Erin's Sword: Book Four: Heaven's Gate

By Chris Blake

Heaven’s Gate was the entry to Angelus, a planet in another dimension, in a system centred on a dying sun in its red giant phase. It is where the Seraphim were homed, the judicial deterrent of the Institute, and the executioners of the Forfeit. The Summoning Gate on Citadel, the planetary headquarters of the Institute, was the most well-known method of entry and exit, although of course only Summoners and Seraphim could use it. The public were never allowed in its proximity. The seraphim themselves were artificial creations that were manufactured and powered by an advanced technology long lost. They represented the most progressive science at the very zenith of the Creators’ civilisation. It is said that they were powered by singularities, black holes in miniature, and shielded by containment fields, but this is supposition only, for the science of this is forgotten. However, if they were attacked and injured or ‘killed’, their containment fields would collapse, causing all space around them to implode. Thus, the saying, “if you slay an angel, you destroy a world.”
The seraphim want B’lanche to appear before them, but others are also after her, including an invasion fleet that has a mandate to pacify the Cradle. The Acolyte is terrified of losing everything. The planet needs B’lanche to defend it, but whose interests does she serve?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Blake
• Release date: Aug 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463712870

Chris Blake

Chris Blake lives in the South West, not far from Tintagel Castle, rumoured to be the home of King Arthur. Ever since he was a little boy Chris has always dreamed about travelling through time. He likes watching Doctor Who and looks forward to the day that time-travel is possible as he’d love to visit all the places in his books. In the meantime Chris will keep writing his own adventures. Chris has an old black cat called Merlin.

Book preview

Erin’s Sword

BOOK FOUR:

Heaven’s Gate:

Gateway to Angelus, the Hidden Planet

* * * * *

Published by Chris Blake at Smashwords

Text Copyright 2019 Chris Blake

All rights reserved.

Cover image by RCMatthewsArtist

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1. Journey to the Gate

Chapter 2. The Supreme Court of the Synod

Chapter 3. Angel Flight

Chapter 4. Exploring the Planet of the Angels

Chapter 5. A Walk in the Forest

Chapter 6 Manoeuvres in Heaven

Chapter 7. Caught in Court

Chapter 8. Passive Defence

Chapter 9. Proaction as Defence

Chapter10. Back to the Byre

Chapter 11. No Man is an island

Chapter 12. The Covenant Philosophy

Chapter 13. Back from the wilderness

Chapter 14. The Plains of Summer

Chapter 15. The Summoning

Chapter 16. The Prime Crusade

Chapter 17. The Return to Angelus

Chapter 18. The Convocation of Redemption

Chapter 19. Citadel

Chapter 20. Revelations

Free sample chapters of the sequel

Book Five: Hubris

About Chris Blake

Other titles by Chris Blake

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Appendices:

* * * * *

Prologue:

Angelus: A planet in another dimension, in a system centred on a dying sun in its red giant phase. The Summoning Gate on Citadel, the planetary headquarters of the Institute, was the most well-known method of entry and exit, although of course only Summoners and Seraphim could use it. The public were never allowed in its proximity. The seraphim themselves were artificial creations that were manufactured and powered by an advanced technology long lost. They represented the most progressive science at the very zenith of the Creators’ civilisation. It is said that they were powered by singularities, black holes in miniature, and shielded by containment fields, but this is supposition only, for the science of this is forgotten. However, if they were attacked and injured or ‘killed’, their containment fields would collapse, causing all space around them to implode. Thus, the saying, if you slay an angel, you destroy a world.

There are no records now of the history of Angelus, whether it was adopted as it was as basically suitable, or whether it was terraformed to suit the parameters of the project. Its ecology was certainly alien. But it did have an oxygen atmosphere that was within the specifications of Standard Terran. Because of the extremely low calculated probability of this occurring naturally, it has been assumed that the atmosphere was artificially produced or regulated, possibly by automated subterranean chemical plants. But this is conjecture only. The self-sufficiency of the ecology itself is said by some to contradict this premise.

Some point out that the Creators were possibly indulging themselves by experimenting in a dimension not controlled by the political constraints of the ruling conservative faction. It is assumed that genetic experiments with alien materials were strictly prohibited in the quadrant itself to prevent the risk of cross-contamination of the human and the earth genomes.

Whatever their motives, we have no means of knowing, for they left no records. Whether this was deliberate, or merely an accident of history lost in the devastating disruptions of the war, we will probably never discover.

* * * * *

Chapter 1. Journey to the Gate

They travelled immediately to the very centre of the planet, T’og leading the way. Ch’ile felt everything was outside of his control. He had not been asked, or considered in any way. Part of him felt worried about his tacit promise to return to the Shaheen. If he were overly tardy, she would think ill of him. He had absolutely no idea how long he would be expected to be away.

How long will I be gone? he asked the Vestal at some point in their descent.

I can neither gainsay, nor predict the seraphim, was all she would reply.

They kept gliding along polished thruways, some unseen force impelling them forwards. The interior hummed with the suppressed noise of a multitude of machines and the background buzz of vibrating energy. Hordes of bots and droids in a variety of shapes, sizes and descriptions shared the thruways, passing back and forth in a synchronised flow of inconceivable complexity, weaving and revolving and somehow avoiding the actuality of inevitable collision.

At various intersections, Ch’ile’s party stepped off into vertical drop offs, interminable descending shafts that seemed to travel down forever. Some kind of antigravity controlled their descent so that their downward acceleration did not culminate in catastrophic impact. There was no apparent floor beneath their feet, just a perpetual drop towards a destination far beyond the Acolyte’s capacity for perspective. Yet at intervals the Vestal would simply lead them off into more horizontal corridors, and then step down again into another descending shaft.

Surprisingly to Ch’ile the mekan did not complain; evidently it was more confident of this technology than the walkway of the canopy. Sometimes they crossed enormous tunnels of insubstantial walls and indeterminate length disappearing to an underground horizon too far to contemplate within the limitations of normal vision. Once Ch’ile thought he caught a glimpse of some vast amorphous entity disappearing into the curves of distant perspective, and wondered if he had seen a Guardian, but he could not be sure.

Finally, they exited the maze to stand in the very centre of the planet before the vortex of the Gate. It was said that the science of the Creators had evolved a method of fracturing the boundaries of time and space. This created anomalies in the fabric of the universe, which were held in place by containment fields of energy drawn from the tension of the rupture in the continuum.

The Gate itself was a spiralling maelstrom of energy, contained by what appeared to be a ring of massive armatures. T’og muttered some private imprecation, an incomprehensible jumble of jargon Ch’ile could not decipher. The centre of the vortex seemed to coalesce, then merge and spread into the likeness of a mirror. For a moment Ch’ile could see the reflection of the three of them, and then the mirror dissolved into a long tunnel of light.

A multitude of questions screamed in Ch’ile’s mind, but he was too anxious to ask. At the end of the tunnel, in the far distance, two tiny figures began to approach. The anxiety metamorphosed into terror and fear clenched his throat and turned his feet to lead. The figures grew larger as they drew nearer. Ch’ile was mesmerised into immobility.

The light seemed to glow from and through them. Then the Acolyte could make out wings spreading from their shoulders. They appeared insubstantial, almost translucent, but vibrating with suppressed power. Then he could begin to make out their faces. The features were serene, but expressionless. There was absolutely no sense of empathy or welcome. Complete and utter dread clenched his heart.

Why are they coming for us? he barely managed to utter the question.

I am sorry, so sorry, muttered the M.E, It was not me, I did not mean it, she ordered me! a repetitive mumbling refrain.

They are just your escort! T’og’s explanation cut through the bubble of their fear, to guide your way. You would not want to be lost in the outer darkness?

The M.E subsided into silence.

Whatever you do, take care how you approach them! T’og ordered them. If they are activated, their touch is death!

The pair of seraphim stepped out of the vortex into the chamber and bowed graciously. The light of the room flared and then diminished as they seemed to absorb it. Ch’ile looked nervously at the Vestal.

Look out for the Shaheen for me, he asked, Give her my regards. In the end he took refuge in formality.

You will give her them yourself, said the Vestal, O ye of little faith.

Somehow the seraphim had got behind him. They ushered the Acolyte and the mekan towards the vortex. Unspoken commands seemed to resonate in Ch’ile’s mind. He grasped the M.E’s shoulder and held on tight. The solidity of it seemed to settle him. Concentrate and synchronise with me as you first step into the Gate, he asked the mekan.

They linked arms and walked in unison onto the platform in front of the Gate. Then fear returned in overwhelming waves, the terror of absolute dissolution in the chaos of the maelstrom. The sword began singing in his mind, a softly crooning lullaby from a forgotten infancy to soothe away the darkness. Ch’ile began to pull himself together. He could sense the press of the seraphim behind him but he dared not look over his shoulder.

Then somehow, he composed himself, and willed the mekan to keep pace.

Now! he said, and stepped forth.

The Gate was a vortex of coruscant energy. Something seemed to shift as he stepped out into it. He gripped the M.E tight as they strode through into a tunnel of light. It appeared to stretch onwards into infinity, and he carried on walking for what seemed an eternity.

Why is it taking so long? he was not sure if he spoke or thought.

We have stepped out of our time now, we walk at their pace, something seemed to answer in his mind.

Why do we walk at all? he queried.

Because we do not want to go backwards, it answered. If we never leave the beginning, we will never get to the end.

It was too much for him, but he needed to distract himself. What is Angelus like? he asked.

It is ephemeral, came the thought. They say it becomes whatever the recipient’s imagination wants it to be. The nature of heaven is in the mind of the believer.

How can that be? he asked, When there are two of us?

If we walk in two versions of reality, it said, we still walk together. You will see me in your reality, and I will see you in mine.

But what if my reality is a threat to you? Ch’ile was curious.

How could that be? it countered. Do we not aspire to Heaven? If you would take me to Hell, I would abandon you!

As Ch’ile wrestled with this apparent paradox, his journey came to an abrupt end. The tunnel suddenly opened out onto a vast prairie backlit with the soft light of a red giant sun, which seemed to fill almost the entire near horizon.

The M.E turned to him, its face grimacing in the rictus of a smile.

Ch’ile stepped out onto an open plain carpeted with flowers blooming amid the verdant grasses. Flights of seraphim wheeled and soared amongst the clouds in the skies above. The plains seemed to extend almost limitless, except that as his eyes were drawn to the far horizon, his focus could begin to make out the white walls and parapets of an ethereal city of marbled towers and slender minarets floating in the heat haze on the edge of the planet’s rim.

A band of angels with wings of pulsating purity dropped behind them to join the escort, and something shifted in the perspective and the city’s proximity grew apace. Then the arch of the city gates was upon them, and a broad path of polished pavers led directly through a maze of streets to the walls of a giant amphitheatre. Massive carven doors opened before them and they entered a subway lit with braziers and torches. It emptied out onto the inner edge of a vast arena. Tiers of seats rose in ranks around them, to be capped by a rim of soaring balconies. Thousands of angels were flying in through the open roof to line the layers of benches.

Ch’ile felt overawed and adrift in the enormity of it.

Where are we? he asked.

We are on the way to our destination, of course, said the M.E, confusing him with its lapse into pedantry.

Ch’ile shuddered, and steeled himself to walk across the exposed sands of his arena. The escort closed up behind them as they dropped into another subway and came out into a courtyard on the far side. A broad avenue ran up the incline of a sloping hill before them. On the crown of the hill stood a Temple of classical proportions. Beneath it a massive cutting lined with polished obsidian ended in an imposing set of brass doors.

Behold the entrance to the Supreme Court of the Synod, announced the M.E. Below us are the Halls of Memory. You need to compose yourself before we enter.

Ch’ile wondered how the mekanoid recognised the building, but dared not ask at that moment. He certainly agreed that he needed to centre himself; the experience was threatening to overwhelm him again. He was only just managing to keep at bay the rising tide of panic inside.

The M.E ushered him on with scarcely a backward glance. The escort flanked them and went ahead to open the doors. Inside an enormous cavern looked to have been hewn out of the interior of the hill. It was lit with a murky light that looked to diffuse down from a central opacity in the high domed ceiling.

Ch’ile assumed that the roof must open out somehow in the body of the Temple above. As his eyes began to adjust to the loss of daylight, he could make out the rows of public galleries radiating out from the floor of the court, which was offset to the back with a row of judges empanelled behind a massive escritoire curved to fit the geometry of the chamber. He realised these must be the Elders of the Seraphim, and could sense their aura of barely suppressed power. A uniformed Seraph carrying a massive staff strode forth and pounded the floor of the chamber:

The Supreme Court of the Synod be reconvened, it announced, Court be now in session.

* * * * *

Chapter 2. The Supreme Court of the Synod of Elders

Ch’ile was escorted down the aisle that led to the open floor in the centre. He started involuntarily at the sight of B’lanche, sitting quietly at one of the cross benches in the front.

Be this the witness, High Summoner? queried one judge.

It is, B’lanche pronounced.

Administer the oath! the judge ordered one of the bailiffs.

Raise thy right hand and repeat after me: I sweareth to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, else my soul be forfeit, the bailiff requested Ch’ile, who complied without hesitation.

Thee do realise, Master Acolyte, that if we think thee be lying or obfuscating, we hath the means to review thine memories involuntarily, intoned a judge. Which extraction of course be terminal?

Ch’ile shuddered, reminded of the lost voices of the damned inside B’lanche’s Sword.

Proceed thee with the testimony, High Summoner! ordered another judge.

B’lanche stood up and faced the bench. Permission to address the court? she asked the judges. Ch’ile reflected that she looked exceedingly relaxed and composed despite the apparent gravity of the circumstances.

Permission be granted! the responding judge was succinct.

I would like some time alone with my witness, B’lanche said agreeably. I have not seen him for some months, and would like to prepare him.

Denied! came the peremptory reply. We do not advocate collusion. Thee shallst proceed immediately. The truth will out.

As your worships wish, B’lanche complied, without apparent disappointment. May your honours note that the Acolyte is an accredited Notary and Recorder. Master Acolyte, please repeat the sworn testimony of the Vestal T’og, of the Temple Guard.

Ch’ile did as instructed, and at the conclusion of his statement B’lanche explained precisely why the Vestal could not be present in person.

The judges conferred, and B’lanche waited patiently. Finally, they appeared to reach a consensus.

We deny not the testimony of the Acolyte, since we accept his credentials, announced a spokesperson. But we feel we canst not admit it in totality without cross-examination of the original witness. For we dost understand that this witness hath in fact died, and hence their memories couldst be corrupted. Such evidence canst not stand-alone. It needeth corroboration to own the stamp of validity.

Accepted, your worships, B’lanche again seemed unperturbed. I would now call a secondary witness, whose statement will corroborate that of the Vestal. I call L’uce, the archangel, to speak in my defence.

We hath already denied this, said a judge, we hath informed thee we dost not wish to activate the new incarnation waiting in the Halls of Memory.

You said you did not wish to without other evidence indicating its necessity, pointed out B’lanche. I have provided that evidence.

We be all aware of the archangel’s capacity for deception, countered a judge. Its testimony be bound to be prejudiced on your behalf.

It cannot possibly know what the Acolyte has reported, argued B’lanche, You can cross examine it according to what has already been said to determine its veracity. And I will call a final witness after the archangel. The testimony of the Medical Examiner will conclusively summarise my case.

Thee couldst call the Medical Examiner now, said a judge.

I reserve the right to call my witnesses in a sequence that I believe will present the best case for my defence, argued B’lanche.

The bench deliberated. We didst not want to reincarnate the archangel in case thee been found guilty and executed, said one judge. It would leave it isolated.

I thought it was rather that you wished to avoid the ramifications of a trial of one of your own, said B’lanche.

High Summoner, thee come perilously close to contempt, warned a judge.

I do not wish to become a victim to your expediency, argued B’lanche. I have always been a great advocate of your sense of justice. If you no longer practise it, you will have earned my contempt.

High Summoner, thee hath been warned once, admonished a judge, We willst countenance no more!

Then give me true justice, said B’lanche, and we will both be served.

The judges deliberated. Eventually they agreed.

We accept that thee hath argued that the archangel’s testimony hath always been central to thine case. We will recess whilst we send for the new incarnation. Court be adjourned!

Court willst rise! shouted a bailiff.

The spectators began to file out. Ch’ile looked anxiously after B’lanche, but she was led away without him being able to access her. He slumped back down in his seat, not knowing where to go or what to do. The M.E stood immobile beside him. Finally, a clerk of the court came for Ch’ile, and led him down to the holding area below. The M.E was left in the courtroom, apparently ignored or unwanted. It simply shut down. B’lanche was waiting for the Acolyte in one of the cells. The structure seemed massively strong, impregnable to the point of overkill. Ch’ile sensed some vibration as he stepped over the threshold.

Force-field, B’lanche read his reaction.

Commander, said Ch’ile, You must frighten someone, attempting levity.

It is not built to contain me, she laughed, These are holding pens designed to jail errant seraphs.

I never knew there was even the possibility, said Ch’ile.

That is an interesting observation, said B’lanche, "But remember the planet was set up by the Creators, and they were human, with a human perspective of loyalty. They would have drawn up the blueprints, perhaps supervised the construction? The archangels after all were