by Jane Lebak
“It was such a shock, I’m not sure anyone could predict his reaction. Once you do something like that, nothing is sane. I just stopped moving because I was afraid that—”
After a moment, Rachmiel said, “Go on.”
Still he didn’t speak. Rachmiel could feel it anyhow: the moment frozen between ‘fight or flight,’ Justice bearing down on himself like an oncoming train, staring into its headlamp, the world vibrating all around, but at the same time, no sensation at all.
Rachmiel lowered his voice. “If you didn’t plan on it, and you regretted it that quickly...why did you do it at all?”
Tabris’s eyes gleamed. “That doesn’t matter. It’s done. What matters is what happens now.”
“But—”
“It’s not important!” His fists clenched. “Knowing why can’t change it.”
Rachmiel backed off rather then have Tabris shut down.
On the bed, Elizabeth looked up at her clock, about to close the book. Tabris turned to her. “It’s a good story. You’ll finish by ten. Stay up until your mom tells you to go to sleep.”
Elizabeth returned to reading, but her eyes were half-shut.
Rachmiel’s mouth twitched, but he let it go. An hour’s lost sleep wouldn’t harm her, and Tabris needed the time—or the delay. He said, “Whatever the reason, wouldn’t you do it differently if you started again?”
“But isn’t that the point?” said Tabris. “We’d all make the same choices if we were returned to the first moments. Damnation and election were decisions, not chance. That’s why it’s so horrible. Every step was our own choice, each building on the next toward the conclusion we were writing for ourselves.”
Rachmiel said, “But just that one thing—”
“That’s what I mean. It wasn’t just that one thing. There had to have been bad decisions I was making all along that led up to it, only I don’t know what they were.” Tabris hunched forward. “I wasn’t right, and I regret it every minute. And I have no idea how I can love and protect this kid—” he jerked his thumb toward Elizabeth, “—when I slaughtered the first one. It’s not fair to Sebastian.”
Hadn’t Sebastian said almost the same thing? Rachmiel circled the issue. “You mean you aren’t sure you have the ability to protect her, or that it’s not fitting?”
“Not fitting.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what meeting Sebastian is supposed to accomplish. Anything I say or do is going to make him resentful. It’s better for him if he can just forget me.” He closed his eyes, and Rachmiel wondered how often he’d mistaken grief for unconcern. Forget about me. Just let the memory go, and in eternity Sebastian could be happy while a grieving Tabris stayed away for his former charge’s sake, an unhealed wound in the spiritual body of Christ.
“I think he needs you.” Rachmiel glanced over Tabris’s head to find Elizabeth stretched out and breathing deeply, her book tucked under her arm. He didn’t wake her, but now they had a ticking clock. “Tell him what you told me. That you’re sorry, that it wasn’t his fault, and you want him to forgive you.”
Tabris clenched his fists. “How can I ask for that? I’m never going to forgive myself.”
Rachmiel shook his head. “God forgave you. Are you holding yourself to a higher standard than God?”
Tabris glanced sideways. “God’s got omnipotence on His side. I don’t. Neither does Sebastian. What I did deserved Hell, and you expect the one I hurt to be able to forgive that?” He bit his lip. “Dark-eyed like me.”
Rachmiel said, “I owe you an apology. I didn’t realize you weren’t dark-eyed by nature.”
“He shouldn’t be, either. He’s angry. It clouds him.”
Rachmiel bit his lip. “Are you angry?”
Elizabeth’s deep breaths created a rhythm for Rachmiel’s heart, but Tabris didn’t notice. “Not angry. Unforgiven. This is a gorgeous world, and I’ve ruined it.”
“You,” Rachmiel said. “You, personally.”
Tabris gave a half-smile. “Me, personally. I’ve ruined Sebastian’s world, his parents’ world, your world, my own world. But there’s so much here. Cold nights, polluted cities, occasional chats with the Creator. I feel like I’m leap-frogging from one peak to the next trying to avoid all the pits in between, and I’ve run out of peaks.” He sighed. “I’m going to need a cold night over a polluted city when we’re done.”
Rachmiel extended his wings. “Would you settle for a chat with the Creator?”
“He’ll refuse to chat back.” Tabris closed his eyes. “Right before I go see the kid— I’ll lose everything at once. I can’t.”
And with that denial, time was up. Casifer arrived.
Tabris and Rachmiel stood while Casifer scrutinized Tabris with no warmth.
Rachmiel blessed Elizabeth before calling Voriah to watch her. Miriael came into the room and leaned on the door.
“Not yet,” said Tabris. “Bring Sebastian here.”
Casifer said, “I will, but I’d prefer he doesn’t have an audience.”
Casifer vanished. Miriael grasped Tabris’s hand and nodded, and Voriah wished him well. They left the room just as Casifer returned with the boy.
Twenty-One
Rachmiel couldn’t get a good view of Sebastian’s face, half-hidden by Casifer’s wing. From his position, Tabris would be able to see even less.
Tabris stayed a step behind Rachmiel, giving a tentative, “Hello, Sebastian.”
The boy nodded. “Hi.”
Sebastian’s soul emitted streamers of emotion: fright, anger, curiosity. But from Tabris, sensation bubbled up through a sleeping Elizabeth and back into Rachmiel, relief like cool water to a burn. When Rachmiel turned to Tabris, he found That Look.
All along he’d assumed Tabris didn’t want to see Sebastian, but instead, all along Tabris had yearned for it the way two notes of a chord stay unresolved until they find their third.
Tabris inched forward. “You look well.” Actually, Sebastian looked upset, but Rachmiel could tell Tabris was scanning the interior of Sebastian’s soul, comparing it to the last time they’d been together. There, again, the relief. Tabris didn’t see the damage he’d imagined, the pain the demon had talked about. “Casifer’s taking good care of you.”
Sebastian only nodded again.
Tabris took a step forward, and it was as if the gray of the world eased back to reveal light and the sharpness of shadows, the boy before the angel. “Do you— Can I show you around the house?”
Casifer folded his arms. “Actually, since we’d stopped here once before, I’d planned a field trip for tonight.”
And with that the clouds returned. Tabris went still, and Rachmiel stepped forward, saying, “If that’s what Sebastian prefers. After they talk for a bit, I thought we’d visit someplace exotic, maybe even off this planet.”
“I’ve planned a trip to a place Sebastian will find interesting, and they can talk afterward.” Casifer looked at the boy still shielded by his wings. “Are you ready?”
Tabris hadn’t reacted, but his hands were clenched.
Rachmiel said, “Maybe we should let them talk first.”
Although with Casifer acting as Sebastian’s gatekeeper, there was no way Tabris could apologize. His presence dominated the room.
Casifer said, “I’d rather give Sebastian a chance to get comfortable.” He flashed the four of them to a dark place where the scent of dirt and leaves imbued the air, and insects sang around them. The air felt rich, clean. He turned to Sebastian. “Can you guess where we are?”
Sebastian said, “The Amazon jungle?”
Casifer nodded. “Yes, but the Amazon isn’t a jungle. It’s a moist broadleaf forest.”
As if Tabris weren’t trying to stare him full of little holes, Casifer began showing Sebastian the varied insect species, the adaptations they’d made to better suit the microbiomes within the rain forest. With Sebastian checking out Tabris over his shoulder every few seconds, Casifer showed Sebastian ground-level plants that had
adapted to survive with nearly no light, and harmless bugs that mimicked poisonous bugs in order to escape the birds. He called over birds to show him how their beaks had changed shape over the generations in order to better open the seeds they found.
Tabris and Rachmiel followed, tourists in this leafier part of the world. Tabris projected a picture into Rachmiel’s head: Casifer sitting in a library with an encyclopedia open on his lap, taking notes.
Rachmiel remembered Casifer declaring it his duty to protect Sebastian from Tabris. Keeping that stuffed down, he returned a question.
Tabris replied with a wish for open sky and flight. The damp heat felt oppressive to an angel who used to race down the side of Rockies and then glide as far as he could across the Great Plains, usually clearing Kansas and sometimes Missouri.
Rachmiel touched his wing to Tabris’s.
Sebastian turned to look at them.
Tabris said, “Are you having a good time?”
The boy nodded. “I’ve never seen a place like this!”
Tabris said, “I know.”
The emotions had cut off, with Tabris clamped so tight that he might not have been able to feel whatever Sebastian and Casifer were projecting.
“I mean including even after I was alive.” Sebastian forced a pleasant expression, and Rachmiel had to look away. “I’ve been undersea, and I never went scuba diving. I’d never been to the northwest either, but we visited that cliff with that other angel, the one I called Coach.”
“Voriah,” said Rachmiel.
“Yeah, him. He was cool.” Sebastian waited a beat. “But we never came here.”
Casifer said, “About a tenth of all the species on Earth are right here in the Amazon.”
Tabris said, “Fascinating.”
Rachmiel shot him a look.
For a while they wandered, never at a loss for something to examine: different types of trees, plants, animals. Rachmiel crouched close to a bush and took a juvenile macaw in his hands.
Sebastian tried to touch the bird, but he couldn’t manipulate his density enough to get any sensation. Casifer tried to explain, but when Sebastian tried again, the macaw could sense him. It looked right at him and squawked.
Tabris laughed. “He told you off!”
Sebastian smirked. “Well, I guess that makes the decision for me.”
Rachmiel breathed over the bird. “I can keep him calm.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Sebastian took a step back while Casifer looked at the bird, and he ended up standing beside Tabris. Sebastian said, “Those two are a lot alike.”
Tabris was studying Sebastian again, getting a look at the interior of his soul. “You may be right. Rachmiel means God’s compassion.” The sense of cool relief overcame Rachmiel a second time, and he released it into the bird. It settled down in his hands.
Sebastian said, “And what does Casifer mean?”
Casifer started to say something, but Rachmiel projected at him to stand down. That’s an opening. Rachmiel thought it, but he didn’t project it. Take it, take it, take it.
Tabris said, “That one I don’t quite get. It means solitude or temperance, depending on which language you’re using as the base. I’ve also seen Casifer referred to as the Angel of Tears.”
Sebastian huffed. “But how can someone be the angel of a bad thing?”
Rachmiel started when Tabris said, “Solitude and tears don’t have to be bad things.”
“Oh.” Sebastian looked puzzled. “So what does Tabris mean? What are you the angel-of?”
Tabris said, “Free will.”
Sebastian frowned. “I’ll have to think about that.”
Casifer glanced at Rachmiel, who met his eyes and projected calm.
Sebastian was saying, “How does it work? Does Rachmiel have to be compassionate?”
Tabris looked brighter than moments ago. “The names were given by God, so they express our natures, and in turn our natures express different aspects of God.”
“That went straight over my head. How can your name express your nature?”
Tabris chuckled. “Our potential is the highest expression of what our names mean. It’s not like when your mom and dad sat down with a baby name book and tested them out with your last name. Your soul has a name too. You’ll uncover it over time.”
Sebastian looked up at him, his head cocked, for the first time appearing unguarded. “How long did it take to uncover yours?”
Tabris shook his head. “We got our names. You guys have to earn them.”
“Unfair!” exclaimed Sebastian, and Tabris surprised Rachmiel by smiling. “It’d be helpful to have a road map. Anything else?”
Tabris tensed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on like that.”
Sebastian looked at his feet. “You can teach me things too. It’s okay.”
Speaking low, Tabris emitted a feeling that went through Rachmiel like a blade. “I think Casifer’s done a better job than I did.”
Sebastian said, “He told me you did a good job, until the end.”
Rachmiel felt Tabris flinch. At the same time, Casifer said, “Sebastian, let’s try this again. Come here.”
While Tabris watched, Casifer stood behind Sebastian and took his hands in his own, then helped Sebastian concentrate until he became more corporeal. “We can practice this later,” he murmured, “and you can get a bit more solid or you could discorporate completely. But for now, you need just a little substance. Like this.”
Rachmiel held the bird over Sebastian’s cupped palms, then moved his hands through Sebastian’s, becoming less corporeal so that by the time he let go, Sebastian was holding the bird.
The boy grinned. “He’s so soft! Is he really this light, or is it because I’m not real?”
“You’re real,” Casifer said. “He weighs about three ounces.”
Sebastian didn’t take his eyes off the bird. “Does he trust me?”
“You’re from God. Of course he does.”
“He’s so fragile.” Sebastian turned to Tabris. “Do you want to hold him?”
“He’s happy with you,” Tabris said.
Rachmiel thought, Take the opening.
Sebastian extended his hands. “But he’s so sweet.”
Tabris said, “I know. You should enjoy him until he flies away.”
Rachmiel fought disappointment. Sebastian looked down, his mouth tight.
Casifer gave Sebastian a quick rundown of avian anatomy, but Sebastian didn’t ask questions, and then he let the bird fly away. “Let’s keep walking.”
Sebastian remained silent. Even their passage made no sound.
Casifer said, “A mosquito on that leaf is the size of a thimble.”
Tabris said, “Did we come here to see mosquitos?”
“They grow ‘em bigger in New Jersey,” Rachmiel said quickly. When Sebastian looked at him, Rachmiel made his eyes glimmer so he’d realize how much to trust this ‘statistic.’ “Moms have to chain down their strollers so the mosquitoes don’t carry off their infants.”
Sebastian said, “You read that in the Weekly World News?”
“Elizabeth saw it on the internet,” Rachmiel said. “It must be true.”
Sebastian laughed. “Of course! But I have to say, insects are a lot cooler now that I can’t be bitten or stung.”
Behind Rachmiel, Tabris said, “Dragonflies are awesome either way.”
Sebastian perked up. “I love them! They’re so beautiful and perfect! I remember one landed on me once and I was freaking out because it was so awesome to have it right there on my hand!”
Tabris laughed. “I remember calling over a dragonfly and getting it to land on you.”
Sebastian got a queer look, a struggle. He choked out, “Thank you.”
Casifer said, “Are you getting tired?”
“A little.” The boy looked up. “Could we go somewhere and pray a little? I liked doing that last time, and you just showed me so much. There’s a lo
t to assimilate.”
Yeah, Rachmiel thought, a lot to assimilate. The boy was transparent: an angry core overlaid with sensitivity, mistrust and yearning. The difficult thing wasn’t the macaw he’d been shown; it was the two-toned bird.
Tabris said, “There’s a pond out by Elizabeth’s house. I wanted to take you there.”
Casifer said, “Actually, I’d planned to bring him back to the cliffs we went to last time, on the Pacific coast.”
Rachmiel said, “There might be dragonflies at the pond.”
Casifer said, “I’m thinking of what’s best for Sebastian. He was doing pretty well praying at the cliffside, and we ought to take advantage of that.”
Tabris’s feathers stood out. Casifer flashed Sebastian back to Washington State, and Rachmiel followed with Tabris. Once there he tried to get Tabris’s attention, but Tabris turned his back and glared out over the pounding of the ocean.
Rachmiel couldn’t tell which he was feeling: the sea or Tabris. Fierce, formless. Deep. The straight spruces stood like pikes on a rack, and on the other side, Sebastian was reaching out to the waters with a nonhuman sense he was still struggling to control. As the ocean beat the shore with the steadiness of a pumping heart, Tabris inhaled and then folded his arms.
Rachmiel felt Casifer opening the prayer, and he joined him, spreading his wings and reaching out with his hands in mimicry of his heart’s actions. As the tension in his soul increased, he vibrated with expectancy until God dissolved the walls around him. Rachmiel momentarily felt himself connected to all creation, seeing it as God saw it, and feeling the joy God had in what He made.
In that moment, Rachmiel extended his reach for Sebastian and helped him let down the fences around his mind. The boy drew back on himself, but Casifer surrounded him and gave reassurance. Afraid, Sebastian nevertheless invited God to come into his heart.
He cried out, and all three angels moved closer, but he remained suspended in a moment of adoration, amazement winding him round. In that deep communion, Sebastian brimmed with an awareness of God in every iota of creation, as though every cell glowed to form an impressionist painting. He was projecting the images even as they came to him. The sea gleamed like a sun, and the cliff sparkled. The angels towered heavenward like shafts of light with tendrils lacing them to one another.