An Arrow In Flight (Seven Archangels Book 1)

by Jane Lebak

  Michael felt Gabriel draw his attention to two men in a doorway.

  "Good work." Michael assessed the threat level but kept walking. "Alert me to anyone else who takes notice of us."

  Gabriel made no assent, but Michael could feel her senses expanding to absorb the entire area. He straightened with the posture of one who once had championed a defense no one thought he could win. Even without his wings, he carried an air that proclaimed his identity: military commander of God's hosts and one of the Seven.

  Gabriel dropped behind Michael, seeming submissive instead of subordinated. She directed his attention to the individuals who watched from windows, all of whom wondered why a foreigner and his wife wandered Sodom at night.

  Gabriel's nose wrinkled. "Three men on a rooftop just noticed us. They're obnoxious."

  Michael led her to a shadowed portion of a mudbrick building and looked about the square where four streets intersected.

  "The men left the building top," Gabriel whispered. "Four men are watching indecently from a ground-floor window."

  "We're almost where I want to be. Hurry."

  "They've left the window. Two boys are watching us all from an alley across the square."

  She froze. "Two in front!"

  The men jumped them before Michael could react.

  Gabriel bolted.

  Michael followed, scanning for a defensible spot. "Head for the corner building!"

  The boys advanced from a side street, holding stones.

  Frightened but fast, Gabriel dodged toward an alley where they might hide or scale the walls. But then a stone cracked into her head, and she dropped.

  Michael hauled her up before running again, but she wasn't weightless, and the pursuers overtook him.

  The three from the roof leered as more boys came with rocks. Four men climbed out a ground story window. Michael looked at the ladder ascending the wall of a building, but he couldn't guess how much two human bodies weighed versus how much that splintered wood could bear. The alley's mud reeked of urine and worse. He turned, but a man holding a club blocked the street.

  The two original attackers approached, and Michael made a dark realization: the city had nowhere to hide because these were people well-practiced in hunting other people.

  Gabriel squirmed to a stand, rubbing her head.

  "Are you all right?"

  Gabriel kept her voice as low as his. "I didn't think they could touch us."

  The pursuers had formed a half-circle as they sized up the two angels. "Visitors?" asked one.

  Her eyes round as saucers, Gabriel slid along the wall. Michael kept himself between her and the men.

  The dusk-darkened mob forced them down the alley until Gabriel stopped retreating. Ten cubits behind them, the passage ended in a twenty-cubit mudbrick wall.

  "Sweetheart," said one, coming too near, "welcome to Sodom."

  Gabriel shoved the man. Michael drew his knife, but the men rushed him.

  At the sounds of a fight, Sodomites poured from their houses. As though the original eleven were not too difficult to handle, now two dozen interested onlookers surrounded the fight, laying odds and placing bets.

  At the far end of the alley, Gabriel screamed. Michael lunged for her, but six attackers pressed him back against the wall, and he took a punch to the gut.

  Four men had Gabriel's arms and legs pinned. Even as they brought her to the ground, she struggled.

  Above the men's laughter sounded Gabriel's calls for help. Michael pushed forward, but the gang shoved him back against the wall. "You're next," the closest man said. "She's just the appetizer."

  She kicked. Michael twisted. There were just too many.

  "Raphael!" Gabriel called, then gasped as someone wrenched both her arms behind her back, forcing her to thrust out her chest. Two of the men pressed up against her. "God!"

  Too many people blocked Michael's view of what was happening. One man flung out a bit of fabric: her belt, followed by her overtunic.

  Riotous laughter.

  One man pushed a knife under Michael's chin, keeping him back against the wall. He couldn't see Gabriel, but he could hear. He prayed, God, God, help—

  Gabriel erupted with light that must have been visible from Abraham's tent. Screams from the crowd, and even Michael found himself blinded. It seared through the alley for one second, two, and then it faded. As his vision cleared, he found the shadows of Gabriel's attackers scorched into the walls, but as for themselves, the men remained holding tight. The person they still had pinned to the ground was no longer female but male.

  And instead of running in terror, the men laughed. "Well, looks like we got ourselves a godling," said one. And another, "We're having some fun tonight."

  Screaming, Michael thrashed until he couldn't breathe. He could do it, just go ahead and call down that fire right at this very moment. Why had Abraham bargained for ten good people? Ten people who did nothing to spare the innocent were the same as having no good people at all.

  God, please, save us. We're only angels. Michael's eyes burned, and his throat spasmed. Father, have mercy! I don't care what they do to me, but spare Gabriel.

  Another light suffused the alley, this one less frenzy than pure strength. It leak up from the ground and out of the mudbrick walls, silencing the attackers in a timeless paralysis. Brightness like fingers and a hand held all of them in place. Michael felt one of the light fingers take the tears from his eyes.

  This wasn't Gabriel's light. Gabriel had no light left to give. This light was God's.

  When the light ended, the men shuffled away like automata.

  Michael ran through the dispirited walkers. Gabriel huddled in the filth, curled like an egg.

  The alley had re-darkened as if the light of God had not just entered. Gabriel's clothing was twisted around his waist, but the fabric was uncut, and he wasn't bleeding. It had happened so fast. Surely they hadn't succeeded?

  Squatting by Gabriel's side, Michael felt panic raising. His human body coursed with chemicals that had his brain on high alert and his body ready to run, but there was nowhere to run to, only one big place to run from, and they had to stay because the assignment wasn't finished.

  Shifting his focus so he was looking into God's eyes, Michael forced himself to go still. He couldn't fall apart, otherwise that was two of them down. He had a responsibility, first to the mission God had given him, and second to Gabriel.

  After a minute of silence broken only by his heaving breaths, Gabriel edged himself to a sitting position. Finally he struggled to his knees, then leaned on the wall and climbed to his feet.

  Michael tried to speak, but Gabriel started walking. Michael fished Gabriel's belt from the gutter, but Gabriel limped silently, one hand pressed to his side. His breaths came shallow, and Michael began to wonder if he shouldn't send Gabriel away—but would Gabriel even leave with the assignment incomplete?

  As they passed one house, a man called, and Michael's throat tightened: he'd had more than enough of Sodom's men.

  The call came again, and the man ran to meet them. Michael pivoted, glaring.

  The man trembled, and Michael recognized Abraham's nephew Lot. "Here, my lords, please turn in to your servant's house and spend the night, and wash your feet; then you may rise early and go on your way."

  The offer was about thirty minutes too late. Michael kept his eyes and expression flat. "We'll spend the night in the open square."

  Beside him, Gabriel tensed.

  Michael turned to the Cherub—and for a moment was lost.

  "Please, my lords," the man said, "I beg you, the night is cold, and the city even colder. Come with me."

  Biting his lip, Gabriel stared at the ground, still breathing in gasps. Michael said, "We accept."

  Michael tried to take Gabriel's arm, but Gabriel slipped just beyond reach. They followed Lot to his home, Gabriel struggling to keep pace.

  Lot's wife and daughters met them at the door. "Prepare a meal for these two men."


  The older daughter brought out wine, and Michael forced Gabriel to drink. He was pale and looked to be in a cold sweat.

  "Is your companion sick?" asked Lot.

  Michael cleared his throat before speaking. "He needs to lie down."

  Lot escorted the pair of angels to a chamber without windows; most of this house's thick walls seemed to lack them. Lot brought in a pitcher and a basin of water, then went in and out of the room bringing other items until Michael wished he could bar the door. By the time Lot was done, Gabriel had curled around himself on the mat and closed his eyes.

  Michael brought the basin of water to Gabriel's side and wet one of the cloths, then reached toward him.

  Just before his fingers would have touched Gabriel's shoulder, Gabriel exploded to his knees with his fists raised.

  They regarded each other for several minutes, the pair of angels, both with wide eyes and both breathing quickly. Finally, Michael looked at the warm cloth and extended it to Gabriel.

  The Cherub took it without brushing Michael's fingers. He ran it over one of his arms.

  "Are you all right now?"

  Gabriel went to work scrubbing himself all over: his face, his arms, his neck, his shoulders. Michael flinched to see the bruises purpling his skin and the way Gabriel couldn't twist toward his left. He was about to loosen his tunic and get his chest when he froze.

  "I'm sorry," Michael said.

  Gabriel looked up, ashen.

  Michael whispered, "I did all I could."

  Making no reply, Gabriel returned to scrubbing his arms until the skin turned red from friction.

  "I don't know what else I could have done," Michael said.

  Gabriel wrung out the cloth and set it over the side of the basin. He finally extended a hand, but drew it back before he touched Michael's. He tried an unsteady smile.

  Both paused then, spines straight like antennae. Michael and Gabriel listened, and then Gabriel drew his knees to his chest, rocking in the darkness. The flat depths of his eyes seemed even greyer than the beaten dirt of the floor.

  Michael ran from the room.

  At the front of the house, Lot's wife and daughters stood by the entrance. The youngest sobbed.

  The wife's voice sounded like a dart. "He's out there for you."

  Michael slipped past them to the door.

  "The house is surrounded," the younger daughter said. "We'll never survive! They'll tear us to pieces and sell us as slaves!"

  Michael held out a hand. "They're all shouting at once, and I can't make out the words."

  He closed his eyes, and Lot's voice became audible to him. "What do you want of my household?"

  "Where are the men who came to you?" asked a voice. And another, "Bring them out so we can give them a proper greeting to Sodom!"

  Laughter and tumult. Mockery.

  Lot urged, "Please don't harm my guests." Someone shouted from the back of the crowd, and Lot drew a deep breath. "I have two virgin daughters. Let me bring them out to you, but don't do anything to these men."

  The crowd pressed closer, and Michael could feel their rising anger.

  "Get out of the way," one voice said. "You're a stranger but you dare judge us! We'll deal with you worse than them!"

  Michael flung open the door and grabbed Lot by the shoulders. He yanked him inside, and Lot's wife slammed the door.

  Lot stumbled to his knees. "I've tried—I've offered them everything –"

  "Too much."

  Michael turned to see Gabriel: ash-white and raspy, but glaring at the man who was willing to cast his two children to the whims of an evil crowd. He edged out his words between shallow breaths. "Nobody is going to get raped."

  Michael clenched his fists. His eyes fixed on the wraith that had become of Gabriel, the crying daughter, the drawn faces of her sister and mother, the pallor of Lot's cheeks. The din outside increased.

  Michael returned to his angelic form. At the entrance of Lot's home he stood with shimmering wings at his shoulders and a sword of light in his hand. Lot's family retreated to the walls, but Michael let the power of his natural form flood him. "Enough of this city, enough of this evil!"

  Michael hurled his sword through the wall, into the crowd, and as it traveled at eye level, it struck each man blind. The noise ceased momentarily, only to return as cries of confusion.

  The sword returned to Michael's hand. He faced Lot.

  "Do you have anyone else here? Sons-in-law, sons, daughters, or anyone you have in Sodom, take them out of this infernal city! We'll burn this place in the morning. God has judged against it."

  The family stared. Michael breathed heavily for a moment; then the brightness faded, and he remained in human form.

  Gabriel spoke in Heaven's language. "There's not ten. We can do it now."

  Michael started. "We have to get the family out of here."

  "No, we don't! We were told to find ten good people!" The pitch of Gabriel's voice raised. "Four isn't ten! We can burn the place and go home! Please, Michael — all of them are going to die anyhow! In the long run, what does it matter when it happens?" A hysterical edge came into Gabriel's voice, and he leaned harder on the daughter, hand pressed to his ribs. "It's just a city. Cities fall."

  "No. " Michael put iron into his voice, and Gabriel looked only betrayed. "It can wait until tomorrow. None of them will escape God's justice." He stepped toward Gabriel, and then in human language, said, "Come on. Let's get you back to the room."

  Gabriel recoiled from Michael, so Lot's daughter brought him.

  "Is there anything else you want?" she asked.

  "Yes." Gabriel seemed small. "Stay."

  - + -

  "Michael?"

  Raphael stepped back as the Archangel startled to full awareness, then met his gaze in the dark.

  Michael sighed as he sat up. "Thank goodness. I was hoping you'd come."

  Raphael lowered his eyes but remained otherwise motionless. "I couldn't intervene."

  "I understand."

  "Will Gabriel?" Raphael squatted beside the sleeping Cherub. "You're in shock, aren't you?" he whispered. A sharp pause. "And not just emotional shock. They really got to you."

  Raphael extended his hands to Gabriel, then jerked them back like a child warned not to touch fire. Instead Raphael hovered his hands over Gabriel as if rippling the waters of a pool without breaking the surface. "He didn't get raped. Physically, it's bruises and internals. I've been given permission to heal those, but the spirit I can't heal." Raphael concentrated so he illuminated the room. "This isn't a condemnation of you, Michael, because you didn't know, but I want to show you: when someone is panting for breath and the skin is bluish, that's an emergency, and I want you to call me."

  Michael put his head in his hands.

  Raphael's amber glow settled around Gabriel, whose breathing immediately eased. "Come on...knit together. Don't let your kidneys shut down. It's only me."

  Michael whispered, "I didn't realize how badly they hurt him."

  Raphael concentrated only on Gabriel for the time being. Then the glow dissipated, and he turned back Michael. "How are you? I can do as much for you. I can mend the bruises, but not the heart."

  Michael glared at his lap, the tightness of words wrapping around him. He tried to speak, but what words would cover this? Instead he spoke with his posture, his facial expression, and strong emanations like pulses from his heart. He clenched his hands and tightened his shoulders.

  Raphael sat cross-legged before Michael, then leaned forward as Michael closed his eyes, but all the Archangel could project was anger: he hadn't known what to do.

  "I know what we do now. We pray." Raphael took Michael's hands. "And you need to forgive yourself."

  Michael pulled free his hands. "A better commander would have avoided the whole incident. We just walked in without any tactics in place. They call me their commander—all the choirs—because I challenged Satan with Who is like God? But I'm just an Archangel mixing with
Cherubim and Seraphim. There are seven choirs of angels stronger than me that could be doing my job, and for that matter, the majority of my own. That's not right."

  Raphael offered a smile. "God likes to lift up weak people and put down the strong ones."

  Michael said, "But my native endowments—"

  "—are so augmented that you're Gabriel's equal. Easily. You threw Satan into Hell."

  Michael huffed. "And for all that, I couldn't overcome ten malnourished humans today. At least if Satan had been behind it, I could have fought."

  Raphael said, "You think he wasn't?"

  "Not directly," Michael said. "Not this time. These people carry their own evil."

  They stayed quiet a moment, during which Raphael's eyes wandered back to Gabriel, who lay motionless as if dead. He answered Michael's projected question with, "Dreaming. I can feel it."

  "Angels don't dream."

  "Human bodies do. You're both human right now."

  Michael paused. "Nightmares?"

  Raphael's mouth tightened. "Just dreams. I didn't feel him hashing this out with God earlier, so maybe that's what he's doing in his sleep."

  Michael said, "He wouldn't talk to me."

  "Then he'd better talk to God before he buries the whole thing. What good is it to stand in the presence of God if you're not going to tell Him when you're furious or at the end of your strength? I already did." Raphael shifted as if to leave. "You'd better get some sleep, too. The human body has certain basic needs, and you're denying one of them by staying awake all night."

  "But Gabriel?"

  Reflected glory passed across Raphael's eyes as he prayed his question. "I'm allowed to stay."

  Michael lay back on his pallet, and Raphael pressed both his hands against Michael's head. The Archangel could feel the bruises healing and tried to thank him, but he had grown too sleepy.

  The last thing Michael saw was Raphael, his wings half-extended, reaching for Gabriel, but again God held back his hand before Raphael could touch him. "Be well," whispered the Seraph. "I'm right here, and I'm not leaving."

  - + -

  Gabriel awoke to find Michael sleeping.