“You make it sound like this won’t be the last time I’ll need to change into human form.”
Perhaps even more than is anticipated, he thought.
“What’s next?”
“Focus on the core of your being. Right here.” He placed two fingers at the center of her abdomen. “Now push outward as if you are trying to push away my fingers from your body.”
“Like this . . . whoa! There’s something mushy underneath my feet.” She lifted her foot and looked at the ground.
“That is sand.”
“Does all the land feel like this?” she said, placing her foot back down and wiggling her toes.
“No, just the sand,” he said as he headed toward the tents. “Come, your first contact with humans is something you will never forget.”
3
As they neared the cluster of tents, Raphael saw a young woman struggling to place a large pot over a fire. A small boy with thick dark hair clung to her leg, making the task difficult. She wore a long robe that was clean but bore small tears that needed repair. She wore her headdress wrapped around her throat and over her mouth, with her bright brown eyes peeking out of the top. As she moved, the sleeves of her robe shifted up, revealing sores on her arms.
“Here, let me,” Raphael said as he rushed to help her.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You can call me Raphael,” he said as he placed the pot over the fire.
“I am Miriam. Please do not think me ungrateful for your help, but you must leave at once.” She looked to Raguel and then to him. “Do you not know what this place is?”
Raphael glanced at the little boy. “Yes, we do. We are here to assist you and bring comfort.”
“What comfort can you bring? You will be shunned like the rest of us if the people of Ai see you here.”
“We bring you word, His word that you are loved and have not been forsaken.”
Miriam looked sadly at him. “It is difficult to believe that when all others turn away from us, no matter how innocent.” She hugged the boy against her.
Raphael reached out to her and she gasped at his touch. A look of peace swept over her face. “All are His children. Have faith.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
“And who is this fine young man that clings to you?” Raphael smiled at the little boy. Big brown eyes peeked out from behind Miriam’s dress.
“This is my son, Ethan.”
Raphael squatted to the boy’s eye level. “Hello, Ethan.”
Ethan ducked his head back into his mother’s robes.
“Ethan,” the woman said, exasperated. “Forgive my son. He’s not normally like this. Ever since we were told to leave the city, he’s grown cautious of strangers.”
Raphael nodded. Before he and Raguel left Heaven, Michael had shown them how the diseased were physically removed from their homes and pushed out of the city gates.
“My companion and I have heard about what happened. We are here for a short time to bring you any help we can. Is there anything we can do for you?”
Her lips curled into a smile. “Yes, there is. I can grind the grain more quickly without Ethan underfoot.”
“I think I can find a way to occupy his time,” he said. He looked down at the marks on the boy’s arms. He wondered where Ethan’s father was. He didn’t ask. He suspected that the father had shunned his own wife and son. How could anyone shun one of their own?
“Ethan, would you like to hear a story?” He held out his hand to the boy. “It’s a story about a little boy who was healed by a nice and handsome stranger.”
Raphael had been told to only bring comfort to the outcasts. It was difficult to look at the people who were suffering and not be allowed to heal them.
Ethan slowly peeked out of his mother’s robes. Thick eyelashes hooded his eyes as he gazed at Raphael’s outstretched hand. He looked up at his mother.
“Go on. I’ll be right over there.” She pointed to a pair of grinding stones nearby. “And if you’re good, you can have dates with your meal.”
Ethan’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Mother.” He then took Raphael’s hand.
“Thank you,” Miriam said to Raphael while she hurried over to the stones. “I won’t be long.”
“Raphael,” Raguel whispered as she watched the woman hunch over the stones and move one of the stones over the other, rocking it back and forth, creating a powdery substance. “What is she doing?”
“Grinding the grain to make flour.” Raphael led Ethan to the front of a small tent. “Yours?” he asked the boy.
Ethan nodded.
Raphael sat down and pulled the boy onto his lap. He touched the boy’s arm and winced at the sight of chubby hands marred by disease. The poor boy. Someone as beautiful and innocent as this young one shouldn’t have to live with such an ailment.
The boy looked up at him in awe, and Raphael’s heart melted. He knew he could heal Ethan. He had been recently promoted to the Archangel of Healing. Bestowed with the gift of healing, he could easily cure the boy. He was sure he would be forgiven if he did. The boy was so young to have to suffer as he did.
“Hold still, Ethan,” he said as he hovered a hand over Ethan’s arm.
“What are you doing?” Raguel asked in a surprised whisper.
“I’m healing him.”
“That goes against Michael’s orders!”
Raphael paused and looked up at Raguel. She was right. As much as he wanted to help Ethan, he wouldn’t be setting a good example for Raguel’s first mission.
He sighed, dropping his hand. “Yes. We are here to comfort and bring words of faith to the people here.” He patted Ethan’s arm.
“I’m not sure how.” She wore a worried look on her face.
Raphael looked around at the people near the surrounding tents, and his eyes rested on an elderly man, his skin browned by the relenting sun. Next to him was a goatskin water bag. “Over there.” He pointed to the elderly man. “Offer to bring him some water from the stream. His bag looks empty.”
Raphael watched Raguel with interest. He remembered the first time he came in contact with a human. They had so many emotions, passions that were often carried to the extremes: happiness, sorrow, anger, love. They were filled with a radiance of energy that was deep within their souls. Angels were not too different from humans. Yet, he felt the angels kept their emotions in check. It was as if they were afraid to let their feelings go, to appear less than the perfection to which they were created.
The first time he touched a human, he felt an instant connection. It had been then that he realized humans saw him as a divine creature. What was interesting was he had felt that way about them. He longed to tell others of his experience. He wasn’t sure the other angels would understand. Even his close friend Lucifer thought it was nonsense and discouraged him from telling the other angels.
“Sir,” Raphael heard Raguel say to the elderly man. “I will get some water for you from the stream.”
The old man lifted his head. His lips trembled as his eyes rested on Raguel. “Rachel?”
Raguel looked over at Raphael, confused.
He shrugged.
“My name is Raguel,” she said to the old man.
“You look like Rachel.”
“Who’s Rachel?”
“It was my daughter’s name. I thought you were her. I thought the Lord had answered my prayers and sent her back to me. She was too young to be taken.” His hand shook as he reached out to her.
“You look just like her, so beautiful.” He stopped before he reached her cheek and pulled his hand away. “So much like her.”
Rachel knelt in front of him. “What happened to your daughter?”
“They came after me when I was struck with leprosy. The soldiers ordered me away, and I was willing to leave. I have lived my life. But Rachel, she would not let go. She begged the soldiers to spare me, and when they didn’t, she grabbed hold of one of the soldiers, and he . . . he struck her down with his swo
rd.”
Raphael heard her let out a small sob. He watched as her hand reached out toward the old man. She paused and glanced back at Raphael.
He nodded with encouragement. “Go on,” he muttered under his breath.
Swallowing, she rested her flawless hand on his wrinkled one.
Raphael smiled at the expression on her face, and he knew she felt it—the unconditional love for His most magnificent creation. How could one not feel it? He knew once the other angels came in contact with humans they would be able to feel what he had. Perhaps that was what Lucifer needed. Surely if he walked among them and got to know them, he too could grow to love them. Perhaps when he returned, he would talk with Michael about it.
“You remind me of her,” the old man said. “Ragu—What did you say your name was?”
“You can call me Rachel. It would be an honor for me to have the name of such a brave woman as your daughter.” She glanced at Raphael. “From now on, I am Rachel.”
He gave her a nod. It didn’t surprise him that Raguel . . . Rachel, would do something like that. She loved deeply. She was a young angel and in many ways innocent to the workings of Heaven and even Earth. She was the opposite of Uriel, who only thought of himself. If Uriel knew how much she cared for him, it would be a danger to her. Raphael hoped for Rachel’s sake that Uriel would never discover her feelings for him.
“Now, Ethan. How about that story?” He was about to start when he heard a low rumbling of angry voices in the distance. He looked toward Ai and saw a mob of people near the city gate, marching in their direction.
Raphael stood and lifted Ethan into his arms. The mob headed toward them appeared to be made up of men from the city. Most of them wore multicolored coats over their robes—something only the wealthy could afford to wear. Using his gift of enhanced sight, he could see the fear beneath the anger in their eyes. It was understandable that they would be afraid the disease might spread into the city. It was that same fear that could turn even the godliest of men against his brother.
Raphael looked at the people in the tent community. They had been thrown out of their homes once. Where else would they go?
If their fears were put to rest, he was sure the people of Ai would welcome back their brethren. All he had to do was assure them. He was confident he could do that. He just needed to have a word with them.
Then, in the midst of the crowd, he saw a shimmer—then another, and another.
The mob parted, making way for soldiers—their swords gleamed under the sunlight. Raphael’s heart fell, knowing the soldiers would not listen to reason.
Putting Ethan down, he said, “Go into your tent, little one. Stay in there. Your mother will join you soon.”
“Miriam, come quick,” he called out when Ethan disappeared into the tent.
“What is it?” Miriam wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her arm.
“Go with Ethan. Do not come out until I tell you it is safe.”
“Why? What is—”
Miriam’s hand flew to her throat, and her eyes grew wide. “No,” she gasped.
Raphael touched her arm. “Miriam?”
“The others. We must warn the others.” Tearing herself away from Raphael, her robes fluttered as she sped to the other tents. “Rahab, Bithiah. They’re coming! The soldiers are coming!”
Raphael was about to go after her when dozens of people began to run through the tent community gathering their belongings. He looked back at the tent where Ethan was. He couldn’t leave him alone.
Grief-stricken, he saw the fear on people’s faces. Many of those who were able ran toward the valley and disappeared into the hills. The others, mostly women with their children and the old or very sick, sat helpless, their voices pleading.
“We have done nothing.”
“Where will we go?”
“We are forsaken. We are all forsaken.”
Miriam pushed her way through the crowds, rushing to the elderly man. “Obadiah, come with me.”
“What is it?” Rachel asked.
“The soldiers. They are coming for us. You and Raphael need to leave.”
Rachel looked at Raphael with a question in her eyes that he didn’t want to answer. If the men were here to destroy the tent community and the people that lived within it, there was nothing they could do. To be more accurate, there were not allowed to do anything beyond what they were assigned to do. They could not interfere. Rachel wanted to stop the unimaginable.
When he shook his head, her eyes darted to the tent where Ethan hid and then to Obadiah. Blood drained from her face.
“No,” she mouthed.
There was a loud grunt and a weathered hand reached out, seeking Rachel’s attention.
“Rachel, hand me my staff,” Obadiah said.
“What are you doing?” She gasped as he shifted his weight, getting ready to stand. She rushed to the tent opening and grabbed a long dark stick. She hurried back to him, placing it in his hand.
Muscles protruded through his bony arms as he pulled himself up, his legs wobbling when he stood. “I will meet the soldiers. Take Ethan and the others away from here.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped as she watched Obadiah shuffle away from her.
“No, please don’t,” she said, going after him.
Obadiah kept on walking, his feet stirring up dust as they brushed over the dirt. “Make haste, woman. I can only distract them for a short time.”
“I will go with you,” Rachel insisted.
Obadiah stopped. He looked back at Raphael, then turned to her. His hand shook as he reached out to touch her cheek. “I have lived a great many years. I have served The Almighty faithfully even when I was cast out from my own home . . . even when my daughter was slain. Now, on my last day of life, He has sent you and your companion. I never thought that with my last breath I would touch an angel, a daughter of The Most High.”
Rachel gasped and blinked. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Obadiah gave her a knowing smile. “Go help the others, Rachel. Perhaps we shall meet again someday.”
4
“Rachel,” Raphael called out to her. “Help me find Miriam.”
Rachel looked from Raphael to Obadiah, who shuffled toward the soldiers. Confusion marred her delicate features. Should she stand with Obadiah who was determined to meet the soldiers head on or obey her orders?
Sad brown eyes met Raphael’s when she finally went to him. “Is there not anything we can do?”
He gazed deep into her eyes. How could he tell her that even if they tried, there was no guarantee the soldiers would listen to reason? Even though they had the power of mind manipulation and could use it against the soldiers, it was not for them to influence the free will of men. That is the creed that all archangels live by. Admittedly, it was something difficult to do, especially in a time like this. To have power to save others’ lives and not be allowed to use it. He only had to make the suggestion and the humans would follow his directive. Rachel knew about this gift, but her soul was so pure, the thought did not even occur to her that it would be an option.
“The best we can do is to help the others to flee,” he said.
Rachel’s lip quivered as she watched Obadiah continue his trek.
With each wobbling step Obadiah took, Raphael’s awe grew for the old man. Obadiah, fragile in body, was so strong in spirit that his only thought was to protect the others, not to avoid the danger that he was placing himself in as he approached the soldiers. He must have known that the end for him was near, yet still he walked on. It was that kind of courage that made Raphael love humans even more. If only Lucifer could see what he was seeing.
Raphael placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Come. I will get Ethan and you can go find—”
A sweet voice floated through the air above the growls of the angry mob and the marching of the soldiers. It was so soft, Raphael wondered if he had imagined it.
He peered over at the oncoming cr
owd. The soldiers had stopped a few feet away from Obadiah and were laughing.
The lead soldier stood, unmoving, his face half hidden underneath a bronze helmet and a thick black beard. Hanging off his shoulders was a red toga held together by a round golden brooch at his neck. The toga waved in the breeze, gently slapping against his muscled thighs.
When the lead solider drew his sword from his scabbard, a small figure dashed through the horde of soldiers. For a moment, Raphael thought it was a young boy. Perhaps it was the son of one of the diseased that lived in the tent community. Then he saw the flowing light blue robe that brushed against the ground, sending a cloud of dust as the figure moved.
“Stop. I beg of you. Please stop,” the woman cried out.
Her small hand latched on to the lead soldier’s large bicep. It looked so delicate against the hardened arm.
“Out of the way, woman,” the solider growled, pushing her away from him.
The woman stumbled a few steps forward and fell at Obadiah’s feet. Dark hair covered her face like a veil of silk. From the distance, Raphael could hear her sobs. The sound of it filled him with a strange feeling. It was like there was a rope tied to his chest that was pulling him to her. He dug his heels into the ground, frightened by the strength of the strange feeling. He wanted to go to her, to comfort the brave woman who was daring to take on an army of soldiers on her own.
He watched as Obadiah reached out his hand to her. Seconds passed and Raphael wondered what she was doing as she continued to stare at the ground. After a moment, the woman squared her shoulders and took hold of Obadiah’s hand.
And then, Raphael saw her face.
Tears stained her rosy cheeks; flawless skin was covered with dirt; and yet, she was the most beautiful being, human or angel, he’d ever laid his eyes upon.
He was mesmerized by her every movement: the way she brushed her hair off her face to hang over delicate shoulders; the way pink lips moved as she spoke her thanks to Obadiah; the way her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him and then transformed to worry as she glanced in the direction of the tents.
Turning to face the group of soldiers, the woman schooled her face, hazel eyes blazing with determination. Staggering back, Raphael’s breath hitched at the sight of them. It was only a glimpse. But that was all it took to set his heart on fire. The strange feeling returned in full force, coursing through his veins. He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. It was something that he had heard humans experienced. Rarely did he hear angels speak of such feelings.
Before the Fall Page 2
