by Jane Lebak
Voriah gasped. “You’d use a night off to sleep? That’s nuts!”
“And a board game with thirty-eight expansion sets—that’s perfectly sane.”
Tabris walked away from them, settling at the top of the hill to stare into the darkness of the trees on the next. Rachmiel shifted onto his side to focus on the isolated copse, its darkness standing apart from the star-bright night they’d chosen for their leisure time.
Tabris tucked his knees to his chest, his wings up. Quiet like the trees. Rachmiel said, “Tabris? What do you think of Elizabeth?”
“She’s very cute. You’ve done a good job.”
Rachmiel waited for more, but nothing came, and he lay still in the hope that everyone else would pretend that exchange hadn’t just happened. Voriah went back to teasing Mithra about board games, and Rachmiel waited for his racing heart to calm.
You tried, said God to Rachmiel.
It was a dumb move, Rachmiel prayed back. Is he offended?
God indicated no.
So much for creating an opening. He’d be better off waiting for one.
Josai’el called, “Tabris, you can come back. They’re not really going to rope you into a seven-player game of whatever it is.”
Forcing a smile, Tabris returned. Although he’d seemed thoughtful from a distance, he once again wore that alertness which characterized his expression, his mahogany eyes blending with the night.
Mithra looked up. “Has that demon bothered you again?”
“Once. I sent him away.”
Mithra’s mouth twitched. “I hate meeting ex-friends. It’s such a senseless loss, like you know they were smarter than that.”
Tabris looked back at the cluster of trees. “Yeah. I think that a lot.”
Rachmiel said, “He was your friend?”
“Before the Winnowing.”
Said with no inflection. Cold.
Voriah said, “I was lucky. None of my close friends fell.”
“It’s awful,” said Mithra. “Their whole personality changed. They hate themselves, hate each other, hate that dandelion, hate everything. They change their names and eventually they’re unrecognizable except when remnants of their old personalities come back up, and then it’s just nauseating because you remember how they were created.”
The whole time Mithra spoke, Rachmiel sensed a shadow overstealing his heart, and he shifted to relieve the pressure until he realized the feeling wasn’t his own. He glanced at Tabris to find him utterly still, as though he’d looked into a mirror and seen only a skull.
Rachmiel said, “Is that what it’s like for you?”
Tabris’s wings flared. “What?”
“About your former friend.”
“Oh.” Tabris looked aside. “Um—I guess.”
Rachmiel leaned forward. “What was he like? Does he follow you a lot?” His heart thrummed—what if God had given him an opening here? “What’s his name?”
Tabris clutched the dead grass. “I— It’s not like I have that much contact with him. I’m not—”
“Rachmiel!” Josai’el’s voice was as stern as a rap with a ruler. “Ease up on him. This isn’t an interrogation.”
“I’m sorry.” Rachmiel felt himself radiate awkwardness. There had to be something identifiable in Tabris, some emotion he could latch onto and maybe begin understanding him. They’d been together two weeks and his emotions were still locked down. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Tabris tucked up his knees, and his eyes went cold. “No, go right ahead.”
As Rachmiel watched, Tabris exerted control like iron, and in the next moment it was just like talking to a suit of armor long after the knight that had worn it had gone home. No emotions, no depth—just Tabris.
“He changed his name from Zeffar,” Tabris said, “but for now he calls himself Unbridled. He left me alone before now, but recently he’s made it clear he wants my damnation. He insisted that God do exactly that at my trial.”
Like a shadow, Tabris absorbed the starlight and let escape only faint points. “Have I answered your questions sufficiently?”
Katra’il’s fingers had slowed on her guitar, and Hadriel had looked up from his book. Trembling, Rachmiel shook his head.
The shell of a spirit where Tabris sat gave off a resonance almost demonic in its emptiness. “You can ask anything you want.”
He gave Rachmiel a smile, but Rachmiel could feel nothing behind it. Not anger, but certainly not friendship.
Mithra sounded unconcerned. “Well, we won’t let him have you. If he keeps hassling you, I’ve got your back.”
Voriah said, “He’s got your back and thirty-eight expansion sets.”
The conversation went forward, but Tabris stayed silent, and Rachmiel just felt mortified. Eventually, he walked away from the group and fingered a stripped tree branch. Tabris still sat as if he didn’t belong to such a frivolous gathering, and all together they looked like a double exposure, a family picnic superimposed over a war memorial.
Rachmiel climbed the tree, following his hands as they grasped higher, filling his fingers with the branches and leaves until he’d reached the crown. There he looked at the stars as they showered old light onto the planet, light shed hundreds of years ago and unrefracted until this moment; and now that it had struck, the Earth would never be exactly the same.
The breeze caressed the withered leaves, and Rachmiel let it rock him as well, like a kitten stroked by the fingers of an old, old woman. He closed his eyes, drew up his wings, and let the hands of God draw the tension from his tired spirit. His worries eased as he settled along a branch.
When the battle cry sounded, he started: Miriael’s soul, summoning help. He’d hardly moved before he realized Tabris had shot toward the house, Mithra in his wake.
Tabris flashed into the living room with his sword drawn. His wings spread, displaying both the jade outer feathers and the inner mahogany ones.
Mithra joined him. “Where to?”
Miriael said, “Check the family.”
Tabris coursed over the walls, then checked Elizabeth’s bedroom. Mithra checked the others. They both returned to Miriael.
“We’re uncompromised,” said Tabris.
Miriael’s voice trembled with strain. “I can’t keep the Guard together.”
Mithra said to Tabris, “Let’s take it outside.”
The pair flashed outside the Guard, slicing into the throng gnawing at the spiritual shell. Tabris changed his weapon to a broadsword and unleashed a mad energy into the demons. Beside him, Mithra used a sword and shield, and together they carved apart the demonic hoard that clung like cockroaches to a bag of sugar.
Josai’el and Katra’il joined them, and the tide turned. The demons fled, and Josai’el shot through the property to flush out any stragglers. She caught two.
Mithra high-fived Tabris. “We’re done. Let’s go.”
Katra’il and Mithra vanished. Josai’el had already gone. Tabris looked at the sky instead. It wasn’t a hard decision, when he thought about it. Either go back to a group of angels that didn’t want him, or go inside so there would be only one.
Miriael projected relief when Tabris returned. “I told Josai’el the Guard held. You can go back.”
“I’d rather not,” said Tabris.
Miriael’s gratitude changed to concern.
Tabris smiled, a successful venture.
Miriael took a seat. “I was shaken before, but Hadriel shot me full of energy, and I’m okay again. I know you didn’t think it safe, but we’re secure.”
Tabris studied Miriael, unable to detect sarcasm or revulsion. Yes, Miriael was trying to get rid of him, but not for the obvious reason. He could deal with that.
Miriael’s aura turned curious.
Tabris said, “It should have been Rachmiel’s turn to stand guard.”
Miriael shrugged. “He needed the time off more than I did.”
“But it was his turn?”
Miriael opened his h
ands. “I thought he might want to spend time with you to get to know you better.”
Now why would Miriael think that? Perhaps because Rachmiel’s curiosity at times became a flavor you could drink out of the air, and that was with Rachmiel attempting to hide it. Small wonder he’d blurted out a hundred questions about Zeffar.
“I watched you fighting. You’re powerful.”
Tabris inclined his head. “Thanks.”
Miriael said, “I was wondering...would you mind if we sparred?”
Tabris studied him. While he guessed a few million angels wouldn’t mind running him through with a sword, Miriael didn’t appear angry as much as eager.
“No one else enjoys a good fight.” Miriael looked up, blue eyes bright. “Mithra spars, but he keeps himself in check. I want to go all out, as if I’m defending Kyle’s life.” Tabris caught Miriael’s flinch, but before he could feel hurt, Miriael had already corrected with, “Or God’s throne. It’s been years. Demons in these parts flash in and out and they’re gone. Two angels draw swords and they run away.”
Tabris tried not to sound stung. “They fought me.”
Miriael’s eyes glinted. “You’re new. They wanted to test you.”
They wouldn’t be the only ones. “Did I pass?”
“I’m going to hazard a yes.” Miriael laughed. “You gave a few of them blows they’re going to remember for weeks.”
Tabris looked at his hands.
“Well?” Miriael came closer. “Would you spar with me?”
“Now?”
Miriael brightened.
Tabris produced a sword, lighter and shorter than what he’d used outside.
“No.” Miriael folded his arms. “Absolutely not. All out. As if you’re battling Satan himself.”
Tabris frowned “And when we knock one another uncon-scious—?”
“Josai’el will return the instant she feels the Guard go down, and after a display like that, the local demons won’t want anything to do with either of us.”
Miriael grinned as Tabris’s sword changed, and he summoned his own. They spread their wings. Miriael crouched.
“Ready?” said Tabris.
Miriael sprang, and they clashed a few times before Tabris pulled back. “You weren’t kidding!”
“To the death!” said Miriael.
This time Tabris was prepared. They struck and parried, flashing around the living room and using the structure of the house to defend against each other. Tabris had the greater strength, so Miriael adjusted his technique to rely on his agility. Even as they fought, Tabris and Miriael manipulated their armor and weapons to compensate for one another’s skills. For fifteen minutes, neither scored a hit.
When Tabris drove Miriael to flash aside, he flashed a fraction of a second before the other angel moved, arriving in the same place at the same time, knocking Miriael to the ground. He brought up his sword to slash at his neck, then hesitated. Miriael twisted face-up and thrust his sword into Tabris’s stomach.
“Game,” Tabris called. Miriael pulled out the sword, glowing enough to see where he’d struck, and whistled.
While the wound closed, Tabris stretched. “You’re good. You’ve trained a lot.”
“I spent five hundred years under Michael before transferring to a special ops team.” Miriael examined his sword, then dispersed it back into his soul. “You get good in a hurry. But you’re no pushover either. A couple of times I thought you had me.”
The spiritual blood evaporated off Tabris’s clothes, and the fabric mended beneath his fingers. Angels heal from the inside out, and the wound had been painless because Miriael had wanted to cause only temporary damage, not to inflict suffering.
His wound gone, Tabris dropped to the couch, spreading his wings with a sigh. “It was a long time for me too, since the last hard workout. I’d forgotten the fun.”
Miriael’s armor changed back to workout pants and a t-shirt. “You’ll be a great guardian for Elizabeth.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” Miriael said, and Tabris clamped back the emotions he hadn’t realized he was emanating. “You’ve got reflexes, vigilance, energy, all the things that make a good soldier and a good guardian. Rachmiel does an amazing job keeping her soul in order, but he doesn’t always fight. I’ve seen him draw his sword once in ten years.”
Once? Oh, of course. Tabris shuddered. In that case, he’d seen it too.
Miriael continued, “His line of defense is in her psyche, but I’m guessing you won’t even let the bad guys near.”
Tabris closed his eyes and nodded.
He felt Miriael test and strengthen the Guard around the house, then reach for Kyle’s soul. Across the room, the angel relaxed. All was well.
By reflex he extended his soul toward Elizabeth to do the same, but then he flashed to her instead. Asleep. Dreaming of swords. He fought a smile and returned to Miriael.
Rather than tired, Miriael looked invigorated. He was running his fingers through his feathers, straightening them.
Tabris said, “Are you a flier?”
Miriael flexed his wings. “Someone told me that’s what these are for.”
“You know what I mean. There are fliers and there are non-fliers. Are you a flier?”
Miriael grinned. “I suppose I’m not, then.”
“Oh.” Now that would have been fun: combine flying and combat and he’d be all set for entertainment until Elizabeth or Kyle left home.
Miriael said, “You’re a flier?”
Tabris nodded. “On cold nights, when the stars are out and the wind is brutal? Now that’s fun.”
Miriael gestured to the outside. “Go!” When Tabris hesitated, he said, “It’s a night off, and you’re supposed to have fun.”
Tabris didn’t need another invitation. Away he flashed.
He’d have shot straight up to the mesosphere if only he weren’t bound to Elizabeth. Instead, he did his best to soar within the limits, closing his eyes in an attempt to pretend he was somewhere else.
Skies feel as different to angels as landscapes feel to humans. Some skies are turbulent, some placid, some smooth and others grainy, and angelic spirits are fine enough to detect the most subtle changes. Here the sky felt as smooth as Jell-O, silken against Tabris’s face and cold like water to a slow swimmer. Yuck. This type of air would be great for gliding and reflecting, but it served only poorly for what Tabris craved: rugged, almost painful. The richness of this air would drag a speeding angel.
During his time in the suburbs, Tabris had taken advantage of any rare occasion when he could leave Sebastian to stretch his wings in the polluted air of Los Angeles, so cluttered and foreign he rejoiced not to breathe. But that tainted haze had been a delight for diving since an angel can slide along threads of carbon monoxide as they rise into the higher levels of the atmosphere.
Three time zones distant from Los Angeles, much further than two miles from a polluted city, Tabris found himself trapped in thick air like a world-champion skier dealing with granular wet snow.
He cupped his wings and landed by the pond, resigned to boring flight until Elizabeth’s bond to him had aged enough to leave here.
Here. Where was here, anyway? In so many respects it didn’t matter, but he might as well find out. Tabris pressed his palms to the ground and asked the Earth where he was. The fallen planet gave Tabris a reluctant answer, but even that flooded Tabris with information knowing neither name nor border, but rather what neighbored what and relative distances. It functioned better than a push-pin on a map. Tabris was in the northwestern part of Chittenden County, Vermont, north of Burlington and south of St. Albans.
The land continued talking to him as though it could read his soul in return and had found a peer. He learned of the animals readying for hibernation belowground, the dead things decomposing in the brush, the multicolored leaves already beginning to rot.
Tabris leaped off the ground, feeling like a grandmother who asked what her granddaught
er learned at school that day and got treated to a dirty joke. His mind reeled from the broken contact, but he knew nature had turned perverse, and the next information would have been about how bacteria decompose a body, and the direction and condition of the newly-dead.
No. Little fragile bodies, gone still with the life snuffed out. No. He fled back to Rachmiel.
Rachmiel saw rather than felt Tabris’s return. He drew back behind Hadriel, who was reading aloud.
Josai’el waited for a pause, then said, “I was wondering where you’d gone.”
“I stayed with Miriael.” Tabris settled himself. “The demons didn’t return.”
Rachmiel watched over Hadriel’s shoulder, fixated on the angel as though he had a camera and an almost-focused view of a rare bird.
“I’m sorry we made you uncomfortable before,” said Mithra.
That was braver than Rachmiel would have been, but Tabris only said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you didn’t intend any harm.”
The edge on those words could have split a hair. Rachmiel opened wide to catch any echoes of emotion, to test whether tension had transformed into anger.
Tabris looked at him, so Rachmiel said, “How’s Elizabeth?”
“Sleeping.”
Rachmiel wondered if his own discomfort could cast Tabris’s words in a different light than Tabris intended. If that was true, would it be wrong to take note of which things Tabris tried to hide? And then…what were those things?
Katra’il grabbed Rachmiel by the hand and forcibly flashed him to a stand of trees that had begun picking up dawn on their crowns. She glared into his eyes. “You’re radiating curiosity.”
Rachmiel shook his head.
“Keep it under control,” she whispered, her golden hair framing her round face.
She returned without him, and he stayed on the hill without looking again at Tabris. He pulled his wings closer and knelt on the ground, then extended his heart to God.
The returning hold engulfed Rachmiel. He fell forward, his body curled, hands flat on the ground beneath his shoulders, wings spread over his head: the angelic worship posture. He quieted immediately, and the awe of being touched by God melted under reassurance of a love stronger than time.