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lord?”
    “Where is the Lord Yaweh?”
    “In the throne room, lord.”
    “Alone?”
    “Yes, lord.”
    “Well, announce me, then, or do you need it written out?”
    The page opened his mouth once or twice, then quickly ran off. The sneer followed him into Yaweh’s throne room on the heels of the announcement, vanished, and was replaced by a warm, pleasant smile.
    “My Lord Yaweh.”
    “Welcome, Abdiel. Be seated. What are those papers?”
    “The organizational plans, Lord. Completed.”
    “Well done! Let me see them.”
    Abdiel complacently handed over the parchment. He was a bit small, with fair hair and a full but neatly trimmed beard. Like As-modai, he was compact, athletic in his movements.
    Yaweh eagerly studied the papers, his eyes bright.
    “So, two-thirds of our forces will be protecting the remaining third?”
    “Yes, Lord.”
    “Need it be that many?”
    “I think so, Lord. With this plan, it can all be completed in just over two days, and our losses will be less than a thousand.”
    “A thousand!”
    “Yes, Lord. It’s all down there.”
    “And everything else is worse, you say?”
    “Yes, Lord.”
    “I see”.”
    Abdiel studied him closely. What was the matter? Hadn’t he known there would be a cost? “If there is anyone you’d especially like not to be in the actual fray, I’m sure we can arrange—”
    Yaweh motioned him to silence. He studied the papers.
    “Lord?”
    Yaweh looked up. “Yes?”
    “I don’t think we should mention these figures to anyone, just yet.”
    Again, an interlude of silence. Then: “I see what you mean. Leave me now. I have to think about this.”
    “Yes, Lord.”
    Abdiel took his leave. He nearly ran into the page, who was just entering. Abdiel scowled at him. The page muttered apologies and continued into the room.
    “Raphael wishes to see you, Lord,” he announced.
    Yaweh looked up, blankly, then he nodded. “Good. Send her in, please.”
    The page stepped aside.
    “Greetings, Yaweh.”
    “Good day, Raphael. I’ve been meaning to ask you a few questions about your beliefs.”
    She frowned. “I guess I believe in searching for truth in any direction it occurs to me to look for it,” she said. “And then writing it down so people don’t forget.”
    “Isn’t that a little vague, Raphael?”
    “Maybe.” She smiled a bit and sat down. “I got the line from Lucifer; what would you expect?”
    “He’s never seemed vague to me.”
    “Have you ever spoken to him about anything as abstract as what one believes in?”
    “Hmmmm. I suppose not.” He chuckled. “You certainly have been feeling philosophical, lately.”
    Raphael studied the marble floor. She was a tall angel, yet full and sturdily built. Her hair curled a bit down her shoulders—blonde, with a touch of red. Her eyes were bright blue, and matched her gown. She wore nothing on her feet, and a silver chain around her waist held a six-pointed star fashioned of mother-of-pearl and set with rubies at each point. On her shoulders was the gold cloak of the Firstborn.
    “Maybe,” she said, “I’m just trying to justify myself. I’m not sure.”
    Yaweh shook his head. “You empathize too much, Raphael. I’ve been told that I have this fault, and I don’t know if it’s true, but it certainly seems true of you.”
    “I don’t know if it is or isn’t, but I don’t think it is a fault in any case.”
    “Up to a point, it isn’t. But what you call ‘searching for truth’ looks like refusing to hold to a position. When you’re with me, and I speak of my doubts, you echo them. When you’re with Satan, and he reassures you, you accept that, too. When you’re with Lucifer, you catch his excitement. I don’t mean to hurt you, Raphael, or make you angry, but this bothers me.”
    “Whatever the source of these doubts, Yaweh, I have them. And you’re wrong about Satan, incidentally. The last time we spoke, he seemed to agree with every one of the doubts you have been