An Arrow In Flight (Seven Archangels Book 1)

by Jane Lebak

  Michael was saying, "The way he exploded—when Raphael was standing over you, I was afraid he was going to cinder you both."

  "You nearly lost both of us? No, wait, stop talking. You're not supposed to tell me about him." Gabriel leaned his head on the fence post and gripped the wood hard enough to hurt. "I don't want to get you in trouble. Uriel already reprimanded me for asking."

  Pain shot up his arms, and he forced his fists to unclench. He rubbed his forearm hard, then tried to work out a sentence, only nothing would come. Just the image of Raphael doing everything in his power to keep God from acting as justice demanded; Raphael reacting to helplessness with fury; Raphael at all.

  Michael put an arm over his shoulder. Gabriel still couldn't find any words, any coherent thoughts, nothing.

  A figure appeared in the house entrance. "Gabriel," called Raguel, "evening prayer!"

  Of course—silence and humanity never meshed, not fully. Gabriel swallowed. "I'm coming." He lowered his voice. "Can you join us?"

  Michael said, "I have your permission?"

  Gabriel shot him a nasty look, and Michael said, "Fine, I'll drop it."

  At the door, Raguel peered at Gabriel. "Who were you talking to?"

  Gabriel's voice was flat. "Angels."

  "You believe in that?" Raguel put adolescent emphasis on the word 'believe'.

  Gabriel looked at him sideways. "Don't you?"

  "I thought only my family did." Raguel laughed shortly. "When you talk to angels, do they answer you?"

  Gabriel said, "Angels always answer."

  Raguel shook his head.

  "Well, they answer," Gabriel said, "but when they speak, people can't understand them."

  Michael laughed, but Raguel couldn't understand him.

  The trio entered the courtyard. Raguel sat with the grandsons, and Gabriel joined him. Michael put his hands on Gabriel's shoulders.

  When Michael's touch pumped him full of electricity, Gabriel suddenly saw the courtyard crowded with angels. He could see the guardians of the family, angelic hands on human shoulders. Some left their charges to report to Michael, but they returned immediately. Michael's own glow cast shadows over the area.

  A bright spot appeared: the golden glow of Remiel. She sat cross-legged at the front, soon joined by Saraquael. Next came Raguel-senior with Dobiel. Uriel arrived and took a place beside Remiel.

  Maybe Raphael had come too, but Gabriel could neither feel nor see the Seraph, and he hoped it was as Michael said, that Raphael couldn't sense him either. Michael bi-located, simultaneously with Gabriel and with the Seven. An incredible honor, and yet the family would never know.

  The evening prayer, so splendid in Hebrew and touching when translated, flowed back and forth: from Tobias to the family, from Tobias to the men, from Tobias to the women, from the women to the men. Praises, lamentations, requests, and more praises.

  Gabriel felt his heart rise to an angelic prayer-level and his thought-processes alter to the state that used to be normal. When the prayers ended, he still felt buoyant. He had chores to do in the barn, and he kept meditating while he worked.

  Nissan 22

  Passover ended yesterday. I'd never experienced a Passover from this side, and I kept comparing what we were doing here to what Michael and Raphael would be doing now in Heaven, in our real celebration. It isn't the same. It isn't even close, but here I am, and I might as well document my observations.

  Tobias counted all the servants as part of the household, which was a relief as I had no idea what I would do regarding a lamb. The whole eight days possessed an awkward duality because on the outside, it didn't look any different. It felt different to me, but even at that, I wasn't sure if I was seeking that difference and perhaps it isn't really there to human senses.

  The Passover Seders united everyone. There were two on the first two days and one last night. I forgot about that extra Seder—in the Holy Land, there are only the ends. The youngest of Tobias's grandchildren asked the questions, and we ate the lamb and the unleavened bread together. Today, thank heaven, we got to eat leavened bread again—I had no idea what a sacrifice that would be. Bread never tasted breadier, and that's after only six months in this world. The unleavened stuff is like chewing parchment and harder to digest. After five days, I didn't want to eat any more of it, and it didn't seem I was alone. I tried to rejoice that God had delivered His people from Egypt, but the sad truth is that I'd done that many times before, so the majority of my rejoicing had to do with yeasted bread. How humiliating. I should have handled that better.

  For a little while, during the Seders, I felt at home. Not that I belong here—I don't—but that suddenly I was a son of Abraham, that I was one of the people delivered from Egypt and there's a star scattered in the sky for me. That I had been delivered from slavery by miracles and human stubbornness, and that I'd been spared the passage of the Angel of Death, and here I was, saved and remembering. Remembering.

  I do remember it, of course. But for once, I seemed to remember from the other side. Very strange, this common fiction, and yet we all partook of the same story, the same pretending.

  Today, we returned to the fields. I turned at one point to find a widow and her sons gleaning behind me. She looked exhausted. The boys' clothes needed patching, if not replacing. I'm hardly the most thorough harvester, but there wasn't much left behind me. I felt bad for her—she's hungry, I'm hungry, but at least her need can be met—and I thought for an instant to toss my entire sheaf on the ground and begin a new one.

  But that would have been stealing from Tobias. I didn't know what to do, whether to work inefficiently and let fall more than I would have, or to give her what I had, or to continue as if she weren't there. Every choice seemed wrong. It was hot; I was tired; I felt sick from the last meal of unleavened bread. I couldn't balance one precept against the next—because just yesterday, wasn't I feeling like kin to them, that we'd been rescued from Egypt together? Could compassion be wrong? But what about when compassion dictates you break the law? For a minute, I felt blinded. I felt human.

  Tobias saw her, and he crossed the field to harvest alongside me in silence. At one point, he did toss his entire sheaf to the ground and keep walking. The widow thanked him. He demurred. After she left, he murmured, "I'm clumsy that way sometimes. And if you are similarly clumsy, God will make up the lack. I've learned that much in this life. God will never be outdone in generosity."

  There's a lot to balance in this world. I'm never certain I'm accounting for the right factors. He left me to continue harvesting in the sun and the silence, thinking about leavened bread after sundown and a widow with barley grain to make her own.

  Nissan 27

  He'd been on the farm a month. Alone after evening prayers, Gabriel was raking out a stall in the barn, and as he worked, he sang.

  Light in my darkness, strength in my weakness,

  I know you're there, I know you're there

  At the core of something so vast.

  Hold me close, keep me safe,

  Scatter the night, lead me home

  From the midst of something so vast.

  It wasn't exactly art, but then again, it had a rhythm and a tune, and he was at the very end of the day.

  A baritone joined his tenor to repeat the verse.

  Gabriel whirled with the pitchfork brandished at waist level. "No!"

  Sitting on the side of a stall, Satan raised his hands, palms outward. "We haven't even had time to talk!"

  "Michael!"

  Both the Archangel and Raguel-senior appeared instantly, each with his sword unsheathed.

  "Yeah, you'd better call your little friends." Satan smirked, arms folded. "It helps to have them reinforce your brainwashing."

  "In the name of God, get out of here!" Gabriel shouted.

  Satan flashed away, and with him the sense of three or four watchers.

  Gasping, Gabriel dropped the pitchfork, then sagged against the wall.

  Raguel laughed, a
nd the sound rumbled all the way into Hell. Michael scanned the barn, searching out any other demons.

  "Thanks." Gabriel groped for his pitchfork with shaking hands. "I'm glad you came."

  Michael shrugged. "We said we would."

  "It's no trouble at all, little man," said Raguel the Principality, his booming voice unusually so. "We look out for your safety. No one who upsets you goes unpunished."

  "You drove him off yourself, you know." Michael murmured low enough that he wouldn't be overheard. "You didn't need us at all."

  "I think I did," whispered Gabriel. "You frightened him; I didn't."

  Michael's eyes crinkled. "We only showed up." He turned to Raguel "Everything's under control here. Would you mind if I went back?" He turned to Gabriel as if to say goodbye, hesitated, then crushed him in a hug. "Thank you." His whisper broke in the middle. "I thank God you called for us."

  Before Gabriel could react, Michael vanished.

  Gabriel stared as if he'd just witnessed a murder.

  Raguel was leaning on the edge of the stall. "Say, could I help?" After a moment, he said, "Gabriel? Are you all right?"

  Gabriel turned to him, blinking. "I'm sorry?"

  "Satan didn't hurt you, did he?"

  Michael's hug… Michael's words… No, don't think about that. Michael had to know he wasn't to blame for Satan's early visits. Shouldn't he?

  Raguel looked concerned, and Gabriel replayed the conversation again. "No, I'm unhurt."

  And then Raguel did the impossible: Gabriel saw the moment Raguel asked something of God. It could have been anything: reassurance that Gabriel wanted him there, or permission to stay, or double-checking that Satan was really gone. It didn't matter what the content of the question. What mattered was, Raguel got an answer.

  Reeling from the light in Raguel's eyes, Gabriel turned away, then found himself blinking hard and having to let the pitchfork take his weight. "I— Did I summon Michael away from something important?"

  Raguel leaned against the wall with a smile. "Nothing more important than you."

  Still thinking about that light in Raguel's eyes, the relief on Michael's face, Gabriel couldn't find it in himself to agree.

  Iyar 2

  Gabriel had a dream of the Vision and a human touch. He awoke abruptly in the middle of it, both lonely and uncomfortable.

  Even as he tried to settle back to sleep, a fire rose in the air, spiritual energy crackling around him until it suffused the room. His soul reacted, uncoiling as it attempted to connect with Seraphic fire.

  He looked up to find Asmodeus staring into his eyes, pouring out Seraphic energy Gabriel had been deprived for seven months.

  No!

  Even as his soul tried to respond, Gabriel's hands knotted in the blanket, and he clenched his teeth, breathing hard. God, I can't—I shouldn't—I don't—

  His throat tightened, and tension spread through his body until he couldn't do more than hang onto himself. No. He'd run out of water once, but even then he hadn't wanted a drink as badly as he craved this fire, just a little bit, just once. He curled tight and closed his eyes.

  The door opened, and an acrid stench filled the room, surrounding Asmodeus and Gabriel. The fallen Seraph fled; something swallowed the dark fire. Gabriel curled up, knees under his stomach, arms covering his face.

  A hand rested on his shoulder. "Did it hurt you?"

  Gabriel raised his face to see Tobias. He couldn't stop gasping, like a man come up from under water. "He didn't. Thank you. I didn't know what to do."

  Tobias gestured to a censer he held in his other hand. "This was a trick Azariah showed me."

  Gabriel sat up. Conscious of Raguel still asleep, he whispered, "You knew? How?"

  "I woke up feeling it. It's the demon that haunted Sarah, but it's come back a few times since then. I awaken with the sense that the house is on fire, and every time I've been able to drive it away."

  Raguel stirred. Tobias said, "Come with me."

  Gabriel followed him in the dark, picking his steps with care. His nerves still felt hyper-sensitive, and he could hear the breathing of the sleeping family members as well as insects outside, smell the burnt fish liver, feel the night's chill alive against his skin like a dozen ants crawling. Tobias led him down the staircase and into the kitchen, where he lit a lamp. Gabriel sat by the table, eyes closed, and he shivered.

  "Are you cold?"

  Those dark eyes. That welcome fire.

  "Not really. I had a dream." Now there was just a dark night and this little fire. Gabriel felt his cheeks flush. "I'll be all right."

  Tobias settled at the table as well, and he touched Gabriel's hand. "You don't need to be embarrassed about dreams. If it was there, it probably made the dream in the first place."

  Gabriel looked up. "I was back in my father's house, but when I woke up, it was just so…lonely. I wanted to be home."

  "You didn't need it to give you that dream," Tobias admitted.

  Gabriel averted his eyes as Tobias arose from the table. Leaning forward, Gabriel rubbed his temples, then the ridge of bone over his eyes, then pushed his fingers beneath his hair. In the past months he'd learned the difference between "This stimulates the pressure points and increases blood-flow to the craniofacial muscles" and "Oh, yeah, keep doing that." He tried to rub out the tension, but it wouldn't go.

  Tobias poured two cups of wine, then set one in front of each of them. "You'll need this."

  Gabriel looked up from his hands. "I'll pass out in front of you."

  "Do all your people react that way?"

  He shook his head. "I think I'm the only one."

  Tobias let him sip it silently for a minute, then said, "Are we good enough to you?"

  Gabriel's eyes gleamed. "You're better to me than I deserve."

  Tobias waved off the comment. "We can't replace your home, though."

  Gabriel looked aside.

  "Maybe you could go back early," Tobias said.

  Gabriel shook his head. Tobias waited for him to speak, but nothing emerged.

  "I'll travel with you," Tobias said. "If your father won't see you, maybe he'll speak to me."

  "If I thought it would work," Gabriel whispered, still staring at the wall, "I would beg you to do it."

  "Why are you so sure it won't?"

  "What would you say to him?"

  Tobias lowered his voice. "Your highness, I would approach you about the matter of my hired man."

  Gabriel focused on the cup, but he imitated God's intonation. "What is your servant to me?"

  "Sir, he belongs in your kingdom, but his father has disowned him for a slight infraction."

  "Are you questioning his father's authority?"

  Tobias smiled. "My hired man is hard-working and impresses me with his quiet demeanor. His father disowned him in haste for a mistake in judgment. Perhaps his father would see his son and be merciful."

  Gabriel sounded dark. "Perhaps your hired man has more value as your slave than he ever did as someone's son."

  "Take it easy on yourself." Tobias frowned. "That was uncalled for."

  Gabriel's voice went dreamy, a pitch between tenor and soprano. "Perhaps he resisted all the lessons his father tried to teach him gently, and perhaps harshness is fit repayment for arrogance, and isolation for inaccessibility. Could it be he drove his own father to desperate measures? If his father saw no other means to soften his son's heart, what man should question it? Would you prevent the son from becoming an heir to be proud of?"

  Tobias said, "Stop, Gabriel."

  Gabriel's eyes focused on nothing at all. "You have to strike even your best arrow from the sky to change its course."

  Tobias flinched.

  Gabriel blinked. "Did I just—?"

  His speech had reverted to normal.

  Tobias said, "You've internalized his voice."

  Gabriel knotted his hands around the cup. "I didn't think that could happen any longer." He shuddered. "He said I won't see his face until t
he year is up. You heard it. He was disgusted with me. Ashamed of me." He leaned forward so his elbows pressed into his ribs. "He doesn't even miss me."

  "Hold it there," Tobias said. "You have no children, so listen to what a father has to say. Even with all these children and grandchildren around me, I miss them when one of them travels. I miss my sons who've moved to other cities and my daughter who married into another household." He smiled. "Now, that doesn't mean I don't get fed up with them," Tobias added, and Gabriel chuckled. "I've gotten to the point of thinking I never wanted to see one or another of them again. But given time, I repent of my anger, and I take them back into my heart again."

  Gabriel closed his eyes. "His anger was right."

  "You're insistent about that," Tobias said.

  "Raphael asked you to grab the fish by the gills. What if you'd just kicked it off and let it swim away? How would you have had the means to drive off the demon? How could you have healed your father?" He shook his head. "Sometimes you get only one chance to do it right. After that, anything else is second best."

  "Some fathers are too harsh."

  "He should have killed me on the spot," Gabriel said. "My family pleaded for mercy."

  Tobias's brow furrowed. "Didn't you ask him for mercy?"

  Gabriel looked up slowly. "It never even occurred to me."

  Tobias said, "Maybe you could try now."

  Gabriel leaned against the table, and he rubbed his temples again. Keep doing that. His whole body felt looser, his eyes heavier, his senses disconnected.

  "You're not the youngest, right?" Tobias said. "The little ones are probably pestering your father all the time. 'Where's Gabriel?' 'When is Gabriel coming back?'" Gabriel smiled weakly. "He might take you back just to keep them quiet."

  Gabriel struggled to say, "I can imagine it."

  "You could return to us if he refuses to let you see him," Tobias said.