by Jane Lebak
How to find him efficiently, though—that was tougher than simply looking at every face one at a time. Were the sleeping souls organized hierarchically according to time of entry? His glimpse of the length of the cavern hadn’t revealed a flood streaming through.
Gabriel fell very still, and he opened his mind to take in as much of Sheol as possible. Centered. Quiet. Drifting, he allowed himself to sense the souls about him, peaceful and dreamless, just warm enough.
As long as I don’t fall asleep like them.
He grinned and took a deep breath, then tried again.
There, a new soul. It arrived with a pop like the moment a seedling lifts its head from the soil. Another one, not in the same place. A third pop, distant from the others.
Gabriel tucked his wings and folded his arms, still hovering. So Sheol filled evenly, or randomly, but not in one part at a time. He couldn’t begin his search with the newest arrivals.
He reached for God, and his heart’s hands closed on nothing. Right.
“So it’s just you and me,” he murmured to Jesus. “And until I find you, just me.”
Although come to think of it…
Where are you? Gabriel prayed.
An answering greeting, but sleepy.
Gabriel tried not to think, Well, you’re no help. He smiled, though, at the familiar touch and the knowledge that he was so close. He shut his eyes and prayed without words, allowing his heart to touch and be touched, to admire and be received, and then without opening his eyes, he allowed himself to drift toward the tug. His heart wanted to be there with him, and not here alone with all these. Let me come to you, his heart prayed, and Gabriel followed, and there was joy in the following, so he followed the joy past the simple happiness of the sleeping. After the joy came a purpose, and the purpose became a whip driving Gabriel forward until he’d picked up speed and blurred past the faces. Come to me, and Let me come to you met one another. Gabriel pulled up short and opened his eyes.
He beamed. “Jesus!”
Jesus was sitting awake among the sleepers, and Gabriel dove for him, clutched him in a hug, laughed and buried his face in Jesus’ shoulder and wrapped him in his wings. Gabriel kissed his cheeks, then his forehead where the crown had been, then his shoulder where he’d hefted the cross beam, then both his hands and his feet. There were no marks from the brutality.
Jesus touched Gabriel’s hair and his wings and said his name, and then he laughed as Gabriel sat back, eyes shining.
“I found you,” he whispered. “You’re here.”
“Tone down your light,” Jesus murmured. “You’re disturbing the sleepers.”
Gabriel complied, offering an apology.
Jesus smiled at him “How did you get here?”
So Gabriel told him about the fissure, about Satan joining them at the wall, about Michael and Raphael and Israfel and Belior and Mephistopheles, and then he backed up and apologized for handing him the cup and not stopping the Romans from arresting him, and he apologized for leaving to stay with Mary rather than remaining with Raphael so angry, and he reassured Jesus that his mother was being cared for, and then he apologized for talking too much and for not listening, but Jesus listened brightly and assured him he was doing fine.
Gabriel said, “Now you have to come with me, because I’m going to find a way to take you home.”
Jesus shook his head. “I didn’t come in here to be rescued.”
Gabriel said, “But since I’m here, I can take you back out with me.”
Jesus rested a hand on Gabriel’s knee. “I’m here to fulfill the will of the Father, and for the glory of God. I’m not going to leave with you.”
Gabriel’s eyes turned silver. “But— How can it be to the glory of God to leave a part of Himself behind?”
Jesus smiled. “Do you believe me?”
“I do.” Gabriel settled back on his heels. “I won’t contest your authority, but if we’re going to be here forever, I was hoping to learn more about the reason.”
Jesus looked pained. “Gabriel, you can’t stay.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened. “My place is with you! And I’m here anyhow, so it’s perfect.”
Jesus chuckled. “You’ll get bored.”
“I’m as susceptible to natural happiness as anyone else, and anyhow, I’m a Cherub. You know everything, and I want to learn everything, and we’ll have a lot of time on our hands.” Gabriel smiled. “Pick a topic and we’ll get started.”
Jesus shifted some of Gabriel’s hair from his eyes. “You have to go home.”
Gabriel shook his head, then looked down at his lap. He clasped his hands between his knees.
Jesus drew his face up with a finger beneath his chin. “Gabri’li, you have no idea how much I love you. I would love to keep you here with me, but you have your place in creation and among the other angels. You’re needed there. You have to return.”
Gabriel met Jesus’s eyes, so much like Raphael’s, and he showed him the anger, the chaos above, the rage: I’m not needed. They don’t want me to return. And Jesus tilted his head: They all don’t want you to return, or is Raphael so angry at you that it seems as if no one wants you to return? Gabriel bit his lip: Just Raphael. And Jesus said to him, “Don’t turn on each other.”
“He believes I let you die. He believes I wanted to cut you off from him.” Gabriel swallowed. “There are half a trillion angels. After the first couple of weeks no one will miss me. Please let me stay. You don’t even have to talk to me. I just want to be near you.”
Jesus hugged Gabriel and kissed his forehead. “I’m going to send you back. Give this to Raphael.” He held out a golden orb on his palm, the shape of a Brazil nut. “It’s a message for him that I wasn’t able to say before it happened.”
Gabriel took the orb, and it shimmered before vanishing into his heart.
“Please,” Gabriel said. “I’m asking once more. Return with me, or let me stay.”
“I’m sorry,” Jesus said. “Tell them I have to remain for the glory of God.”
Gabriel found himself outside Sheol, surrounded by angels.
A sudden outcry from everyone, the demons shocked, Israfel filling him with fire that surged with relief, Michael right in front of him demanding to know what had happened, and a wingspan away, Raphael with folded arms and a dark regard.
Michael repeated, “What happened? How did you get out?”
Gabriel turned his head aside as if to give himself space among the press, and a few angels stepped backward. “I got in. I managed to find him. But he refused to return with me and sent me away.” He pulled his soul back to avoid the flames in Raphael’s. “He says it’s to God’s glory if he remains there.”
Satan slammed his fist into the wall. “Damnation! What’s that supposed to mean?”
Raphael said, “Let’s get back in there and talk to him again.”
Michael said, “What’s that going to accomplish? We barely got Gabriel inside in the first place, and Jesus already refused. I can’t argue about God’s glory.”
Raphael said, “Maybe if you sent in someone who wanted to succeed, it would work.”
A collective sense of shock rippled around them. Gabriel turned to Raphael, his eyes flint-hard, and opening his wings, he bound the Seraph with his will and flashed him away.
They ended up in front of Jesus’s tomb, a short distance from five Roman soldiers and their very startled guardians. It was just after sunrise.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Gabriel said. “I’ve done everything I could!”
“You haven’t, and you know it.” Raphael’s wings flared. “You’ve been avoiding the hard work the whole time, right from the moment you appeared to him in the garden—”
“God told me exactly what to do and told me not to do anything else!” Gabriel stepped closer. “I won’t disobey Divine orders! I learned the hard way that it doesn’t do any good.”
“How would you know?” Raphael shouted.
The nearby g
uardians were all on alert now.
“Why are you so angry with me?” Gabriel’s wings spread. “You’re not even making sense any longer.”
“So things have to be sensible in order for you to like them? Maybe I’m just finally seeing what’s really going on with you.”
Gabriel opened his hand to reveal the golden nugget on his palm. “This is—”
Raphael swatted it away, sending it into the hillside. “What is it, your little excuse?”
“It was a message,” Gabriel said, “from him, and clearly you’re not in your right mind. Maybe when you get yourself back under control, you can get it and figure out what he wanted to tell you.”
“Don’t act like you’re the perfect one, so trustworthy that everyone wants you running messages.” Raphael had flames in his hair. “You didn’t do anything for him! You’re an arrogant know-it-all block of ice who only cares about the letter of the law and not for the people who live under that law.”
Gabriel’s heart pounded. “Don’t you think I hate that he’s dead? I hate that he wouldn’t come with me, and it broke my heart to hand him that cup knowing what was going to happen! But God didn’t give me any room to maneuver.”
Raphael said, “I would have found a way.”
Gabriel said, “Would you have? I got kicked out of Heaven for a year and was lonely, abandoned, exhausted, courted by Satan, and ended up with a concussion and a broken arm, but you didn’t come. Did you find a way?”
Raphael folded his arms. “You deserved it.”
The world turned into one high whine. Gabriel stared, his eyes blanking, his body going numb. You deserved it.
Gabriel flashed away, tearing free from the chains Raphael attempted to cast around him. God, I don’t want to be found. I want to go somewhere no one will ever find me again.
He ended up in the abandoned cabin, and he Guarded it, Guarded it again, Guarded it a third time. It was no good—they’d found him here once. They would once more. He stood with his wings half-unfurled, his breath punctuated, and he closed his eyes. I don’t want to be found.
Uriel’s presence. Gabriel backed away, but Uriel reached for him, and then they were both in Uriel’s bungalow.
I didn’t want to be found by anyone, Gabriel sent to God, and God replied that Uriel wouldn’t tell anyone. Even now, Uriel was putting up a Guard around the house. He’d be untraceable inside.
Uriel wanted him to take down the Guard on the abandoned house on earth, and Gabriel complied. His hands shook as he projected his thanks.
Uriel took a step forward, then halted and backed off, nodded at Gabriel, and vanished.
Gabriel felt control of the Guard in his power.
He stood alone in the front room, feeling the sunlight, the stillness, the solidity of the small structure. Heaven. Not really Heaven in his heart, was it? But he didn’t want to be found, and here he wouldn’t be.
He realized what had just happened: Uriel had been about to kiss or hug him, and God had intervened. Gabriel looked at his shaking hands; if Uriel had done that, he would have fallen apart right there.
Arrogant know-it-all block of ice. You deserved it.
Gabriel sleepwalked into the living room and dropped himself on Uriel’s pile of cushions. I don’t care, he thought. I don’t care any longer. I just don’t care.
The tears had come before he could deny that he even cared any longer. Jesus dead. Raphael—like that. Admitting that. Believing that. He choked for a moment, felt the lie in his own denial that he cared, and then it all overwhelmed him. He lay on his back, wings splayed wherever they’d landed, and he let the tears come. The thud of the hammer. The slam of the wood against the cobblestones when Jesus fell. Mary crying. The cup cold against his hands. Michael glaring. Uriel’s level stare. Nivalis sobbing. Raphael pouring fire into his heart. Raphael.
His chest hurt. You deserved it.
Yes, he’d deserved it, but…but that wasn’t…
He flipped onto his stomach, pulling the closest pillow to his chest, tucking his chin and hiding his face beneath his wings. God, oh God, please—
This wasn’t right. Jesus in Sheol. So silent, so peaceful. Don’t turn on each other. Why hadn’t he just let Gabriel stay with him? God ought to have at least one angel in service, and Gabriel had been ready to stay forever. No one would have found him there. Raphael would never have said that if Gabriel had stayed inside.
Gabriel spread his wings in the sun, then realized the windows were open. He trembled in fear of eyes, but the light felt good, and he didn’t want to shut it away. The Holy Spirit moved inside him: no one would come looking, but He could enlarge the Guard if Gabriel wanted. Gabriel asked for it, and then he dropped himself back onto the cushions.
What was wrong with him? He hadn’t cried for six hundred years, and now twice in the same day.
If something this horrible had happened three days ago, he’d have fled to Raphael. He’d have talked to Jesus. And now he couldn’t turn to either. It wasn’t fair.
Raphael.
Was he mad with grief? But Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to believe it was only that, not any more than he could convince himself he didn’t really care. After centuries of keeping it harnessed, Raphael was finally fed up with him.
“Do you think I came to give peace all over the earth?” Jesus had said. “No, I came to bring division. From now on, a household of five will be divided, three against two, and two against three.
But not our household, Gabriel prayed. Not like this. Please, not like this.
Folding his arms beneath himself, Gabriel lay in place for a long time until he couldn’t tell if he was in tears now or if that had been a hundred years ago. He prayed until he’d prayed himself out, and then he arose as if he’d been dead and looked around the bungalow. He produced a lyre, but he wasn’t one of the angels who could play or sing when sad, so after a while he made it disappear and looked through Uriel’s books. There weren’t many, and these he’d all read before. He pulled one he remembered liking and thumbed through it looking for a good part.
Silence. Peace. Uriel would tell Michael…he had no idea what Uriel would tell Michael. Maybe just that Gabriel was someplace safe, someplace he’d never find. He’d have to leave Uriel’s house eventually, but maybe by then no one would care any longer. Maybe no one would want to search, and he could find someplace to just remain in worship and solitude forever.
He was supposed to be reading. He flipped pages back to the beginning of the good part and tried reading it again, but his mind wouldn’t travel into the words to be transported away from the horror. Jesus nailed to that wood, himself unable to do more than hand him that cup, and Raphael’s scream as Jesus’s lips touched the cup and the moment guardian and charge were sliced away from one another.
He hadn’t had any alternative. God had told him not to add to or delete from the message. Raphael said he’d have found a way, but it had been iron-clad. The way it had happened, surely Jesus had felt betrayed as someone he considered a friend handed him the blade that cut off contact from the celestial.
I’m sorry, Gabriel prayed.
He had no need to worry, came the answer. He’d done exactly as God had said.
I should have connived more.
God hadn’t left him any room to do that.
I should have done it anyhow.
No, came the sense in his heart, the voice of the Spirit, you shouldn’t have. You did what you must, exactly as you should have.
Gabriel tossed the book to the side, then looked over his shoulder and replaced it on the shelf where he’d gotten it. Even if Heaven and Earth fell apart, that was no reason to mistreat a book.
He walked through the sunlight into the kitchen, a composite of future and current. A fire always burned in Uriel’s home, even though Uriel had been with Mary for the past fifty years.
What would Mary be doing now? Assuming she wasn’t angry at him too for disappearing, she’d probably be spinning, maybe cooking. I
t might be past sundown in Jerusalem. He didn’t care to figure out the exact time.
Gabriel made a spindle from his substance and then some fleece, and he started to spin. The twist, the way the wool became yarn, the methodic winding around his hands and then onto the bottom of the spindle, plying the yarn, letting his mind free while his hands worked. He went completely solid, then human. Humans had the primal urge to make something, and now he could forge something solid from fluff. It was useful; it was productive. At the end he’d have something strong, and right now he needed it.
He spun for hours. The silence inside spread, and he focused on God’s face while letting the fleece twirl. As the ragged ends of the wool became yarn, so the ragged edges inside wove back together into one unit.
When he’d made two skeins, Gabriel went to the kitchen and stared again into Uriel’s fire.
Gabriel prowled the cabinets and the pantry. He lifted the lid on the nearest container with a ceramic scrape. Flour. Another container: dried mushrooms. Oil. Oats. Wine. Several breeds of rice: arborio; jasmine; basamati. There were onions and garlic, and there were glass jars filled with a liquid tinged orange-gold.
Why did an angel need a fully-stocked kitchen? Oh, right. Mary. Because when Mary came home to Heaven, Uriel wanted her to feel welcome.
Gabriel found a large pot and set it over Uriel’s perpetual fire, poured out a little oil, and chopped up an onion. Now he’d cried three times today, but he didn’t mind this one. He fried the onions and some garlic, then poured a few handfuls of arborio rice into the pot, hearing it hiss as it simmered. He stirred it constantly so it didn’t become brown, and then put in some wine.
Mary never measured, only eyeballed a mixture and knew by feel and taste whether it was right. Gabriel could guess at the proportions, and maybe that would be all right. He kept stirring. Something in the rhythm soothed him. He felt the strain in his shoulders, in his forearms.
Simple things. Wine. Oil. Water. Grain.
Friendship. Fury. Death. Love. Grief.
The kitchen smelled of onions, of heated wine. His hands smelled of garlic, and it was good. While the rice simmered, he threw some mushrooms onto another pan and fried them up.
