An Arrow In Flight (Seven Archangels Book 1)

by Jane Lebak

  Gabriel called the ewes, and they followed him up the hill.

  He hadn't quite gotten to the top before he recognized Saul. The ewes blended back into the flock, and Gabriel approached. "Good morning, sir."

  Saul grunted. "Okay, now all three of you, I want a full count of these sheep."

  Gabriel couldn't just know how many there were this time. They sorted and counted until Saul was satisfied all were present. Then he said, "Now, tell me about that wolf attack."

  Zachary said, "We drove them off!"

  Gabriel tensed.

  Saul looked him right in the eye. "And how'd you do that?"

  "I took up my staff," said Zachary, raising his even now, "and we made noise and rustled the bushes and threw rocks into the underbrush."

  Saul looked at Jacob. "Is that true?"

  Jacob looked at Zachary. "Yes, sir."

  Saul turned to Gabriel. "And what did you do?"

  Gabriel said, "I stood there. I walked between the wolf and the sheep, and I patrolled there. Standing on two legs makes men appear larger to predators, and standing without running makes men appear threatening."

  Saul said, "Only one wolf?"

  "There were more in the distance," Gabriel said. "Only one approached."

  His heart pounded, and his lips were numb because Saul was very close, and he didn't want to lie, but what if Saul kept demanding the truth?

  "Were you afraid?" said Saul.

  Gabriel swallowed hard. "Not at first. By the end? Terrified."

  Saul said, "Go on. And what did you do to that one wolf?"

  Gabriel said, "I talked. I kept saying, 'No.' I held onto the only weapon I had, and I guess you could say it wasn't a normal wolf, so – it left. It took its pack with it."

  Saul kept looking into his eyes, and then he said, "I'm appointing you overseer."

  "What?" Zachary shouted. "That foreigner?"

  "Yes, that foreigner!" Saul spun to face Zachary. "And if that foreigner had brothers, I'd hire them in a heartbeat and leave you two standing in the city gates begging for the chance to dig ditches!"

  Gabriel stepped backward. "But—"

  "You deserted my animals!" Saul was shouting at Zachary, who'd gone ashen. "My work is keeping sheep, not giving alms to Israelites."

  Zachary said, "I didn't desert them – I stayed and fought."

  "You ran into the town, and you got drunk. I don't know what that one did," Saul said, gesturing at Jacob without even looking, "but I do know he lied to me too. Gabriel stayed, and I only have all my sheep because he did. Which one did the job I ordered? The Israelites or the foreigner?" He turned to Gabriel. "I've got men coming with another flock I've just acquired, and they're going to be yours too. Two men and fifty sheep." His eyes narrowed. "The sheep will be nervous and harder to handle until they get settled in, but I trust you."

  Schevat 20

  In the pouring rain, Gabriel coughed until his lungs hurt. An airway that doubles for food transport is a major design flaw, he told God. Having the mucus membranes drain into it only compounds the problem. Surely you could have found a better construction.

  The sheep huddled miserably, so he didn't have much to do, which was just as well. His head ached.

  Zachary reported to him. "All accounted for. Do you want me to have the sheep pray the evening Shema?"

  Gabriel murmured, "I'm sure they please the Lord just fine without our help, thank you."

  Zachary stalked away. Jacob looked abashed, then followed him. Gabriel remained in the shelter of the tree, surrounded by as many of the sheep as could crowd beneath.

  At least the two new shepherds – twin brothers – didn't harbor the same animosity Zachary did. Their sheep had arrived in sad condition, though, haphazardly shorn sometime during the summer and dreadfully skinny. Gabriel had done his best to get those sheep into good fields, but they were still skittish, and he couldn't make the grass grow lush for them.

  Now the rains had come, and he'd received the gift of learning about upper respiratory infections and the subsequent response of the human immune system. Fascinating in its own way, when he could remember a Cherub should be fascinated by new experiences.

  He coughed again until his ribs ached. One of the new shepherds arose from the fire in front of the tent and brought him a cup shedding steam. "Thought you'd like this."

  "Thanks." Gabriel wrapped his hands around the cup, warm with a welcome that left him homesick. He sipped, and the broth traced down his throat.

  Seraph fire. Scalding broth was as close as he'd come to that for a while, and he closed his eyes.

  "You want to take a break?" said the shepherd.

  "Just a little longer." It would be so welcome to collapse in the tent and let his immune system fight a thousand tiny battles. But the warmth in his palms left him homesick, and he'd rather be homesick among sheep than in a tent with Zachary and Jacob.

  The other shepherd stayed with him, and Gabriel relaxed. Sometimes the lack of Seraph fire left him shaking and nauseated. Right now it just left him sad. Raphael. He wouldn't have minded standing in the rain with Raphael.

  The second of the new shepherds came from the tent and insulted his brother, who slapped him on the back and called him something even worse. Gabriel tensed, and then both brothers laughed.

  In the next second he realized: envy! This was a temptation to envy. So he set it aside and reminded himself of the good bond these brothers had. And then, because he'd learned temptation didn't always go away after you reasoned with it, he drained the rest of the broth and headed for the tent where he kept his one bag of belongings. As soon as he entered, Zachary huffed and left, but Jacob only sat in the corner, looking miserable.

  Gabriel unrolled his scroll and wrote, the date, then "Envy" and "passed" along with a couple of the details.

  Jacob said, "What's that?"

  Gabriel said, "Taking inventory."

  How handy to be their foreigner: he could write anything he wanted in Heavenly script and his companions, barely literate in Hebrew, could believe whatever they wanted. Gabriel maintained a running chart.

  --

  Sin | Commentary

  Gluttony: I kept thinking about the extra barley cake after dinner, but I let Zachary take it instead. Zachary then tried to make me drink more wine than would be prudent, but I reminded myself that puts me to sleep within a half-hour, and I said no. Zachary finds it amusing. (Sub-temptation: anger.)

  Lust: That dream was pretty startling. I distracted myself, and that seems to have helped.

  Anger: Was irrationally irritated by one of the rams misbehaving. Asked Jacob to take over for a few minutes.

  Laziness: It was so hard to get started this morning, but I forced myself to get moving. It's easier if I don't take rests during the day. I'll try to get to sleep earlier.

  Pride: Caught myself thinking I'm smarter than Jacob and Zachary. It's only being honest to admit this, so I'm not sure how to tackle this temptation other than to refuse to act on it.

  Envy: Wished I could have camaraderie like the twins do but reminded myself God isolated me for a reason. Distanced myself so as to prevent a recurrence.

  --

  Satan was too cunning an adversary to leave a matter such as sin up to personal impressions. Gabriel needed data, so he tracked the trends of the temptations. He'd taken to noting the specific steps he'd used when presented with any individual temptation, that way if they increased in difficulty he would be able to analyze what tactics had succeeded and extrapolate for more complex situations.

  He glanced at Jacob, who continued watching. It wasn't just demons who could tempt, of course. He had four souls to work with, and they surrounded Gabriel's days with coarse language, coarse stories, and coarse alcohol.

  Jacob said, "Do you have to keep track of a lot of things now that you're an overseer?"

  Gabriel paused. "The sheep are depending on us."

  Jacob's voice dropped, and his eyes darted to the tent entrance. "Rig
ht, but, do you think I could ever do something like that?"

  Gabriel kept writing. "I don't see why not."

  Jacob said nothing else, just sat glumly. Gabriel prickled with that "watched' feeling, and he tried to ignore it.

  He'd developed his initial perspective on sin by debating with the other Cherubim. This—this was different. It was one thing to discuss boredom and the need for belonging which might drive a man to drink to excess, but when you actually saw fellow shepherds enthusiastically engaged in the process, it seemed simultaneously more baffling and more understandable. Trying to tell them what they were running from, and another way to fill the emptiness, well it left them laughing at him or mocking God, and that was even worse.

  Their small-mindedness wasn't a temptation against Gabriel; it was just demons playing with easier souls when Gabriel didn't succumb to them, so maybe that made their sins his fault. But on the other hand, they were making choices. Like Jacob right now choosing to stare at him instead of doing something productive.

  Gabriel said, "Why don't you play your flute?"

  Jacob said, "Really?"

  Gabriel said, "Sure. Music is pleasing to God."

  Fortunately God had set the bar low in terms of music's ability to please him, and at the very least, it would get Jacob's attention off his writing.

  Out came the flute, and Jacob raised it, but then stopped. "The sun's setting," he said, almost a question.

  Gabriel refrained from saying that's why he'd lit the lamp.

  Jacob continued, tentative, "Maybe we could pray the evening Shema together?"

  Gabriel sat up, heart pounding. "Sure."

  What had he done? How had he gotten this kind of change in Jacob?

  They prayed (Lay us down, Lord our God, in peace…) but Gabriel kept battling distraction. Praying. With Jacob. Jacob who followed Zachary who hated him. And yet here they were.

  At the end of the prayer, Jacob picked up his flute and played a melody Gabriel recognized from weeks of tending the sheep. Gabriel put away his parchment. He'd need more sheets soon, and a way to fasten them into a scroll, but he hadn't spoken to any of the angels in so long that he hesitated to ask now. Instead he wrote smaller and smaller, keeping his thoughts more compact. If he called Saraquael, what would Saraquael say? Would he even come?

  The last angel he'd spoken to was Satan. They'd remember that.

  Gabriel lay down with his head on his pack, and he closed his eyes while Jacob kept playing. The rain pattered against the side of the tent, and he could no longer hear the crackle of the fire in the shelter of the entrance. His exhausted body melted into the ground, the muscles unclenching until he could feel his face aching where he'd been frowning. The new shepherds said he always looked sad, and maybe he did. He should. What did I do to get Jacob to pray with me? he prayed. I'd do it with Zachary, too. Father, I need to teach them, but they haven't been listening.

  And he'd been so annoyed with Jacob right before then. What if he'd snapped at the man? Would Jacob have asked? Or would he have counted it as yet another reason to reject the Law?

  His thoughts drifted through any way he'd interacted with Jacob in the past two days, analyzing the way he'd told him which field to bring the sheep to how he'd instructed him about one of the rams and even a comment about a meal. Nothing stood out, and Gabriel's thoughts drifted, and his eyes closed.

  A hand landed on his shoulder and shook him. He reached for God, and when his heart clasped on nothing, he leaped up, gasping, looking around the dark tent. Behind him, laughter. Zachary. "Get up, scaredy-cat. It's your turn."

  Zachary thought it hilarious when Gabriel awoke frightened. Gabriel thought he traded watches with the other shepherds just so he'd be the one to awaken his overseer every time. Gabriel swallowed the resentment (Note temptation, anger) and tightened his overtunic before going outside.

  Zachary had let the fire die (Note renewed temptation: anger) so Gabriel didn't bother with it before doing a walk-around of the flock. The rain had let up, but the wet grass made his sandals slippery.

  God, what do I do about Zachary? That he could make someone angry enough to sin had never occurred to him before now. What would possibly be worth angering God? How much could he have annoyed the man if he'd sacrifice God's love in order to enact small inconveniences against another human?

  Gabriel got the fire going again, then sat with it at his back as he watched the shadowed forms of the sheep at rest. Shivering, he huddled around himself.

  The fire crackled to Gabriel in a language he could no longer understand, but the fire didn't care and continued a sentence in which he already had lost the verb, and which never could come again in time unless to displace another message, even more valuable than this one and indecipherable without it.

  He shut his eyes and stopped the nasty thought that he had lost a year: a year God had created just for him and he had returned, saying no thank you.

  God, my Father, my God, I'm so sorry. I'm trying to make some value of this mess, but I can't. Jacob turned around and it wasn't even my doing. Zachary's getting hardened and that probably is. Every time I try to fix things, I end up making it worse. Please don't stay angry at me.

  He coughed again, but the coughing didn't hurt nearly as much as the peeled-apart feeling. It couldn't scab yet, not for months, and exposure to the open air could sting without forming a hard layer beneath which to heal. Souls couldn't toughen, of course, only scar, and who knew what pattern this scar was leaving for everyone to cringe at for the rest of eternity?

  The fire was stronger now, so Gabriel added a knotted bit of wood. Dampened by the rain, it crackled and smoked. Gabriel wondered at the knots, looked into himself and saw all the knots in his spirit, a tree with the bark growing to cover a fungus but leaving the wood bumpy underneath.

  So many midnight thoughts. He felt cluttered, and this body only made it worse. He could shed it, could spend the rest of his year in private prayer until discernment and reading and contemplation cleared him of all the twists. Go. I'm not doing any good here, he prayed. This was a mistake on top of another mistake. They're better off without me.

  He hesitated. Note temptation: despair? Is that despair? Or is that realism?

  Did God want this? Rain and bronchitis, nasty shepherds and hunger, heavy labor, broken bones, and possibly death? He wasn't helping anyone by doing these things.

  It popped into his head: maybe they weren't the ones that needed the help.

  He frowned. The sheep? The sheep would have been scattered if those had been real wolves, but they weren't.

  No, not the sheep.

  He thought. We agree I have to suffer because I disobeyed. But I'll suffer no matter where I am. That's part of why I'm here: I figured I might as well help others while I was suffering. Why this suffering?

  Nothing came to him at first. Maybe it was this specific kind of suffering. Maybe he needed to experience being hated and being sick in order to learn something specific about God, something he wouldn't have learned otherwise. Probably in a thousand years, he'd be glad for having learned it. Unless he let being down here change him so much that he didn't even appreciate knowledge. That would be awful.

  He hesitated. Or would it? Didn't he always say suffering caused growth? Maybe God wanted him to grow. He'd grown after Sodom, learned better how to protect himself and how to isolate his analysis from his emotions. Maybe he had to do that again.

  In which case, he should assist the process. Father, if you want me to stay here, please use this time to sculpt me. To cut away the non-essential parts and keep me focused on the better ones.

  The fire kept chattering, and Gabriel waited, but he didn't feel any different. There should be more, though. What more did God want him to say?

  And if it's necessary, if my being myself hinders You, then burn me out completely and remake me.

  But nothing came of his offer, no matter how long Gabriel waited at the fire and watched the sheep.

  Adar 16r />
  In Heaven, Michael looked over Dobiel's shoulder at a map. About to point out a strategic weak spot, he halted in place. In his heart he heard: "Michael!"

  He flashed away without hesitation, because that was Gabriel.

  Michael appeared in Gabriel's tent with his sword already drawn, and he only just registered the demon hovering at his bed before striking. It howled and fled, and Michael dropped down through Gabriel's body. Pulse – racing. Adrenaline – pumping. Gabriel gasped for air as if terrified.

  One of the other shepherds was laughing out loud. "Poor thing. Did you have a bad dream?"

  Michael glared, but immediately another shepherd said, "Quit it, okay? Yes, he had a nightmare. Don't you ever get tired of acting like a brute?"

  Michael looked at the guardians in the tent, who wore a mixture of concern and resignation: they hadn't been able to dislodge Asmodeus when he came.

  Gabriel was still shaking, and Michael made himself visible just to him. After a moment, Gabriel met his eyes, registered him, and then whispered, "You—"

  Michael said, "I'm going to hunt him down and chain him. He won't bother you again."

  Gabriel sat forward urgently. His hands had knotted in his blanket, but they were shaking.

  The second shepherd, the one that hadn't acted like a jerk, approached Gabriel. "Are you all right? It's okay. You were dreaming, that's all."

  "I'm not supposed to dream." Gabriel put his face in his hands. "Not like that. That was real. That was real."

  "No. Here." The shepherd put his hand up to Gabriel's. "This is real." He put his hand on Gabriel's bag, the one he always kept at his side. "This is real. You're okay."

  Another shepherd put his head in the door of the tent. "Everything okay?"

  Gabriel said, "Is it my watch?"

  "No. Go back to sleep."

  The other two shepherds returned to their beds, and Gabriel curled onto his side. "Michael," he breathed. "You came."

  "You called." Michael slipped his sword into its sheath and sat next to Gabriel. "I said I'd come if you called."