital that she could use herself, or rather, until Astaroth pulled rank as an Apokomistis and took them. Astaroth gave her Neku permission to stay with Jiang Xuande, understanding that his demon-dabbling made his soul all too pluckable when the time was right. Furthermore, she sensed that affairs in the state of Qin were nearing a steady boil.

    Moments after Jiang Xuande gave his assent, Ninalla occupied Zhou’s body. Later that night, she taught Jiang Xuande how to make the some of the other, more grisly and powerful spells in the grimoire work through donating decent quantities of his wife’s demon-infused blood.

    More about Jiang Xuande next week. Dominus tecum.

    On to Orders, Part III.

  • Orders, Part I

    Not long after we angels were created by God, He separated us into the Orders. Angelic Orders can best be described as the different types of jobs that God assigned to us. Contrary to what has been written about angels by most humans, there are more than nine Orders. Most things relating to angels come in twelves (although on occasion, you can find concepts in sevens and fours and nines), and accordingly, there are were twelve Orders in the employ of God. Each angel was assigned to his or her Order based upon his or her unique talents. The Orders gave us purpose in the Universe, and our Graces helped us to execute our mission to care for the Universe.

    detail of Michael from Beccafumi's Fall of the Rebel Angels
    Detail of Michael from Domenico Beccafumi’s Fall of the Rebel Angels. Michael prefers this likeness of himself, even though it doesn’t resemble his typical human manifestation. He doesn’t have wings, either. (None of us do, actually.)

    I, Nadiel, was assigned to the Order of the Archangels. There are twelve of us: Camael, Ariel, Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Uriel (pronounced OOH-ree-ell, if you please), Raziel, Sachiel, Anael, Cassiel, Barakiel and me. The twelve of us are the strongest and brightest of all angels, and Michael is the strongest and brightest of all. The Archangels were given the task of envisioning how the Universe should work and unfold, and we were chosen to rule over all of spacetime from a promontory point in Heaven after everything was up and running. Within this Solar System, I was given the responsibility of the planet Mercury and everything within its orbit (space), and one-twelfth of the duration of each planet’s revolution around the Sun (time). The month of Nadiel on Earth begins at sunrise on May the 20th and ends the moment before the sun rises on the morning of June the 19th. I do love to nurture creation in full bloom, and my brother Sachiel, who oversees oversaw the transition from spring into summer before the other solstice, was kind enough to let me assist him in the Southern Hemisphere.

    Archangels’ strength and brilliance come from each of us being the embodiment of one particular type of the Graces. Just as there are were twelve Orders, there are twelve Graces. I am the truest expression of the universal concept of Inspiration, and my Graces of Adaptability, Judgment and Mindfulness extend from that concept. (Give it a good think and you’ll arrive at how each graduates to the understanding of the next.) We worked together with the other angels to put the formulae in motion for the Earth to evolve into the incredible planet it is now. Gabriel, Cassiel, Camael and I included the capacity for all living beings to appreciate beauty, along with the desire to protect it and create it within the world. I also added a bit of code, if you will, which successfully led to the creation of music.

    Matters got very interesting on Earth a little more than 20 angelic generations ago—41,398 years ago, to be exact. I shan’t go into it now, Estelle won’t let me but suffice it to say that it wasn’t only homo sapiens that caught our attention. God reassigned several angels from the Order of the Watchers to observe and report back on what was transpiring here. As you can imagine, the Watchers’ mission throughout the Universe was almost exclusively observation and documentation. (Bear in mind that the Watchers who were assigned to Earth shouldn’t be confused with the fiction that was spun in the Book of Enoch, for Nephilim have different origins, appearance and purpose that she won’t let me talk about, either.)

    Watchers were never allowed to interfere with creation unless the orders came from God, but nevertheless, God did give directives for intervention from time to time. There was one occasion in particular, in which the situation deteriorated in such horrific fashion so as to require a squadron of God’s army, the Heavenly Host, to set things right again. It all started when the Watchers Sabrathon and Kochabiel informed Michael—

    Oh dear. The sun rises. Dominus tecum.

    On to Orders, Part II.

  • Valac the Demon, Part IV & Conclusion

    Back to Valac the Demon, Part III.

    28 Raphael. Sachiel’s Hour. On to business with where we left off last week.

    Valac saw to it that Gros was returned home. All that night, Gros was tormented in his dreams by the events of the evening. He awoke the next morning feeling altogether ill and sore from his missing molar, and he easily dismissed the more unusual events from his mind as products of a vivid and wine-soaked imagination. As he was preparing to sketch out a painting that morning, he was visited by a messenger. Napoleon wanted him to paint an episode from his campaigns in Egypt, suggesting in particular a grand scene of his visit to Jaffa in 1799.

    Gros was aware of what had happened in Jaffa. Napoleon had been repulsed by the victims of the plague that had set into the city. He had even considered burning the entire city down with all its inhabitants, including the healthy, in a supposed act of mercy.

    Still uncertain of exactly what had transpired the night before, he was intrigued by the idea of painting a lie, and Gros took to his studio and created his masterpiece, Bonaparte Visiting the Plague Victims of Jaffa. Gros thanked the young artist (whose name he couldn’t quite recall, but it had sounded much like Voulu) who had given him the idea of painting a lie by including him among the plague-stricken. Valac as the young artist is depicted as the young man in uniform in the lower right. Additionally, for reasons he didn’t quite understand or recall, Gros was moved to feature himself in the painting as the mysterious man with the cap bearing the number thirty-two.

    "Bonaparte Visiting the Plague Victims of Jaffa" by Antoine-Jean Gros
    Bonaparte Visiting the Plague Victims of Jaffa. This never happened. Click for detail.

    The painting was a phenomenal success at the Salon of 1804. Gros was celebrated as a genius among his peers for the next eight years of his life. He had droves of admiring students. He had more money than he could spend. He was loved.

    But on a bright day in November of 1811, he felt something shift within him while he was working on the cupola of St. Genevieve. It began as an uncertainty in the shoulder that crept down his arm and affected his ability to hold his brush. His eight years of brilliance were over. His twenty-four years of interest had begun, and it started with a mistrust in the precision of his fingers.

    It took him thirteen years to complete the cupola. After he was finished, all of his work was met with sharp criticism. He tried to exhibit his paintings at every opportunity, but no one in Paris was willing to pay him any mind.

    "Portrait of a Child" by Camille Corot
    Valac, as seen by Camille Corot at the Salon of 1834.

    Gros’ last Salon was in 1834. No one—not even his students from his halcyon days—recognized him. However, the artist Camille Corot noticed that there was a drunken, destitute man who appeared to be the object of fascination to a strange, unaccompanied young boy clad in black. Corot himself was captivated, and he used his memory of the boy as the subject of a painting that he debated showing at the Salon the following year. (It was lucky he didn’t—he did much better with Hagar in the Wilderness.) To this day, human scholars debate whom Corot had employed as a model for Portrait of a Child.

    Finally, on June 23, 1835, Gros dressed himself in the uniform that Napoleon had given him in appreciation for his magnificent painting of the plague victims at Jaffa, and he drowned himself in the Seine. He had tucked a note in his hat that read, “Tired of life, and betrayed by last faculties which rendered it bearable, he had resolved to end it.” His body was positively identified, examined thoroughly and released to an adolescent boy who claimed to be Gros’ nephew, unaccompanied and dressed in a manner that indicated he came from a family of means.

    A new tale next week. Dominus tecum.

  • Valac the Demon, Part III

    Back to Valac the Demon, Part II.

    21 Raphael breaks, a day of Ariel. Remind me to tell you about time some day. Yes, yes…with Estelle’s permission…of course.

    When we left off last time, Valac had just entered the studio of Jacques-Louis David. David’s studio was particularly rich for the demon, as David seemed to attract the company of those whose moral definitions were, shall we say, flexible. During one of his visits to the studio, the Apokomistis discovered a young artist named Antoine-Jean Gros.

    Gros was a talented painter in his right. Before his unfortunate encounter with Valac, Gros had studied with David, and he had also travelled to Genoa in order to perfect his craft with foreign masters. He’d had the fortune of being an acquaintance of Napoleon Bonaparte’s wife Josephine, and she’d recommended him to her husband as someone who might be able to provide a visual record of the French Republican victories on the battlefield.

    Napoleon was indeed interested in commissioning an artist to document his campaigns, in the interests of spreading a fantastic and epic form of propaganda, and thus Gros was given an audition of sorts by Napoleon. The general invited the young artist to witness the Battle of Arcole, where the French Republican Army met the Austrians on the battlefield. Gros was inspired by Napoleon’s advance over the bridge, and filled with the stuff that artists kill for, he created a portrait meant to elicit awe in Bonaparte on the Bridge at Arcole.

    "Bonaparte on the Bridge at Arcole" by Antoine-Jean Gros
    Gros’ Bonaparte on the Bridge at Arcole. It was a fine likeness, in truth.

    Napoleon didn’t hate Gros’ representation of what he’d considered to be a great military victory, but he wasn’t wild about it, either. Napoleon felt that he should have looked still more handsome and more heroic than Gros’ skills could harness. Gros was crestfallen, for he felt that he had represented the general with a god-like bravado within his painting. (It is indeed difficult to satisfy a narcissist.) However, Napoleon had no other competent artist on hand to document his feats of glory, and so he kept Gros relatively near.

    Knowing people in high places did nothing to improve Gros’ finances, however. He found himself broke and outside of the limelight that he felt his talents deserved, and so he went to David for help. Gros explained his plight, and as misfortune would have it, Valac happened to be posing as a model for the students and just within a demon’s earshot. Gros was particularly disappointed by the reception of his latest work in the Salon of 1803, and he ached for the riches and the immortality that was promised by the adoring crowds. Valac’s interest was piqued by Gros’ ambition, and he took the opportunity to satisfy the young artist’s deepest desires.

    Within the last century or so, humans have come to count many things as fiction that, on the contrary, are fact, and the sale of one’s soul remains as one of the nastier means to an end. Demons rely upon the demonic pact with humans because it is one of the ways that they sustain their power. There is a measure of quid pro quo, for most demons are not entirely unreasonable usurers, so that the human who makes the pact does get to enjoy several years of fame or fortune or whatever their misguided heart desires. The pact itself is simple: it requires a verbal pledge and a single drop of human blood. (Valac typically prefers a few ounces at the very least, but he does make exceptions.)

    Valac donned the appearance of an artist from a wealthier economic background. Gros left David’s studio, and Valac flagged him down, extending him an invitation to join the disguised demon for an evening of fine food and wine. Gros accepted the offer, as he was hungry and tired of stale, moldy bread. During the second course at dinner, Valac asked him, “You have worked your entire life to paint the truth, and it has gotten you nowhere. Have you considered what might happen if you paint a lie?”

    Gros and Valac debated the point for a good portion of the evening. After a couple of bottles of wine had taken over Gros’ judgment, it was agreed that Valac would grant Gros eight years of fame and fortune, at the rate of twenty-four years of (misery) interest to be paid in full in thirty-two years’ time, or by the end of 1835. In his drunken stupor, Gros extracted a diseased molar from his mouth as his collateral to seal the deal.

    (Dominus tecum, dear reader. Until next time…)

    On to Valac the Demon, Part IV.

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