by Jane Lebak
Likewise, replied the Spirit. But Sebastian needs you right now, and we have to do some housekeeping.
Tabris became conscious of Sebastian squeezing his hand, and he was too caught up to squeeze back, like a tourist in New York highway traffic afraid to take his hands off the wheel.
Tabris began forcing open his interior guards as he’d done for Rachmiel, and God entered all those shadowed parts to shine light on the shameful things. When God started touching them, Tabris clutched Sebastian’s hand.
God came to the dark part where Tabris had refused to allow Rachmiel...and waited. The place in his soul where Tabris had killed Sebastian once and continued killing him every moment since, the moment he’d abandoned God and would do so forever.
Sebastian asked to link his heart to Tabris’s, and Tabris looked to God.
It’s up to you, said the Spirit. He won’t be harmed by anything he finds.
Tabris thought, He’s the reason I’m doing this. I’d be stupid to tell him no.
Sebastian’s soul within his own felt comfortable, a perfect fit. With Rachmiel there had been friction because of the ways they differed and their varied perspectives. But with Sebastian, they’d been designed to suit one another, and the warmth spread through Tabris.
Sebastian blinked. “Oh! This is different than Casifer.”
Tabris looked through Sebastian’s soul, and everything he found, he loved. They were meant to be braided: Sebastian and Tabris and God. He remembered every part of this soul. Everything. He’d have given anything to save him.
Sebastian looked up, confused and angry. Tabris tried to pull back from God, then, as the thought went right through both of them: Tabris had no right to enjoy the presence of God when Sebastian couldn’t have it yet, and how could God forgive him for what he’d done to Sebastian when Sebastian was still suffering it? How was that fair?
God refused to let him go. Tabris shivered. Sebastian’s eyes glinted. He couldn’t tell which of them had thought it first.
The next thought was definitely Sebastian’s. A desperation, a question, a question he might have asked Casifer and Rachmiel but which they couldn’t have answered. Why did you kill me?
And then, unsure if Tabris would hear his thought, Sebastian said it aloud. “Why did you do it?”
Tabris said, “I screwed up.” He looked at his lap as Sebastian slipped his hands away. “It shouldn’t matter. I wouldn’t do it again.”
Sebastian said, “But why?”
Tabris said, “Knowing why can’t change things. It’s not as if I can put you back together if I say the magic words.”
“But you can,” Sebastian said. “The magic words would be your reason. How can I forgive you if I don’t know why you did it?”
The anger in the boy’s voice clashed with the smoothness of his spirit. He and Tabris matched: they were both furious at the same person.
“How could you forgive me if you did know?” Tabris shook his head. “If I tell you, you’re not going to want to want to forgive me anymore, or however many levels back I’ve already pushed you. You’d be working another ten years in Limbo to undo the damage I’ll cause trying to undo the damage I already did. I’m not good for you! That’s why we were separated!”
Sebastian looked aside.
The Holy Spirit said, I don’t make mistakes.
No, Tabris thought. I do.
Sebastian said, “So is this a no?”
“It’s not a no. It’s—” Tabris steeled himself. “I failed you.”
Sebastian said, “I know that.”
“Before then.” Tabris reached for Sebastian’s hands, and when they touched, he wished he could still feel them warm with life. This was awful. Awful. This would be the last time he ever saw Sebastian, even if the child forgave him. But he owed Sebastian anything he wanted, even if that ended everything. “I failed you as your guardian, and I kept failing you. Guarding a human soul—I didn’t expect how little there would be by way of benchmarks. Everything started so well, but then you were getting older, and you started facing choices, and I could only guess at the way things should be, and you weren’t doing them that way.”
Sebastian frowned. “Like how?”
He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Sebastian going indifferent to him. “Everything I tried, it didn’t seem to work. You’d face a decision and I couldn’t figure out which was the best way to go, and God wouldn’t tell me, so I’d get you on the path I thought you should take. But the roads kept branching in directions I hadn’t anticipated. It shouldn’t have been that hard, but I kept failing you, over and over. And then one day I realized, I just wasn’t good enough to keep you pure.”
Sebastian said, “But—what are we talking about?”
“Let me finish.” And then Sebastian would leave. “Don’t ever blame yourself for what I did to you. It was my fault, only mine. Because when you finally did something serious enough to cut off the life of God in your heart, I realized my help wasn’t sufficient to get you into Heaven. I had never committed a sin, but after you did that, I felt as if I had. It was the worst feeling because after failing you, I didn’t even want to look God in the face anymore. And—” Tabris swallowed hard. “When the time came…I saw a way I could force you into Heaven.”
Sebastian sounded small. “What bad things was I choosing? Like sins?”
“Sometimes sins. But always decisions.” Tabris wouldn’t look Sebastian in the face to see the moment the boy gave up on him. He’d remember a moment like that forever, but he didn’t want to be able to nail it down to the exact second: this was the point where he saw the truth about me. “There are seven vows guardian angels take. It’s a big job. But my job isn’t to get you into Heaven. Rachmiel showed me that. My job isn’t to save your soul. That’s God’s job. My job was to keep you free to choose the right thing, or decide between good things, over and over. To ensure you could develop your own relationship with God.”
Sebastian nodded. “That’s free will.”
“I kept trying to force you to select one good over another, or the good I thought would be best for you. I knew what had worked for me, and I wanted it to work for you too.”
Sebastian said, “So, not bad stuff?”
“Not bad stuff. Your stuff. You were developing your own identity.” Tabris went sick inside. “I kept getting between you and God because I didn’t think God was doing enough to push you into the right paths.” Tabris closed his eyes. “I understand if you can’t forgive me. I can’t forgive myself. I spent years thinking I was failing you, and in reality, I failed you in a different way. I took away your free will because I loved you too much to risk losing you. And then I lost you anyhow.”
A car passed on the distant highway. A dead leaf blew through his form as the wind ruffled his feathers.
Sebastian leaned forward. “You loved me?”
Tabris said, “Of course I did.”
His hands were still wrapped in Tabris’s. “And do you still love me now? Even after all this?”
The question called for a sonnet written in gold in the annals of Heaven. Tabris managed to nod.
Sebastian scrambled toward Tabris and hugged him.
The link between them opened wider, and Tabris thrilled with surprise even as Sebastian clutched him tight, working his fingers up through the tertiary feathers. Tabris wrapped his wings around them both, and he rocked Sebastian while the boy made himself small.
“I still love you,” Tabris said. “I would choose to love you all over again even knowing you can’t forgive me. I’m sorry. I wanted to give you my best.”
The boy’s spirit felt razor sharp, and Tabris gave him the only thing left: he opened that last dark part of his soul. I failed you. The moments stacked on moments, every time he felt defeated by a child’s decision or a child’s impulses. An angel wrestling a human soul: which one should win? And every time the child won, Tabris had felt he’d lost even though Sebastian’s decisions only meant he was doing the job correctly.
Tabris couldn’t tell any longer if the tension were Sebastian’s or his own. Sebastian stayed at the cusp of that God-forsaken part, and Tabris braced himself.
With God still surrounding that area, but not entering it, Tabris bowed his head and asked to be forgiven, for God to descend that spiral staircase and enter that dungeon to purge it with light. There would be dust, grime, sin—but it had to be done. He wanted to be forgiven.
I forgive you, said God.
With the light came a sense of sea water, powerful and clean, sharp with salt and relentless as the Earth itself. The past was still there; the corruption was gone. Tabris shuddered in relief, sensing the balance righted between him and his Father.
Sebastian gasped, and Tabris caught a glimpse of himself through Sebastian’s eyes, his own soul changing from the periodic flashes of a lighthouse to the constancy of a spotlight. The darkness had vanished, replaced by clarity and internal refraction.
Tabris held him tighter. Only one more thing mattered.
Sebastian whispered, “Can I forgive you now?”
“Can I forgive myself?”
Tabris realized he was crying. Sebastian clung to him, saying, “Yes. Yes to both.”
Thank you, Tabris prayed. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
By the pond near the Hayes house, Tabris made pictures in the air to show Sebastian funny scenes from when he was a baby, and Sebastian kept asking for more. They’d been there for three hours when Jesus arrived.
Tabris and Sebastian both knelt, heads bowed. Jesus asked them to stand, and Sebastian jumped up to hug him. Jesus extended a hand to Tabris, and as Sebastian stepped back, Jesus drew him close enough to hug. “Welcome home.”
Until Raguel spoke, Tabris didn’t realize he’d arrived too. “Congratulations!”
Flustered, Tabris glanced at Sebastian. “Thank you. We’re trying to make up for lost time.”
Raguel said, “Not just for making amends. Congratulations on ending probation! You’re fully restored.”
Sebastian jumped in place. “That’s great! You’re safe now!”
Tabris shook his head. “But what about Elizabeth? What if—?”
Jesus touched his arm. “You’ve changed your own soul enough that you won’t fall prey to that way of thinking again.” He smiled at Sebastian. “Besides, you have someone to help you out if you need a reminder.”
Sebastian said, “Oh, cool! So I get to be a guardian to my guardian!”
“You’ve still got a whole lot of growing up to do!” Tabris said, giving Sebastian a mock push, and Sebastian grabbed him in a wrestling hold and pretended to fight.
When they looked up from playing, Raguel had departed, but God had not—and never would.
Twenty-Six
When Tabris and Sebastian returned, Rachmiel rushed them both with a hug. “You guys talked everything out! I can tell!”
Tabris grinned compulsively. That and his honey-gold eyes made Rachmiel want to cheer like a fan watching a grand slam at the bottom of the ninth.
Sebastian said, “How did you know?”
“How could I not know? You look different—you both do. You’re projecting everything. Tell me!”
Tabris laughed, and Rachmiel held him at arm’s length, looking him over. It was good. It was so good.
Sebastian started pouring out the story in bursts while Tabris stood back. The interplay of their souls brought a smile to Rachmiel even more than the way Sebastian related it.
When Sebastian said, “And Jesus said he’s off probation now!” Rachmiel cheered and gave Tabris another hug.
The other six household angels crowded into the room, and Rachmiel didn’t need to explain: the combination of his own agitation and the changes in Tabris, not to mention the presence of Sebastian, worked like a news broadcast. They’d been praying for this, and now they celebrated. Voriah called Casifer, and for an hour the angels had a spiritual party while the human family dreamed, a festive atmosphere that swept through them like a wind, the spiritual equivalent of balloons and streamers. Wearing That Look, Tabris didn’t leave Sebastian’s side.
In the middle of it all, Sebastian turned to him. “You’re staying here, right?”
Rachmiel looked up when he felt Tabris’s heart vibrate. “I’m sorry.”
Sebastian shook his head. “You have a job to do. I’d rather you were with me, but you’re only a word away. I’ll see you at night. I can pray for Elizabeth, and we can be together afterward.”
Tabris said, “In eighty years?”
Sebastian looked so brave to Rachmiel, less a child than he’d been the last time they’d visited. “I love you, and time doesn’t mean anything to love. Eternity is a long time, and we’ve got God to hold us together. That’s everything.”
Tabris pressed his face into Sebastian’s hair.
“I’ve got a lot of things I want to do with you,” said Sebastian, grinning with Tabris’s asymmetric smile. “Later on, when we’re together.”
Before dawn, the angels dispersed, and Casifer escorted Sebastian back to Limbo. Rachmiel and Tabris sat against the foot of Elizabeth’s bed, bright-eyed but spent.
Rachmiel had been emitting bursts of joy all night, and Tabris looked at Elizabeth to find that as he’d suspected, she was smiling in her sleep. He settled back on the floor and projected his amusement.
Rachmiel squinted at him.
“You look like you’ve thrown a party and now dread cleaning up the mess.” Tabris put a picture to the words so Rachmiel would have the benefit of seeing himself as a man with his shirt collar unbuttoned, his tie unknotted, sprawled on a chair amidst stained paper plates and empty pizza boxes.
Rachmiel laughed out loud.
A shaft of morning light broke free of the horizon. Tabris glanced at Rachmiel and raised an eyebrow.
Rachmiel shook his head.
Tabris frowned at him.
Rachmiel shrugged. “I figured, since you’re going to be here for the next eighty years or so, maybe you should give it a try.”
Tabris glimpsed the future in an instant, a trail lined with joy and heartbreak, drudgery and excitement, frustration and relief. He saw a red-headed woman leaving home, having her own family, running for public office, changing the world in the hundreds of small and important ways that every life must change it. And all through that future, he had a part.
Tabris sprang onto the bedside and put his head beside Elizabeth’s.
“Hey, Kiddo, wake up,” he said. “Morning’s here, and you should see what God has for you today.”
She opened her eyes, and Tabris rushed with the warmth of God until it overflowed into the girl by his side. With relief, he raised his eyes and told his Father again how good it felt to be home.
Author’s note and acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to Jameson Brewer. Thank you, sir, for answering a little girl’s fan mail. May perpetual light shine upon you.
The idea for "Tabris” came to me when I was nineteen. I wrote it with all my heart, used every fiction technique I’d learned so far, and I edited it, and a year later Thomas Nelson published it.
I requested and received back my rights in 2011, and when I read the book again with a critical eye, I saw so many places I could do so much better now, not just in terms of writing technique but also in terms of human nature and how the world works. This makes sense: if I hadn’t learned anything in twenty years, I’d probably deserve to be shot.
Hence we have a ground-up rewrite of the novel. I started with a blank document, and this is the result: all new text, a new title, an awesome new cover (thanks to Charlotte Volnek) and now it’s even published under my legal name.
The first edition acknowledged many who influenc
ed that version of the book, including fellow writer (and fellow MIU author) Pauline Griffin, my college housemates and my friend Toni who put up with me living in two worlds at once, my boyfriend James who looked at the first chapter and said, “Yeah, keep going,” my parish priest Father Murphy, and poet EA Miller who was one of the sharpest critique-givers I ever had the pleasure of learning with.
For the second edition, I would like to mention that my boyfriend is still a terrific support and is now my husband. Thanks also to Normandie Fischer (fellow author) who pushed me to do the rewrite, Sarah who keeps reading everything I write, my agent Roseanne Wells, editor and publisher Lea Schizas, and Madeline and Evan, who help more than they can ever possibly know.
Thanks again for reading about Tabris and Rachmiel, and I hope to hear from you! The best way to get an author’s attention? Leave a review. Go on. Do it here: http://amzn.to/1KezGN5.
You can sign up for my mailing list at http://eepurl.com/bcnCNX. All mailing list members will receive a free copy of the Seven Angels Short Story Bundle, a collection of angel stories that are either humorous or emotional…or both.
If you'd like to read more of my angels, please check out the Seven Archangels saga. I’ve included the first several pages of Seven Archangels: An Arrow In Flight below so you can preview it.
Heartless City
1415 BC
Three figures stood on the road with their backs to the sun, but only two cast shadows. Cattle clustered in the distance, their caretakers watching from the slanting shade of the terebinth trees, and even further beyond were sheep with their shepherds. At the crest of the hill before them, birds circled the gates of a walled city where even the land seemed to fall silent. Each mudbrick structure stood washed with flares of sunset that gave a burnt illumination to the little metropolis.
In a pitch between tenor and soprano, one of the two shadow-casters spoke like a dreamer. "The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great and their sin so grievous that I will go down and see what they have done. If it is bad as the outcry, I will know."