“I don’t want to!” I said, wriggling to get out of his grip. “I don’t want to be a part of this Prophecy. I don’t want to find the Key. I can’t! Let me go!”
His face darkened, and he tightened his hold on my wrists. “You can’t back out. We need to find the Key or nobody will be safe. I can’t find it by myself. I need you, Hope.”
“You’re going about it all wrong,” a voice rang out over the wind.
Walking through the warren of beehive huts was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Even though we were here, on the top of a storm-shorn cliff, she wore flowing robes of pure white. The wind barely seemed to touch her—it caressed her hair and her gowns with no more than a gentle breeze. As she turned around one of the buildings I caught a glimpse of wing.
An angel. Fear stabbed me through.
Michael dropped my hands and rose to his feet, positioning me behind him as he did so.
“Gabrielle,” he greeted her, his voice uncertain.
She smiled warmly and came to a stop.
“Michael, my brother.” She opened her arms, beckoning him close.
Michael hesitated, just for a moment, before bracing himself and striding purposefully toward her. She beamed and embraced him, kissing him once, then twice, on the cheek, resting her graceful hands softly upon his shoulders. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I glanced from her pristine beauty to myself, sitting in a disheveled heap.
“What are you doing here?” He said tersely, his right hand unconsciously forming a fist. “Did Raph send you?”
She bent her head quizzically. “Raph? No. Raph did not send me. I came as I always come, with a message.”
Michael drew his brows into a fierce point. “For me?”
“No, of course not,” Gabrielle smiled gracefully. “For her.” She pushed past Michael and extended her hand toward me, bidding me up.
I scrambled to my feet, confused.
“What would you have with her? How do I know you’re really Gabrielle?” Michael said, uncertain, subtly moving between the angel and me to shield me with his body. “Whatever you have to tell her, you can say to me.”
“You know I cannot give my message to anyone but her for whom it is intended,” Gabrielle gently admonished. “It is a message for Hope. Only she can hear it.”
“You didn’t answer my question. How do I know it is you? How do I know you aren’t one of the Fallen, come to trap us? How do I know we can trust you?”
She laughed, a tinkling sound like ringing bells and singing birds. “Raph said I might find you confused. Very well, then. Shall we settle it like old times? I think you’ll know me then.”
Michael glowered at her. “As you wish. Prepare yourself.”
He turned, closing the space between us with a few paces, then hustling me over to the ancient stone wall. He leaned in close to whisper his instructions. “If anything goes wrong, if you see anything at all that makes you think she is one of The Fallen, climb down as fast as you can to the boat and let Enoch care for you. Trust no one else.”
“What’s happening?” I asked, panicked.
“Just promise me, Hope.” He stared into my eyes, insistent.
“I promise,” I whispered, frightened by the intensity of his gaze.
“Good,” he said, closing his eyes with relief. “Good.”
He turned back to face Gabrielle, but she was no longer there. Instead, a muscular youth, shorn of wings and stripped down to what amounted to a loincloth, was pacing the stony ground in bare feet.
“Are you ready, brother?” the youth demanded, a cocky grin lighting up his face. “I thought it might be more sporting if I started out in male form, just like you.”
Michael tore off his clothes, hastily, leaving all but the last layer in a heap on the ground. I was startled at how thin and pale he seemed, as if he were wasting away. “I’m ready,” he growled, never taking his eyes off the boy.
“We wrestle to see who is who, then. Like old times.”
They squared off, wheeling about, slowly pacing as they sized each other up.
“You beat me last time, I recall,” the youth called out pleasantly. “But it took until dawn.”
“I don’t have ‘til dawn. Whether or not you are Gabrielle, I shall beat you quickly this time.”
“We shall see,” the boy answered, crouching, the muscles in his legs tensing. Before Michael could answer, he launched himself toward Michael. As he crashed into Michael, the boy’s body shimmered, the air around him seeming to bend as his body contorted into that of a majestic lion. The beast wrapped its paws around Michael, giving an ear-splitting roar that even the winds could not drown out as the animal threw its full weight against Michael.
They fell to the ground, tumbling and twisting as I watched, terrified.
Michael strained to break free of the lion’s hold. He seemed tiny next to the animal’s golden brawn, yet somehow he managed to twist his arms free so he could trap the lion’s shaggy mane in a headlock. The lion growled in protest, rolling to its side, dragging Michael down into the rocky dirt with it. They crashed into one of the huts, sending stones tumbling from the roof. For a split second, the lion seemed incapacitated. Michael hauled on its mane, banging its head against the wall, his sinewy body rippling with the strain.
The lion roared in anger and in an instant shifted into the form of a wolf. The sudden change forced them both off balance, sending them tumbling in a death grip across the yard. The wolf shook Michael free and regained its feet, growling low as Michael forced himself up to face off again.
Michael was breathing heavily. Blood dripped from a gash in his forehead where he’d fallen against a rock. The wolf, too, seemed spent, its tongue lolling from its open mouth while it ever so slowly circled Michael.
“Michael, be careful!” I shouted, but I was too late. He tumbled backward, tripping over a fallen stone. The wolf lunged, seeing its opportunity, and sank its teeth into Michael’s thigh.
Michael grunted and began kicking, trying to shake the wolf loose. He landed a blow to the wolf’s belly. The wolf let out a high-pitched whine, as it sailed over the hard-packed dirt, landing on its back up against a stone wall, before sliding to the ground.
Michael hurled himself on top of the wolf, clamping its jaws shut and using his entire weight to trap the animal against the wall. In rapid succession, the wolf morphed into different animals—a leopard, a fox, and a viper—trying to shake Michael off with the sudden changes. It wriggled and snapped in frustration at Michael. But Michael held fast, only tightening his grip upon each beast, in turn. In desperation, the animal shifted to eagle form, flapping its wings and scratching at Michael with its talons, tearing apart the flesh on Michael’s brow. Michael snatched its clawed feet in one hand, keeping its beak trapped with the other, while it frantically flapped its wings, trying to escape.
“Give up,” Michael ordered with ragged breath as he dragged himself to his feet, struggling under the weight of the mighty bird. “You’ve been beaten, fair and square.” Blood poured from his wounded leg and forehead. I moved to go to him, but he shook his head, warning me off.
“Show yourself, Gabrielle,” he ordered sternly. “If it is, indeed, you.”
The eagle cried out in defeat, flapping its heavy wings, until slowly, they took on the shimmer of the setting sun. Its shape shifted, flickering and glowing until gradually, it took the solid form of an angel once again, its vast wings spanning out to block our view of the dark sky. She stood impassively, her struggle over.
Still, Michael did not release his grip on the angel’s wrists and face.
“Did you notice anything, Hope?” Michael demanded, his jaw tense. “What did you notice about our visitor, here?”
I thought hard about the shape shifting that had occurred during the wrestling match. “There was no smell of sulfur when she shape-shifted. I think that means she really is who she says she is and not a Fallen Angel.”
Michael nodded, approvingly. “Good girl.�
��
He released Gabrielle and stepped back, pressing his lips into a grim line while he watched her straighten her robes and dab at the red smear of blood that marred the pristine white. She rubbed her ear where Michael had twisted it, making a face at him as she did so.
We knew she was truly who she claimed to be.
“But it still doesn’t explain why she’s here,” Michael continued, a stern warning in his voice.
Gabrielle straightened up, shaking her wings impatiently as she attempted to regain her dignity. I realized with a shock that she was actually taller than Michael—at least in her angelic form.
“I already told you,” she said, shooting an amused look at Michael. “I have a message for Hope. Will you hear it, Hope?” she asked kindly, turning to me.
I looked at Michael. He was scowling but said nothing.
“Do I have a choice?” I asked.
She cleared the ground in a few graceful strides and took my hand in hers. “You always have a choice,” she said gently.
I looked to Michael for guidance, but he was determinedly staring at the dirt.
“All right,” I conceded. “I’ll hear your message.”
“I’m so glad,” Gabrielle said, smiling warmly as she took my arm. “Let us walk for a while.”
“But what about Michael?” I asked, looking over my shoulder to where he stood, waiting. “He’s wounded. He needs help.”
“Michael will heal without your attentions.” I shot one more backward glance at him, hoping she was right, as she pulled me out of the monastery compound, and we began to climb. He was dabbing at his injuries with a T-shirt, paying us no attention.
“Are you sure he’ll heal?” I asked, concerned. “He isn’t …”
“As strong as he used to be? I noticed. For a moment there I thought I was going to beat him. That would have been a first,” she said wryly. Before I could comment, she continued. “He is weakened by all that has happened. But he isn’t weak. He still has depths of power upon which he can draw. His human body will recover soon enough.”
I hung my head, shame flooding through me once again. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? It’s because of me that he is losing his powers. I’ve stolen them from him.”
“Did you choose to take his powers, Hope?”
“No.”
“Then how can you be to blame?”
The question was so simple, but I found myself unable to answer it.
“We are responsible for our choices, Hope. Only that. You cannot take responsibility—whether blame or credit—for the choices others have made. You can only recognize their consequences and deal with them as best you can.” She steered me around a rock in our path, waiting for her words to sink in as we climbed ever upward.
“It just seems so unfair,” I said bitterly. “And right now, neither one of us is strong enough to find the Key.”
“Hope, you know that is untrue. Together, you are strong enough.”
My eyes swam with angry tears. “You say that as if it were so easy. But every moment he spends with me is excruciating. He’s in constant pain, Gabrielle. You see what it has done to him—what it is doing to him. He can hardly stand it any longer. How can we work together when God is punishing him for even being with me?”
Gabrielle stopped and took my hands in hers. Her eyes were deep with sadness. “My poor child. The guilt you carry is a heavy burden, and an unnecessary one. God does not wish you parted from Michael. Quite the contrary.”
A solitary tear ran down my face. I wiped at it angrily with my sleeve, not believing my ears.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Of course God is punishing us for being together. Why else would Michael be experiencing such pain? It’s God’s way. Michael told me.”
Gabrielle sighed and pulled me down to sit on a boulder.
“What Michael doesn’t understand about God’s will could fill volumes. It is true of all of us. But I can assure you, on this matter, Michael is mistaken. And I think you know why.”
I shivered where I sat on the rock. Gabrielle tucked me under her wing and dabbed at the tear on my cheek with the sleeve of her gown. “You know why, Hope,” she reiterated. “You must face what you know.”
I looked at her blankly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
She looked at me with probing eyes and smiled indulgently. “You know what Michael is, do you not? You’ve known it for some days now.”
My heart stopped. Of course I knew what she meant. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I shifted against the uncomfortable rock, wishing she would go away.
“You must talk about it, child,” she scolded me, as if she could read my thoughts. “Ignoring it won’t change the truth you have discovered.”
I pulled my hands away from hers and busied myself, picking at a loose thread on my jacket. “Yes,” I admitted. “I know what he is.”
“You must say it out loud and acknowledge it.”
I hesitated. Saying it would make it real. And if I spoke it out loud, then Henri might hear me.
“You can speak freely with me. Your Guardian Angel is not here,” she prompted.
“But how …? I questioned her, puzzled.
“You needn’t know how. Just trust I have found a way to keep him occupied elsewhere. Go on, now, tell me what you know.”
I sighed. She had an answer for everything. I kicked my toe at a rock in the dirt path.
“The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep,” I said, feeling like the words were being dragged out of me.
“The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep,” she repeated, compelling me on with her melodious voice.
“He is the Gate.” I stared at the dirt, barely able to breathe the words.
“He is the Gate,” she repeated, reverently. “He is the Gate, it is true. But do you really understand what that means?”
I closed my eyes, following the threads I had drawn together until I could see it in my mind’s eye and articulate the answer.
“It is through him that the Fallen will regain Heaven. But not as conquerors. They will be redeemed. And Michael will be the instrument of their redemption.”
“Yes!” Gabrielle said, her voice thick with emotion. I opened my eyes and saw hers were shining with joy, gazing into space at something that, clearly, I could not see. “The Prophecy says those who wish to, will return. Many of the Fallen despair of their evil ways. They wish to be reunited with the Father once again, but for that to happen, someone must redeem them. The Gate must open for them to enter, just as Christ opened it for humankind. Michael is the Gate, the shepherd of the angels who will save the lost sheep, the savior of the angels, just as Christ is and was mankind’s.” She squeezed my hands tightly in hers, and I could feel her trembling.
“Can you imagine what it will be like? Can you imagine the rejoicing that will fill the Heavens when they return? The endless centuries of pain, the gnawing hunger of their separation from God, gone, in an instant? Not all will make the choice, of course, but many will. Heaven will be theirs once again.”
I couldn’t imagine anything. I was numb, screaming on the inside.
Gabrielle turned to me again with urgency. “You understand, then, what it means for Michael to be the Gate? For Michael to redeem the Fallen Ones?”
I nodded.
“You must say it, child. To acknowledge it, you must speak it aloud.”
I pressed my eyes closed again. The words were torn out of my very heart. “He has to die. He has to sacrifice himself.”
“Yes,” Gabrielle whispered, grasping my hands tightly. “Yes. He must, so they may live again.”
“It’s not fair,” I keened, my voice cracking with grief.
“My dear,” Gabrielle rebuked me with the gentleness of a mother correcting a young child, “how can you speak of fairness? Do you think God only loves his human children? Do you think only mankind merits forgiveness? Do you think the Heavenly Father will let even the least among his
creation suffer for their sin, with no hope of salvation? He will send a shepherd after them, too, just as surely as he sent a shepherd after you.”
I tore my hands away and rubbed at my face, irritated by her logic, angry there was nothing I could do about it, and ashamed I would want to stop it.
“That still doesn’t explain Michael’s pain,” I argued, irrationally hoping to win some part of the argument.
“You already know it, Hope. You have already used the word.”
I looked at her blankly.
“Sacrifice,” she whispered, the wind carrying the word away from her lips. “Sacrifice. As you say, Michael must sacrifice himself to save the others. But if it is easy for him to do so … if giving over his body to death is merely a matter of obedience, as he has always obeyed God, over and over through the millennia, it is not really a sacrifice.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Gabrielle placed her warm hand on my cheek, her face grave. “For Michael’s death to count as a sacrifice, he has to really regret what he is leaving behind. He has to not only love you, Hope, he has to accept that he loves you. Only when he acknowledges his love for you—when you both stop fighting it—only then will he experience the real loss that is required for sacrifice.”
I felt like she had kicked me in the stomach.
“I’m here to make it hurt,” I said, all of it making sense in a sick, twisted way.
She nodded. “He is in pain, because he resists you, resists his fate. That is all. He has been resisting his love for you since the very beginning. That Mark upon your neck?”
I nodded, my fingers drifting up to it.
“It appeared there after Michael chose you for himself, that day he saved you as a child. Even then, he ran away from you, confused by his choice to single you out. But his choice marked you as his forever, marked you as the one who would fulfill the words of the Prophecy. Michael will continue to feel pain until he stops fighting his love for you. Only then will he be following God’s path.”
Sudden nausea overtook me. I pushed myself away from the rock and vomited until there was nothing left but acid burning my throat. I bent over, clutching my stomach and shaking, refusing to believe what I’d just heard.
Dark Rising Page 20
