Sacred Cups (Seven Archangels Book 2)

by Jane Lebak

  Mary accepted this and did not ask about the hours leading to those last moments. “And what about Sheol? What is it like?”

  “It’s a natural happiness.” This much at least was the complete truth. “Imagine awakening in the middle of the night and knowing everyone you love is in the house with you. It’s just warm enough, and your blankets are up around your shoulders, and you have a soft pillow. Outside you can hear crickets, but you know you’re secure, and you drift back to sleep.”

  Mary tried to smile. “So, it’s not all bad.”

  “It’s never all bad.” Gabriel shook his head. “Even when that’s how it seems.”

  Raphael had come up behind Gabriel. Mary looked up at the Seraph, and Gabriel stood.

  He didn’t meet Raphael’s eyes. “I’m going to stay.”

  “I want to talk to her.”

  Gabriel gestured toward Mary with a sweep of his hand, then approached Uriel.

  Uriel hadn’t left Heaven often before becoming Mary’s guardian, and this was a tremendous crowd, all of them angry and hungry. Looking unsteady, Uriel reached out a hand. Taking it, Gabriel sent the Throne reassurance, brushing wings against wings.

  “I heard about Judas.” Uriel’s head was bowed. “There was nothing else you could have done.”

  Gabriel sighed. “I’m tired of hearing that.”

  “You’re going to hear it again before this is over.”

  “And everyone believes it but me. And him.”

  Uriel said, “You understand Raphael better than anyone else. Quick to detonate, quick to apologize. Nivalis’s bond to Judas was broken and she blames herself, so she cries. Raphael’s bond to Jesus was broken, and he’s blaming you. The only other choice would mean being angry at Jesus for submitting.”

  Gabriel said, “Then he and Nivalis are a lot alike right now.”

  Uriel nodded.

  Gabriel looked over his shoulder at Raphael. “Sometimes I thank God I’m never going to be a guardian.”

  “And sometimes,” Uriel said, “there’s no way I can imagine myself as anything else ever again.”

  Raphael flashed back to Jesus’s side. Gabriel transported with him to the interior courtyard where Jesus had been stripped again and given the crossbeam to carry.

  I’ll carry it for him, Gabriel prayed.

  No.

  Please let me give him my strength, then.

  No.

  Please let him know we’re still with him.

  No.

  Can’t I do anything for him? Gabriel prayed.

  No answer.

  Gabriel went down on his knees.

  Raphael looked over his shoulder. I tried that already.

  But you’d be even more angry at me if I didn’t try. He wrapped his arms around his stomach. Raphael, please believe me. I didn’t have a choice in the garden.

  Raphael answered with a frustrated fury.

  Don’t be angry at me when the one you’re mad at is God.

  And don’t you tell me what I should feel.

  Gabriel moved closer to Jesus, his eyes unfocused but the scene etching itself into his mind. The Romans pushed Jesus forward even though he was already walking. Gabriel estimated the weight of the wood from the beam’s size and density (about a hundred pounds) and then estimated the distance to the place where Jesus would be crucified (a third of a mile), factored in the heat, dehydration, the way Jesus had already been lashed, his fatigue, the strength Gabriel had been able to give him last night, his sleep-debt, and he concluded Jesus would not make it up the hill.

  Please, he prayed, even though I can’t help him, please send someone. Please let someone help him.

  Raphael and Gabriel followed, Gabriel taking to the air when the closeness of the crowd grew too much.

  The crowd jeered, hooted, laughed.

  Raphael looked up at Gabriel, a sudden hollowness in his eyes.

  Gabriel moved close, still aloft but near enough to touch, then settled behind Raphael, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

  Jesus fell, and before he had a chance to get to his feet, the Romans were shouting and the crowd rang with cat-calls.

  Raphael swirled with confusion. How can they laugh?

  I don’t know. Gabriel brought his wings up near Raphael’s. These were the same people last week—

  I hate them. Raphael vibrated wildly, and Gabriel didn’t reach into his soul to calm him. If God let me, I would destroy them more thoroughly than Sodom and not think twice. They didn’t deserve him, and he certainly doesn’t deserve what they’re doing to him.

  As Jesus struggled to his feet, Mary pushed through the crowd to help him.

  A Roman soldier raised his hand to strike her.

  Gabriel shouted “No!” even as Uriel came between Mary and the Roman, eyes blazing purple, a force so thick in the air that the soldier couldn’t have moved his hand even if he’d tried.

  Gabriel had his will encircling the Roman. Michael stood over Jesus, his sword ablaze, pinning the other Romans in time.

  “Please,” Gabriel said to her.

  Mary looked Jesus in the eyes, and she whispered, “I’m with you.”

  Jesus swayed on his feet, and Gabriel reassessed him. Blood loss, heat, dehydration, the weight, and now the hatred of the crowd. Jesus had been able to work miracles through the faith of those around him, but this—he’d never make it up the hill against this.

  Gabriel moved closer to Raphael, uncertain what to pray for. Certainly dying in the road was better than making it to the top and dying there. But he couldn’t force himself to hope it.

  I just want him to be freed from this, he prayed. Don’t let this go on. Do something!

  Mary stood up to the nearest Roman soldier. “Let me carry that beam.”

  Uriel glowed. The Roman guffawed, but she said, “He can’t carry it. I’ll do it.”

  “She’s right,” one of the soldiers said, grabbing a man from the crowd. “But we need someone strong.”

  The nearest soldier hefted the beam from Jesus’s shoulder, scraped bloody by the weight of the wood.

  Raphael instinctively reached out with his soul to heal the abrasion, then choked and pulled back because he couldn’t.

  Gabriel grabbed Raphael’s hand in both his.

  Mary kissed Jesus’s cheek, but then the soldiers pushed her away.

  The man from the crowd complained as the Romans impressed him into service while Jesus stood gasping for breath.

  “Take it,” Raphael hissed.

  Gabriel said, “They’ll make him take it. It’s Roman law.”

  One of the Romans drew his sword, and the man shouldered the beam.

  Gabriel shuddered. Without the weight of the wood in the calculation, Jesus would make it to the top alive.

  He’d seen men crucified before. He was going to see it again.

  Michael came to them. “I just wanted you two to know,” he whispered, “that Beelzebub and Asmodeus pulled back. Satan is watching, but he’s holding his army elsewhere.”

  Gabriel stared. “What is he trying?”

  “I have no idea, but it can’t be good.” Michael glanced around. “He’s got the two Cherubim with him, but no one else, and he’s moving constantly.”

  “When his hour is over,” Raphael said, “I’m going to beat the life out of him.”

  Gabriel muttered, “You’re going to have to wait in line.”

  “You’re bonded to me,” Raphael said, “so you have to share.”

  “Save some for me,” Michael said.

  Uriel drew close. “You can’t make up for what Jesus is suffering now. It won’t take away the pain.”

  “Or the humiliation. Or the abandonment. I know that.” Raphael glowered. “But I’d like to try.”

  Jesus stumbled again, and even as Raphael reacted instinctively to shield him, Jesus fell through him.

  Gabriel felt the grief like a knife across his chest.

  “It’s okay,” Raphael whispered. “I’m still
with you. Stay down a moment.”

  Simon of Cyrene remained in place, still holding the beam, while the Romans hauled Jesus back to his feet.

  “He’s not going to make it up the hill,” Michael said.

  “He’s going to make it,” Gabriel said flatly.

  The Romans let him rest a moment, and some women on the sidelines tried to approach. Jesus told them to weep for themselves, not for him.

  Gabriel went cold. He looked up to see Satan sitting on a rooftop, listening to their conversation; he appeared horrified. Worse. He looked scared.

  Still sitting on the ground, Raphael sensed Gabriel’s surprise and followed his gaze.

  Jesus took two more steps and fell again. Raphael huddled over himself.

  “He’s still got to climb the hill,” Michael said.

  “He’s going to make it,” Gabriel said. “Even if they have to drag him, they’re going to make sure he gets there.”

  The Roman centurion spoke to the soldiers, letting Jesus stay sitting while he conferred with them. Gabriel focused his hearing on them, then said, “They don’t want to risk Pilate’s anger if he dies before they can kill him.”

  Raphael’s head dropped.

  Michael touched Gabriel, then flashed him away.

  “Ask God for permission to kill him yourself,” Michael said.

  Gabriel radiated surprise.

  Michael nodded. “It’s kinder.”

  “Have you already asked?”

  Michael nodded again.

  “He’s only going to tell me the same thing.”

  Michael urged, “Ask anyhow.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Gabriel stared at the ground. “I couldn’t do it even if God gave me permission.”

  Michael flashed them back. One of the Romans helped Jesus walk even as Simon of Cyrene continued carrying the cross beam. Taking it slowly, they made it to the top of the hill.

  Mary had made it to the hilltop before Jesus had, and she’d positioned herself near to where his cross would be. Two other criminals were already hanging on the two sides, and she was looking at them, her eyes red. When she glanced at Gabriel with a mix of anger and despair, he cringed.

  Raphael had gone misty at the edges. He brushed his wings by Gabriel. “I’m not sure I can stay.”

  “Hold onto me,” Gabriel said. “If you want to stay, stay with me.”

  They laid Jesus out on the cross beam, tied his wrists down, and gave him a leather strap to bite. Raphael turned to Gabriel, his fingers wrapped in the tertiary feathers of his innermost wings. Gabriel wrapped his outer pair of wings around them both, and he drew Raphael’s head against his shoulder just as the Romans drove the first nail through Jesus’ wrist, between the carpals and the radius.

  Mary screamed. Gabriel didn’t want to look away, but he watched the face of the Roman driving the nails, his hand accurate with the hammer, his brow furrowed with concentration as he did his job, just his job. Later in the day, when it was time, this man would take a larger hammer and smash the condemned men’s shins. Just doing his job.

  God, Gabriel prayed. Dear God, oh God…

  Raphael had his hands so tight in Gabriel’s wings that it should have hurt, but Gabriel couldn’t feel a thing.

  Mary Magdalene rushed up to Mary and drew her away, pulling her into the crowd so she couldn’t see what the Romans were doing. Mary was in tears.

  The Roman nailed Jesus’ other hand, and then he nailed his feet.

  Raphael tried to raise his head, but Gabriel gripped him harder. “No, not yet.”

  Raphael tensed. Gabriel kept him looking away as the Romans hauled the cross beam and the cross upright with wooden forks so he wouldn’t see the way Jesus’s body jerked on the cross in response to gravity, and then the first few moments as he tried to find a way it didn’t hurt so much, but of course there really wasn’t one.

  Gabriel let Raphael go, and Raphael looked, then backed up a step.

  There were no more words. Even half in one another’s souls, there was nothing to say.

  One of the Romans posted a sign over Jesus head: “Jesus: The King of the Jews.”

  The crowd mocked the men being tortured to death. The other two men must have been robbers because people threw coins. Travelers on the road—and there were many—looked up in fear, glanced at the soldiers, and hurried past. Some stopped to find out who they were, but some only read the signs and laughed. “Who is this Jesus? The Jews don’t have a king. Stupid Romans.”

  The people who had followed from Jerusalem, though, hooted and demanded a miracle. Aren’t you going to rebuild the temple? Take yourself down if you’re so great! Heal yourself! Didn’t you call God your father? Where’s your Daddy now?

  The sky darkened as if for rain, but no rain fell. There were no clouds. It might have been Raphael darkening the sky; it might have been all the angels together. It might have been the Earth itself grieving.

  Uriel stood behind Mary, wings wrapped around her body. She was beyond speech right now, beyond tears, only staring. Gabriel couldn’t tell if she was praying. He tried to pray only to feel an emptiness. Dread. Nausea. Finality.

  Drink the cup to the very bottom.

  Raphael sat at the base of the cross, as numb as Mary, his fire smothered. Gabriel reached through the bond to kindle him, but Raphael didn’t respond. He didn’t even acknowledge the Cherub’s touch. Gabriel sent him whatever strength he had, but it wasn’t much.

  Beside him, Satan arrived.

  Gabriel spun to face him, but Satan said, “We made a mistake.”

  Gabriel started shaking—with anger, with fatigue, with something, he had no idea what. “You made a mistake?”

  “This isn’t what we wanted.” Satan gestured at the cross. “Whatever happens next, we’re not going to like it. None of us.”

  Gabriel’s vision whited out. “It’s all about you, isn’t it? You caused this travesty, and the only problem is what’s going to happen to you?”

  Satan frowned at Jesus. “The Father is going to destroy us all—you and me and all these monkeys—because of what’s happening today.”

  Gabriel huffed. “Let Him destroy us all. I can’t think of a worse condemnation of creation, that it wasn’t sufficient merely to spit in God’s face, but that created beings had to take up arms against God Himself and hurt him when he joined us to help.”

  “Get him down from there!” Satan gripped Gabriel by the shoulders. “Do you want to die? Intervene! Do you want him to suffer?”

  Grabbing him by the wrists, Gabriel pushed him off. “Of course I don’t want that!”

  “Then take him down!”

  “You take him down! This was your hour!”

  “It wasn’t supposed to get this far!” Satan shouted. “He was supposed to plead for his life! He was supposed to show his full power, and failing that, the crowd was supposed to demand his release, making him either a laughingstock or else beholden to the people to become the leader they demanded!”

  Gabriel opened his hands. “And now—?”

  Satan rolled his eyes. “A man should do anything to save his life! He had every opportunity to cast this cup aside and instead he’s drinking it to the bottom.”

  Gabriel’s jaw tightened.

  “We’ve tried taking him down.” Satan grew urgent. “We tried averting it when it became obvious what was happening. We tried giving Pilate’s wife visions to make her coerce her husband. We’ve tried talking him into leaving. We can’t do it.”

  Gabriel turned away. “I can’t do it either.”

  Satan formed his sword. “I suggest you give it another go.”

  A different sword came between Satan and Gabriel, followed by Raphael. In his drawn face, his eyes glowed black. “You leave my Cherub alone.”

  Satan lowered his weapon. “God’s going to destroy all creation because of your Cherub’s inaction.”

  Raphael advanced. “Gabriel’s not going to violate God’s orders and get sent to Hell because of you
.”

  Satan didn’t back down. “Isn’t it better that one individual sacrifice himself in order to save the rest of us?” He glared at Raphael. “That’s your charge getting tortured to death. Why aren’t you doing anything to save him?”

  Gabriel said, “He wouldn’t disobey God to save his Son because he’d only lose Jesus anyhow.”

  Satan snorted at Gabriel. “How about you bottle up that knowledge and allow him to hear his heart for once?”

  Mary turned to the angels. “Enough.” She glared at Satan, unflinching. “Stay if you must, but do it in silence.”

  Satan drew breath as if about to protest, but she fixed him with an even firmer look, and he said nothing.

  Mary looked back toward the cross.

  Gabriel tucked his wings, bowed his head, and prayed.

  Raphael’s prayer joined his in his heart, and in that moment they were together. Gabriel gave Raphael whatever strength he could offer, and this time Raphael accepted it.

  Satan’s voice in Gabriel’s mind: Why is he doing this?

  Gabriel refused to answer.

  Is it all a put-on?

  I’m sure it hurts, Gabriel sent. He’s making all the stress hormones human bodies make, and the pain centers in his brain are firing continuously. You’ve never been in a body, have you? When Satan sent a disgusted negative, Gabriel continued, A body monitors itself all the time for whether it’s well. If you touch fire, it tells you so you’ll pull back your hand. If it needs food, it tells you so you can feed it. It must be like the pain of Hell you feel. Every second, it’s telling him about the nails, about the crown, about the lacerations. Every second it’s tempting him more than you ever could to set this cup aside and pour out the contents on the ground.

  Then why doesn’t he do it? Satan sent, with the nonverbal echo that he’d set it aside if he could.

  You never set aside your own pain, did you? You never tried.

  Satan sent an impulse that this wasn’t the point.

  Gabriel looked at Raphael, shoulder to shoulder with him for the first time in this nightmare. He’s doing what our Father asked.

  Why would He ask that?

  Gabriel shook his head.

  Figure it out, Satan said. Maybe there’s another way to meet the conditions. It could save us all.