Sacred Cups (Seven Archangels Book 2)

by Jane Lebak

  He couldn’t argue with that logic. Gabriel prayed, and a moment after he stood before Mary as solid as she was, wingless and human. “Cover us,” he said to Saraquael.

  She looked stunned. “I didn’t realize you would do that.”

  “I don’t usually.” He took her hand. “Let’s go.”

  Gabriel and Mary walked through the darkened streets, Gabriel leading because he was better able to see in the dark. Although he inhabited a solid body for the moment, he didn’t go entirely human, preferring instead to keep some awareness of the celestial world. Demons watched from the corners and the rooftops the same way men had watched him in Sodom with Michael, and he fought the urge to hide. If rumors of Jesus’s arrest had begun to form, Gabriel heard nothing. A working woman approached, then saw he wasn’t alone and backed away.

  At the high priest’s courtyard, Gabriel scanned the area. John was there, as was Peter. He wondered if he could flag John to have him bring Mary inside, but then an older woman walked through the gate, and Mary simply followed. The guard greeted the woman and didn’t ask Mary or Gabriel any questions. They were inside.

  Peter’s guardian approached Gabriel. “Disguise her accent. It’s already gotten Peter in trouble.”

  Mary nodded.

  “Do you want to wait with Peter and John?” Gabriel said.

  She shook her head. “I want to get closer. I was thinking of cleaning the hallways.”

  In one dark corner, Gabriel went insubstantial again, and he followed Mary to a room where the servants were cleaning. She apologized for not having her apron, found a job to do, and began working. Gabriel asked other angels for the building’s layout, and then he sent Mary directions toward where the priests were interrogating Jesus.

  Uriel appeared in the hallway, eyes alight with purple fire.

  Mary looked up at Uriel with a smile that diffused the Throne’s outrage. She nodded, smiled, then gave a quick glance at Gabriel that Uriel imitated a moment later. Gabriel tucked his wings to himself and waited for the inevitable, but Uriel only stood back and let out a sigh.

  I wish you’d convinced her to stay there, Uriel sent, but thank you for making sure she was safe coming here.

  Gabriel inclined his head.

  Mary said to Uriel, “How much closer can you get me to him?”

  Uriel led the way, and Gabriel remained behind.

  She wants you to follow, Uriel sent.

  Gabriel followed.

  As he turned a corner he could feel Raphael on the other side of the wall. Though muted, voices floated in the air: questions, pauses, more questions. Mary stopped in an alcove, but Gabriel stayed back to avoid Raphael’s line of sight even though Raphael could probably sense him there.

  Mary and Uriel stood in perfect silence, but with little motions of heads and hands and Uriel’s feathers, still communicating. Uriel’s glow spread to enwrap Mary.

  Mary turned to him. “Why didn’t Judas testify?”

  “He didn’t?” Gabriel said.

  “He’s not even present,” Mary whispered.

  Gabriel looked at Uriel, who shrugged.

  Will you be all right alone with her for a moment?

  Uriel shot Gabriel a tolerant look.

  Gabriel flashed to Judas’s guardian angel.

  Nivalis looked up, her eyes reddened, her hands knit. “I need help,” she whispered. “Please pray with me.”

  Judas had ensconced himself in an unused part of the courtyard behind the stables, knees tucked up, his head in his hands.

  Gabriel settled on one side and Nivalis on his other. Her voice wobbled. “He’s upset. This didn’t work out the way he wanted.”

  Gabriel said, “Evil people aren’t upset when they bring about evil. Good people are.”

  Nivalis stroked Judas’s hair. “If we pray, he may find the strength to ask for forgiveness. Please, let’s try.”

  Gabriel reached out, and for a moment, he found himself engulfed in fog, in a heavy weight. Confusion: what had he done? Isolation: what would the others say? Did they all want him dead? I know what it’s like not to be able to face your friends again, Gabriel prayed. I know how hard it is to apologize for something you didn’t think through. God, please give him the strength.

  Judas had never meant harm. Jesus had known what was going on, and the Talmud commanded a man to defend himself if people were coming to kill him. Judas hadn’t wanted death for him. If he had, Jesus would have resisted. No, this was worse.

  Chills knifed through Gabriel. Demon influence: Judas had invited them in, had felt the need to push God’s hand, and Satan’s ‘best intentions’ were penned all over his psyche. So attractive: just go out into the world and make Jesus right all the wrongs, force his hand, make him choose to be that kind of messiah instead of this kind, make him act to save the others. Make him. Force him. Coerce him. Ultimately, sell him.

  Skin for skin: a man will do anything to save his life. And he’d known all along Jesus could save himself. But now this.

  The tragedy of good versus good. The little good Judas had wanted versus the ultimate good that God intended.

  Please, Gabriel prayed, and then he didn’t know what to pray for in this man. The hooks, all the labyrinthine logic, the frustration, the disappointment, the yearning. So much goodness, so much genuine misunderstanding that had never wanted to be corrected.

  And overlying that, Satan’s nylon strings holding back certain thoughts, connecting others, but no longer pumped full of Satan’s energy. Judas was no longer necessary to his plan, and so he’d been discarded like a threadbare ragdoll.

  Gabriel tried to cut the threads, but Judas held them close in his heart. You have to let go of your assumptions, Gabriel sent. I can’t free you if you’re clinging to your own prison!

  Frustrated, Gabriel pulled back from Judas’s heart.

  Nivalis looked up, her eyes terrified.

  “Let’s try again.” Gabriel could once again feel the chilled cup against his hands. He looked into Nivalis’s eyes as if he were still looking into the void.

  #

  Uriel called. Gabriel returned.

  “She can’t stay any longer.” Uriel stood behind Mary, wings over her and around her, and she slumped with exhaustion.

  Mary looked defiant, but Gabriel could tell she’d already protested to Uriel and lost the fight. He took a solid form and escorted her out of the temple area. No one accosted them on the street with Uriel casting power around them.

  Mary lay down on her bed. “I already told Uriel this was futile. I’m not going to sleep.”

  Gabriel said, “You’re going to sleep,” and laid his hand over her eyes. She was asleep in moments, but he didn’t move from her side. Gabriel turned, but Uriel remained in silence. “Do you want me to stay with her so you can go back to Jesus?”

  Uriel said, “You could try again.”

  “Why don’t you figure out if Raphael would let me near.” Gabriel fought to keep his voice from breaking. “I’d rather be there than here, but not if it sets him off.”

  Uriel vanished. Gabriel waited, but the Throne didn’t return, so he settled in the corner and prayed until dawn.

  #

  Mary asked for Uriel as soon as she awoke. Gabriel, who had received updates all night long via Saraquael and Remiel, sat opposite them and listened as Uriel caught her up on the events. Jesus had been re-tried before the Sanhedrin and was being led before Pilate later this morning.

  “Why Pilate?” Mary said, and then she cringed. “Oh. They can’t. Why would they want that?”

  After a moment, she asked, “Did he get any sleep? Did they at least give him something to eat?”

  Just before they left the house, Mary reached for Gabriel. He didn’t make himself substantial as her fingers brushed his. “Thank you. I appreciate that you stayed.”

  They flashed to the Roman palace, where in the courtyard a crowd gathered.

  Gabriel exchanged a concerned look with Uriel. Then both changed th
eir focus to the rooftop where Satan sat with Belior.

  He’s far too smug.

  Michael appeared behind them. “What do you think?”

  “There are too many possibilities.” Gabriel kept scanning. “Where is Asmodeus?”

  “He’s working the crowd.” Michael looked dark. “Belior hasn’t left Satan’s side since last night.”

  Uriel sighed. “This is going to end with death.”

  “That’s not what he was planning,” Gabriel said. “He gloated that he’d gotten permission to kill him but that he wouldn’t, remember? He said God was slipping, if he hadn’t given him that restriction the way he always had before.”

  “But having the ability,” Uriel said, “he might have decided to use it.”

  “Satan knows the power of martyrdom.” With a gasp, Gabriel raised his head. “What we’re not considering is that the Romans use the Passover to free one prisoner.”

  Uriel turned. “Go on.”

  “If Pilate wants, he can free Jesus.”

  Michael looked puzzled. “But what does that get him?”

  Gabriel said, “Satan or Jesus?”

  “How does freeing Jesus benefit Satan?”

  “He can make it appear that Jesus is a puppet of the Romans.” Gabriel shrugged. “Nothing else fits.”

  Uriel said, “Asmodeus is really working the crowd, though, and I’ve caught snatches of Beelzebub, too. There have to be at least fifteen dark Seraphim inciting the people.”

  Gabriel whispered, “If Satan gets the crowd to demand Jesus, does Jesus have to become their king?”

  Michael sounded irritated. “Maneuvered into taking the thing he insisted wasn’t his role.”

  Gabriel’s eyes shifted to glare sidelong at Satan. “Satan’s been planning this for three years. His backup plans have backups at this point. But by doing it this publicly, he’s forcing Jesus either to accept the mercy of the Romans and appear a puppet to them, or else take command and forge a kingdom on Earth.”

  “Or die,” Uriel said.

  Gabriel said, “But Satan didn’t want—”

  Uriel’s voice flattened. “I don’t trust that he didn’t change his mind.”

  Gabriel sighed. “Since there’s nothing constructive we can do at this point anyhow, why not hope?”

  “Hope for what?” Michael kicked a rock on the ground. “Hope that Jesus gets a chance to piece together the shattered slivers of his ministry? Hope that he can unpervert the mockery of a messianic vision Satan wants to establish?”

  Gabriel turned to Michael. “I hate thinking we’re useless.”

  Michael opened his hands. “But right now, it’s the truth.”

  #

  Pilate condemned Jesus to death. They took Jesus away. Judas flung his money back in the high priest’s face. Nivalis begged for Gabriel again, and Gabriel prayed with Nivalis until she cried and he shook, but Judas fled to the trees. Nivalis screamed. She pleaded. She sent up a wind that might have blown down the tree. She begged for God to send another man, at least someone to distract him. Judas fixed a knot and hanged himself.

  Gabriel held Nivalis for an hour while she cried. He covered her with his wings and kept any other angels at bay, but she couldn’t get calm, and eventually Remiel came for her.

  “I’ve dealt with this before,” Remiel murmured to Gabriel, leaving Gabriel to wonder what he could have done for a guardian whose charge had just condemned himself to Hell.

  Gabriel gazed up at the still body in the still tree in the brilliant darkness of Satan’s hour, and he wished he could talk to Raphael about what he’d just witnessed. Instead he reached for God and asked him why. God didn’t answer.

  Michael? he sent.

  Michael sent a very shaken acknowledgment.

  Gabriel didn’t bother saying he was on his way—he just went.

  And arriving, he screamed.

  Jesus had been whipped, bloodied, his hands bound before him, a scarlet cloak tossed over his shoulders, and in front of Gabriel’s glowing eyes, two Roman soldiers braided thorned branches into a circlet.

  Gabriel burst into flames, but Uriel grabbed him. He couldn’t project coherently for the moment, and it all rippled out at the same time: how could they he’s hurt why on earth what is the matter with human beings what did he ever do to them this isn’t fair can’t we stop them?

  Turning to the rooftop, he targeted his glare on Satan, whose own eyes glinted with anticipation.

  Gabriel! Michael came right up against him. Don’t engage him!

  I’ll give him an hour!

  I can’t have you doing this! Michael enchained Gabriel with his will and flashed him fifteen miles away to the crest of a hill, a road leading north and south on their either side.

  “Listen to me!” Michael’s eyes burned blue. “Satan was given this power. I don’t know why. Jesus was turned over to his control, and Jesus went along with it.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be—”

  “God wants it this way,” Michael shouted, “and we can’t get closer than we have. We can’t stop it. There’s nothing we’ve been able to accomplish so far.”

  “I can stop Satan from making it worse!”

  He grabbed Gabriel by the shoulders. “Listen to yourself! This is Satan’s hour! You attack him and he’ll cinder you on the spot! I’m telling you, we can’t do anything!”

  Gabriel threw his sword, then clenched his fists, arched his neck, and erupted with enough power to dwarf a supernova. Michael flung up a Guard around himself as the spiritual shock wave blew over the earth, but still his feathers gusted back in the blast.

  Gabriel went down on his knees, and he hit the ground with his fist.

  Michael dropped to sitting. He said nothing.

  After a moment, Gabriel put his face in his hands. He tried to take a deep breath of the sandy air, but it choked him. He tried again. A third time. Eventually he could sit without shaking.

  “You need to be with them,” he managed.

  “I think I need to be with you.” Michael spoke softly. “They’ll call if I’m needed.”

  A long silence passed. Gabriel shook his head, trying to obliterate the visions in his memory.

  Michael touched his hand.

  “Raphael won’t leave him.” Gabriel’s voice was raspy. “This has to be killing him.”

  Gabriel left the rest of it unsaid: that he wanted to be there too. Even if he couldn’t do anything for Jesus, he still could be there with his Seraph.

  Michael squeezed his hand. “On some level he has to know this isn’t your fault.”

  “Yeah,” Gabriel whispered. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “It didn’t help that you wouldn’t even apologize, though.” When Gabriel’s head snapped up, Michael added, “It looked as if you didn’t care.”

  Gabriel swallowed.

  “You had that studious expression.” Michael sighed. “It took even me a while to realize you were struggling. But Raphael needed something from you right then, and you gave him nothing.” Michael sat back. “I heard about Nivalis.”

  Gabriel shook his head.

  Michael shifted so he and Gabriel were face to face, and Michael took his hands, then brought forward his wings so they touched the tips of Gabriel’s wings, and he closed his eyes. Together they prayed, sitting on the road, letting the sun shine through them, and Gabriel tried not to consider everything he had seen.

  But he and Michael were together, and for a moment Gabriel relaxed in the strength of his presence. As a unit they reached for the Spirit, and the Spirit swept through them and strengthened them.

  What’s going to happen? Gabriel prayed.

  Michael withdrew, but Gabriel pressed for an answer.

  A moment after, the Spirit answered.

  Gabriel yanked back his hands from Michael’s as if from a hot pan.

  Michael whispered, “What?”

  Gabriel stared into eternity, denial and fear and fury combined in one silvered expression.


  Michael whispered, “Is it death?”

  Gabriel couldn’t respond. For Michael, silence would be response enough.

  Seventeen

  They returned to the Roman palace, and Gabriel was stunned to find Uriel with arms and wings around Raphael. He hadn’t felt the Seraph’s distress, or maybe he couldn’t over his own.

  Gabriel moved closer and put his hand on Raphael. “We’re with you.” Raphael didn’t acknowledge, but at least he didn’t throw Gabriel off. It was a start.

  Uriel sent information to Michael and Gabriel: Pilate had washed his hands of the situation. Jesus was to be given a crossbeam to carry to the Skull Place, and he was to be crucified.

  Mary sat on a bench, bloodless. Gabriel knelt before her and rested his hand on hers.

  “How will he die?” she whispered. “What happens?”

  Gabriel’s eyes unfocused. Crucifixion falls into the category of suspension torture, so he’ll be stretched. He’ll have to inch up for breath. The nails through his wrists and feet will cause him to lose blood, even more than he’s already lost by being flogged, but not so much that he loses consciousness. He’ll be aware of everything for hours while he asphyxiates because of the weight on his intercostal muscles, unable to draw a full breath, but still able to get shallow respirations so that he doesn’t die immediately. The whip lashes on his back will sting, and they’ll pull open when he moves on the wooden beam. The nails through his wrists will crush the sensorimotor median nerve, and it will feel like fire. The one through his feet will hit the plantar nerves and do the same. When he’s close enough to death, the Romans will smash the bones in his shins so he can’t inch up for breath, or when he simply hasn’t the strength, then all his weight will bear on his wrists until the mass of his own body crushes the last bit of air out of his lungs, and then he asphyxiates.

  Mary leaned forward. “Tell me.”

  Gabriel shook himself free of the images. “He’ll lose a lot of blood. Blood carries the good parts of the air to the body where it needs it. When he can’t get enough air any longer, he’ll die.”

  Mary’s eyes teared. “Is it painful?”

  Gabriel looked aside. “In the last minute, when there’s not enough oxygen, it’s actually a euphoric state, as if you’re drifting.”