The First Dragon(37)

“The ring of flames is the Creative Fire,” said Samaranth. “It is where all things are made, and thus, this is where all things are decided. The high seat above is . . .”

“. . . the Silver Throne,” Rose said, breathless with awe.

“Hmm,” said Charles. “Your father—uh, Mordred, that is, once said he was older than the Silver Throne. I think he was indulging in a bit of puffery.”

“Obviously,” said Edmund. “It’s all still awfully spectacular, though,” he added, gesturing at the grand spectacle with a sweep of his arm.

“It is indeed,” Samaranth said, leading them to one of the staircases. “It was built by—”

“Magic?” Edmund suggested.

“Yes, that is the word,” said Samaranth. “Magic. Or was it Will? I always get those two confused.”

As they descended the stairs, Samaranth indicated that he was uncertain where he was expected to go, since he had not in fact attended any session of the summit before. The companions were about to ask why he had been excluded when Rose recognized someone on a nearby platform.

“Excuse me, ah, Nix?” she said to the angel. “Can you help us, please?”

Nix frowned—which Rose had noted, when they met before, was his default expression—and consulted his marble tablet. “I don’t know why you weren’t ordered when you arrived,” he complained. “You are minions of a Seraphim, and—” He stopped, having noticed Samaranth for the first time. His eyes widened slightly. “I beg your pardon. I did not realize the elder was also with you.” He consulted the tablet again, then pointed down at the floor level. “There should be some space for you there, if you hurry. The adversaries have claimed most of the upper platforms, and the principalities have claimed everything else.”

“Adversaries?” said Charles. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“It is the final session of the summit,” Samaranth explained as they moved past several other youthful but apparently elderly angels and located an out-of-the-way corner at the lowest level of the room. “Matters of such importance that all the principalities have been invited, including our enemies.”

“What are they called?” Edmund asked.

“One cannot identify one’s adversaries by name,” Samaranth explained. “One can identify them only by their actions, and then act accordingly in return. And if they demonstrate that they no longer serve the Word, then, and only then, may they be Named as Fallen, and cast out.”

“Cast out to where?” asked Rose.

“You really don’t want to know,” said Samaranth.

“So,” said Charles, “all those above us, uh, so to speak, are gods?”

“Many of them,” Samaranth answered, “but most above are of the angelic Host. Seraphim, Cherubim, and,” he said, darkening slightly, “Nephilim. There are also the elder of us who serve in lesser capacities, but all who have a hand in guiding the course of the world are numbered among the principalities. Since the moment this world was divided from the Un-Made World, the younger races also began to splinter, and they grew and developed into their own distinctive cultures,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. “As they flourished, they lost their connections to the Word and began the development of their own deities, whom they called gods. We, the Host, came here to build this city to try to reconnect the peoples of the world with the Word. But,” he added with a touch of sadness, “the execution of that plan has fallen somewhat short of the aspiration.

“There,” he said, pointing at a delegation several levels above. “That’s one of the younger groups of gods, from a place called the Fertile Crescent. They are crude in their mannerisms, but effective. And there,” he said, pointing to the left of the first group. “Those call themselves Titans. In truth, they bear many similarities to the Host—but their view is limited. Except,” he added, “for that one.”

Toward the bottom of the delegation a red-haired man was watching the angels just as intensely as Samaranth was watching him, only occasionally turning away to speak to another god, who carried a staff of living fire.

“He is the offspring of one of the Titans,” Samaranth explained. “They call him Zeus. I expect great things of him, as well as the one he is with . . . Prometheus, I think.”

Samaranth continued pointing out deities around the great room, and it was all the companions could do to keep up. “Loki, there,” the angel said, “and his father, Odin, and Odin’s father, Bor. And there,” he continued, gesturing to a broad platform speckled with fountains, “the twin goddesses, Mahu and Mut, who represent two-thirds of the land masses of this world.”