by Jane Lebak
Michael insists I could see my progress and take encouragement. And I respond: my "progress" consists of survival, which cannot (for an angel) be considered improvement. Time carries me like any other creature. My supposed "progress" doesn't encourage me because I've made none. I'm still just me, Gabriel.
Av 15
Raguel tossed more wood on the bonfire, then turned to Gabriel. "Isn't this fun? Did you ever do things like this at home?"
In the early darkness, the family festival grew louder. The women brought out food for the feast, and Gabelus called one of the servants to bring out more wine.
Rather than say, "Parties are merely a series of steps to be endured to get to the other side," Gabriel nodded. The general level of noise gave him an excuse not to try talking, plus the number of people laughing, moving, crowding – Raguel had plenty to do rather than have a conversation.
Tobias found Gabriel in the tumult. "Are the children ready to sing?"
Gabriel had to speak loudly to be heard. "I hope so."
Tobias laughed, and they started gathering children, then re-gathering them as inevitably some wandered away. Like shepherding, in a way, Gabriel thought to God, except the sheep had the good sense to stay where I put them.
Eventually, though, the children were mostly in one place, and Tobias quieted down the adults enough that Gabriel could start playing the family's ten-stringed lyre. There were children off-key, two who stood with the others but refused to sing, and one who started sobbing and ran for his mother. Overall, about what Gabriel had expected.
The family cheered for the children, and Tobias called, "Do you have another?"
The children shouted their responses – they'd worked hard, and Gabriel braced himself. Either this would work, or else he'd be packing his lone bag for more traveling before that bonfire had burnt out.
The children giggled and began to sing:
"Children are a heritage from the Lord,
And young ones are His reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a hero,
So are the children of one's youth.
Happy is the man who has his quiver full of children,
His sons in his arms,
And his daughters carried on his shoulders."
Tobias was roaring with laughter, and the children broke from their group to run to their parents. Tobias slapped Gabriel on the back. "My clever, clever hired man, spoiling my grandchildren by making them think they're so important."
Relieved that he wouldn't see sunrise on the roadside, Gabriel laughed. "Well, Solomon said it first."
"And we cannot argue with the wisdom of Solomon!" Tobias kissed Gabriel on both cheeks. "Thank you. You've done wonders with them."
The eating and drinking continued, the dancing, and the music. Children went off to bed one at a time, Rafaela rubbing her eyes and mumbling protests while Gabelus carried her indoors.
Tobias pointed to where the unmarried girls danced in white. "You don't have a wife. Are you promised to anyone?"
Gabriel swallowed hard. "Not to the best of my knowledge, no."
Tobias put his hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Would you like to contract with one of my granddaughters?"
Gabriel said, "I mean no offense, but consider what you're offering. I'm a foreigner and an exile."
Tobias looked him in the eyes. "And I made the offer anyhow. I would be honored to have you in my family."
Gabriel kissed Tobias on the cheek. "I would be honored too. But I'll decline to ask for any of your granddaughters in marriage."
Tobias smiled at him. "I expected as much, but I won't find a better husband."
Gabriel said, "Didn't Raphael say God set Sarah aside for you from before the world began? Surely He's set aside someone for them, too."
Tobias said, "Are you sure your Father hasn't set someone aside for you?"
Gabriel's stomach clenched, and he looked right at Tobias, because the way he'd just said father, the way he'd drawn that parallel – did he know?
"Hey!" Raguel rushed up to Gabriel and grabbed his hand. "You need to keep playing music. That's another prince-thing, right? Playing music in palaces?" He turned to Tobias. "You heard him! Isn't he amazing? You have to make him do it again!"
Thank you, God, for distractions. Gabriel said to Raguel, "If I play, will you sing?"
Tobias said, "Yes, do it."
Raguel said, "If I sing, no one's going to appreciate your music."
Gabriel said, "Name a song. If I know it, I'll accompany you."
So they started. Raguel picked a song, and Gabriel thought he remembered it, and they struggled until they were both in the same key. Gabelus joined, and then Tobias, and soon it felt as if most of the family was either pounding out the song or else dancing to the rhythms. Raguel was right: no one could possibly hear Gabriel's lyre, but that was good and right. Get the family started and let them enjoy each other. He didn't really belong anyhow.
At the end of the song, someone shouted out for another, and they did a few boisterous verses. Angela made a request, and Gabriel started playing a slower song, a sadder song from just after the exile. She mixed up some of the words, then stopped, and Gabriel took over, singing and playing until she could join back in, only she never did.
He looked up. The family was watching. "I'm sorry." His cheeks flushed. "Any other requests?"
"Sing the one you sang by the river," said Raguel.
Gabriel hesitated. "I can't. That's not – none of you would know that. It's from home. It's not even a language you know."
Tobias said, "I would very much like to hear a song from your home."
Did Tobias know? And if so…didn't Gabriel owe him at least this much?
He thought about the strings on this instrument, matching them to the notes he remembered, and after a false start, he began.
This was Raphael's song, and it was poetic and lively and brilliant, but when Gabriel sang, it turned wrenching. The chorus repeated a simple praise with only minor changes, an homage to the holy-holy-holy of the Seraphim, but instead of awed, Gabriel sounded sad. He pushed on the melody, trying to remember Raphael playing the tune while Gabriel sang for God, and back then in those days they'd all been together rather than split in thirds. But no, Raphael was with God. Raphael would never leave God.
Raguel joined the repetitions on the chorus, and Gabriel missed the next three notes, then halted. Raguel was only imitating the sounds, but what if Raphael heard? Raphael probably couldn't hear Gabriel, but he'd be able to hear someone singing with Gabriel, and what if—?
Raguel said, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to throw you off! You were amazing!"
Unable to speak, Gabriel just started playing a different song, a song he'd heard from the men in the fields, and a chorus started. He got them going loudly, then handed off the lyre and walked into the darkness away from the crowd.
Over at the fence he saw Michael. The Archangel's eyes shone with moonlight and didn't reflect the fire. He reached forward with his wings, as though to touch Gabriel's wingtips with his own. Gabriel extended his hands.
The music and dancing continued. Gabriel leaned on the fence and looked into the stars. "It's quiet out there. Somewhere."
Michael said, "Do you need to get away?"
"It's not as if they could hear us talking. I'm surprised they can hear each other." Gabriel chuckled dryly. "It's exhausting. I should have gone to bed with the children."
Michael said, "Let's walk, then."
Gabriel made his way toward the now-harvested barley field, putting the celebration at his back. They crested a small hill, and on the other side the sounds faded. Trying to relax, Gabriel started to say, "That's better—" when a glow formed off to his right, and with it the sensation of Raphael's presence.
Gabriel jumped, grabbing Michael's hand. He turned toward the light and saw Satan—and at his side, Raphael.
Gabriel screamed, "No!"
Satan put an arm over Raphael's shoulder. "Look who I have! Being
apart from you was too much for the poor soul, so I'm facilitating a reunion."
Seraph fire poured from Raphael, and Gabriel shoved himself backward into Michael. Raphael's power, so familiar, so individual—this was his. It sparkled with his distinct signature.
Him.
Here.
Defying God.
Gabriel blinked tear-filled eyes. "No! Go back!"
Satan turned to Raphael. "Go to him. Tell him."
"You were playing my song." Raphael approached, hands out. "I heard you, and I couldn't stand it anymore. You were calling me. I had to come tonight."
"Go away," Gabriel pleaded. "I didn't want that. Please don't come near me."
"You say you love me, but you're fighting me off. You're always denying what you feel." Raphael looked hurt. "That's lying, and isn't a lie also a sin?"
The Seraph fire swirled around him, and Gabriel's mouth watered. His head pounded, and his hands shook.
"I don't have a home any longer, only you." Raphael extended his wings. "Please, Gabriel. Just touch me again. I've wanted to be with you every day since you left, and I couldn't stand it anymore. Lucifer's going to help us. I need you."
Gabriel gripped Michael's hand with all his human-angelic strength. The fire, so delicious when it got inside, so welcome—he knew exactly how it would feel. God— He tried to back into Michael further, but there was nowhere else to go. He wanted it. No, he craved it. He couldn't think about anything else right now. Fire. The hunger flared so urgently inside. Raphael's fire. Raphael.
"Just relax and let it happen. Be the other half of me." Standing within two cubits of him, Raphael extended a hand. "I love you."
Gabriel kept his jaw tight against his skull, kept his fingers wound into Michael's, tried to twist sideways or somehow find a way it didn't tantalize so much, but there was no relief from the ever-present sparks. Michael held his hands and kept one wing wrapped about Gabriel. He tried to concentrate on Michael, but he couldn't drag his entire attention away from the Seraph and that beautiful fire. Just once. Just a little bit. Oh, God, this hurts. Please don't condemn him. Maybe he didn't realize. Please have mercy on him. Please don't let me respond. Stop me!
Raphael reached forward, tears streaming down his face as he tried to get into Gabriel's heart; that niche never could be erased, not even by hellfire.
Satan huffed. "You're being ungrateful. You're everything to him, and you're stringing him along."
The breeze picked up, and Gabriel's teeth chattered; he was doused in sweat. Nausea broke over him as he tried to look away, but he couldn't. Fire.
Michael pressed closer to him. "Don't talk any more," he murmured. "Send him away. You have the authority."
Gabriel tilted back his head, his eyes still closed. His throat ached, and his entire body tingled. "In the name of God," he said, "in the name of our Father, go home!"
Satan and Raphael vanished together.
Gabriel felt him go, felt his heart's signature vanish to leave the world a thousand times emptier than before. His heart beat so quickly he wondered if he were about to have a seizure. He staggered to a rock and put his head between his knees.
Raphael. Mercy. Justice. Forever. He extended his senses, tentative, and felt a big echoing empty.
"He's gone."
His own whisper made it real, and the tears came.
Gabriel sobbed into Michael's wings until his face was a mess and his ribs ached and he couldn't breathe. His soul had been peeled and cored, and it was all over. Michael solidified around him, but Gabriel couldn't look up, didn't want comfort and didn't want to be alone.
"You made it." Michael's whisper sounded frightened. "I know that was scary, but you made it."
I destroy everything. Everything he loved, everyone he loved, just gone, better off without him. Wouldn't it have been better for Raphael if Gabriel never existed, better alone than in fire? And would God let him out? He'd never let anyone out before, but what if they prayed, if they pleaded—could it make a difference?
Gabriel quieted, but when Michael stroked his hair, the tears started again.
In the distance, light and sound from the bonfire.
Michael murmured, "You're so strong. It's okay."
It's not okay. I'm weak. I did this. I ruined everything.
He couldn't even run. God was the only one he'd have run to, and he couldn't go there. So instead he pressed closer to Michael because Michael still had God, and that was as near as he could get.
"I'm sorry," Gabriel choked. "I'm just so sorry."
"You did fine." Michael gripped him. "You're scaring me. Is this a shock reaction?"
Shock reaction? "I'm not heartless!" Gabriel tightened up, and the tears returned. Didn't they ever dry up? "I as good as murdered him! I wish I'd never met him."
"You didn't murder him." Michael sounded mystified. "You sent him away."
The fabric of Michael's clothes was wet against his cheeks. "He's in Hell because of me."
"He's in Hell because of his own choices."
"He chose it because of me!" Gabriel pushed back even though he could barely see Michael. "Don't try to make it better! What the hell do you know about bonding? He wouldn't have left God except to be with me, and I'm here and I should have been there, and—"
"Whoa, wait!" Michael grabbed his shoulders. "What are you talking about? Satan never bonded anyone."
"I'm not talking about Satan! I just want Raphael back! Why didn't you stop him? Can't you do something now? Go ask God, plead with him, do something rather than sitting here telling me to get over it!"
Michael clutched Gabriel tighter. "Raphael's fine—what are you talking about? He's fine!"
Gabriel's vision went white. "Fine in Hell?"
"Fine about an arrow-flight away from you fine!" Michael's eyes were wide. "Fine like close-enough-that-if-I-called-he'd-turn-his-head fine. Why would he be in Hell?"
Gabriel shook his head. Then, "But—Raphael …Raphael was with Satan!" He choked. "His energy. I'd recognize it anywhere."
Michael turned his head, then looked back at Gabriel. Back again. Back to Gabriel "I promise you, whatever you saw—the one who approached you was Satan. There wasn't anyone else." Michael sounded urgent. "I don't know the first thing about Cherub-Seraph bonds, but that was Satan."
Gabriel blinked. "You mean—" His legs trembled, and he dropped to the ground before he had chance to fall. "Satan just tried to bond with me?"
Michael went bloodless. "Bond with you?" He started to stand. "I'll chain him at the bottom of the lake of fire!"
"No, stay!" Gabriel yanked Michael back. His hands weren't working right, and he couldn't stop the shaking. "It felt just like Raphael. That energy. He'd have chained me to him."
Michael hugged him. "You're safe. It didn't work."
"Are you sure?" Gabriel bit his lip. "Really sure—?"
"I promise. Raphael's fine."
Gabriel put his face in his hands. He tried to kindle up his own fire, just to take the edge off the longing, but he couldn't.
Michael held him. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize."
Gabriel closed his eyes.
Raphael. Safe.
Safe, somewhere. Well, safe in whatever direction Michael had been looking before. It was okay. Gabriel could starve through a year as long as Raphael was safe.
"You're freezing." Michael dropped his wings and wrapped them tight around Gabriel. "Do you want to go back toward the bonfire?"
"No, it's—" Gabriel shuddered, and he rubbed his arms. "Not real heat. He was baiting me with Seraph fire." He rubbed his eyes, but still he shivered all over, his nerves livid as they hungered for the energy. "I'm in a human body, but it's Cherub instinct, or reflex, or something."
Michael's eyes widened. "You're in withdrawal?"
It sounded so disgusting that way. "Can you pray over me?"
"That makes what he did twice as lousy," Michael muttered. He rested his hands on Gabriel, and momentarily the tremors eased, the
n the nausea faded, and he breathed without pain.
Watching the reflected beauty fading from Michael's eyes, Gabriel tried to get used to feeling normal again rather than one knot of anticipation. He shivered. What if…? "Are you sure Raphael's safe?"
"I promise," Michael said.
Gabriel sagged against Michael's arm without any strength of his own.
Then in the next moment, he realized—without any strength of his own.
Gebher'el. "God's Strength."
Oh, God, have mercy on me. It broke over him then just how small he was, how capable of falling, how he was in some sense a sinner because without God supporting him, he was capable of every kind of sin. He'd been holding onto himself so tightly this entire year, for thousands before this, so glad he was the way God had made him that he never needed to change any of it. Only wasn't that denying God the glory for the graces he was giving Gabriel every minute? Because without that grace, Gabriel would have fallen just now—would have fallen at the winnowing, would have fallen a hundred times in between.
Gabriel looked up at Michael and realized Michael embodied without even realizing it what Gabriel was just now taking to heart: they were empty vessels on their own, valuable only because God had arrived to fill them, and beyond that—
He shuddered. God, have mercy on me. How many times had he resisted realizing? Being strong and knowing you were doing the right thing was a very comfortable place to be. Being without strength of your own, knowing God guided you and protected you—it was undiluted helplessness. But ultimately, that was what God had wanted him to learn.
Because now, how could he look down on the people with him? How could he think he was better than they were, when he was only what God decided to give him and nothing more? How could he say, "Thank you God for making me like me and not like them," when he'd had nothing to do with it in the first place? Have mercy.
Inside the Spirit warmed him—he was right, and this was good.
Michael looked anguished. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you while it was happening. I thought Satan was shedding power to look good."
Gabriel blinked—oh, right, Satan as Raphael. He shook his head. "It was a test. I needed to learn—" Have mercy on me... "
