by Jane Lebak
Michael reached for his hand.
"I need you to pray with me." Gabriel took a deep breath and was surprised when it caught. "Like a guardian would—counterprayer."
He reached for Michael's heart, and Michael wrapped around him.
Father, Gabriel prayed, and he felt Michael moving through the contact, Father, I don't know how to do this— And then he lost the words, and he couldn't do anything more than just hold himself out toward his Father and show him the broken pieces, the sorrow over what he hadn't realized sooner, the ways he'd denied God His glory by acting as if he were responsible for his own goodness. And then he couldn't go on.
Michael hadn't pulled back in disgust; instead he radiated surprise.
God beckoned him to continue.
Please have mercy on me, Gabriel prayed. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for resisting you so long. Thank you for loving me despite myself. Thank you for teaching me. He quivered, but finally he said, Thank you for this year.
If Michael was surprised before, now he was openly shocked.
Gabriel closed his eyes. Thank you. His heart brimmed over, and then it was his eyes, and he wanted so much to hide himself, but Michael stayed.
The family's laughter and talk still formed the night's background, and the bonfire's glow reflected off the clouds.
And then, for a bare second, God shimmered inside, and Gabriel realized God was thanking him too.
Elul
The grape pressing began, and Gabriel worked full time amidst the smell of young wine. In the mornings he'd leave a house full of Hebrew-chattering children and work in the barn with Raguel. The boy had begun asking a lot of questions about God, and Gabriel used every minute as a teaching tool. They both knew he would leave soon.
Satan returned, but Gabriel retreated into the knowledge of his own smallness and in that way found himself shielded. Satan could look like Raphael; he could feel like Raphael; he could stream fire into the air. It held no attraction for him, and for what it was worth, Satan looked shocked. Gabriel focused only on the grace of God, not on his own ability to defend himself, and Satan's words passed through leaving no wake.
Tobias didn't want to risk Gabriel re-injuring his arm by sending him out into the fields again for harvesting. Instead he sent Gabriel to care for the sheep. The work was as before, but Gabriel found it new. There was less physical exertion than cutting barley, but more movement, more elements to keep track of. He prayed during the long hours, shared observations with the shepherds without trying to teach them. They played their home-grown music on home-grown instruments with home-grown voices, and he didn't object any longer. He sang with them and worked with them as a team, trying to anticipate what they wanted. It was the same work, but even so, it wasn't the same.
Elul 26
Even now, Gabriel refused to figure out the day and the hour. God knew when it would come and would fulfill everything in the right time. If Gabriel still had lessons to learn, then he needed to learn them and not watch the calendar.
Gabriel wondered how it would happen, if there would be a warning, if his vision would suddenly shift long-distance and he'd see God's face or if it would break over him like a wave, if he'd cry out, if he'd collapse, if his heart would stop (for the sake of the family, he hoped he wouldn't return to Heaven by dying). He wondered if the other angels would be there, if Satan would give him one last challenge, if Raphael would come (and if so, if he'd accept it was him). Would God test him before readmitting him? Would he pass?
What he would say to God? What things might God say to him? Wonderful things. Terrifying things.
He had numerous theories, but at the beginning of the end, it was the boy Raguel who burst into the stable where Gabriel cleaned out stalls after evening prayers. "Gabriel, you've got to come right now! Don't even finish your work!"
Raguel dragged Gabriel to the basin and made him wash his hands and face.
Gabriel watched from the corners of his eyes while he followed instructions. "Could you explain—?"
"Yes—oh, I hadn't said—your brother's here!"
Gabriel dropped the soap. "What?"
"Come on!" Raguel brought him to the house at a run.
The instant he entered the courtyard, Gabriel recognized Saraquael in human form. Stunned, he stared.
Tobias turned from Saraquael's side. "He says he's your brother Saraquah."
Saraquael – Saraquah – rushed at Gabriel and embraced him, and Gabriel laughed out loud. Saraquah kissed him on both cheeks and then held him close.
Gabriel had gone numb. "I never expected to see you."
"I'm truly thankful I found you," said Saraquah. He felt large to Gabriel, strong, and he smelled like tea leaves. "We had almost given up hope at home, and most of the family are grieving."
Raguel gaped at Saraquah—the high language, the clothes, the bearing.
Saraquah took a step back. "Father received your letter. I've come for you."
Gabriel fumbled for Saraquah's hand. He was trembling.
Saraquael said, "Our Father has repented of His anger, and He wants you with him. He sent me to bring you home."
Gabriel's eyes watered. He couldn't see.
"That's terrific!" Raguel gave Gabriel a push. "You can go back to your family now!"
Gabriel turned to the boy, realizing Raguel had thought of his friend's happiness before becoming conscious that he would lose him forever in a way as certain as death, and possibly separation is worse than that.
"I am continuing on to Rages on a family matter," said Saraquah, "but you have to return with our people."
"Shouldn't I accompany you?" asked Gabriel, his eyes asking more.
"It would be better if you joined Father quickly."
Gabriel's eyes met Saraquah's, as though no other creature inhabited the courtyard.
"He's missed you," Saraquael said. "We all have."
"You must stay the night," said Tobias.
The prince removed his wallet from his belt-pouch. "How much will you accept in compensation?"
Tobias laughed. "Please don't insult me with money. An angel once befriended me and took nothing in return. It's a debt I repay with kindness to strangers."
"Have you eaten yet, Saraquah?" asked Gabelus.
"Yes, I have, but thank you. All I shall ask of you is a place to spend the night."
"Stay in my room," Raguel volunteered. "Please, Gabriel and I have enough space to spare."
"Saraquah is a prince," Gabelus reminded the boy.
"So is Gabriel," the son said.
Gabelus looked from one to the other. One wore a bright green tunic with a long cloak, mahogany-finished walking staff, leather travel-pack, and new sandals. The other wore a dirt-dusted tunic and had just come in from shoveling manure.
"I would appreciate the chance to stay with my brother, if you wouldn't mind," said Saraquah. "I haven't seen him in quite a while."
Raguel beamed when his father agreed.
Late that night, after a talked-out Raguel finally succumbed to sleep, Saraquael sat closer to Gabriel and murmured in their native tongue.
"God wants you to leave here tomorrow for one final task."
"Must I?"
Saraquael smiled. "They're well-staffed for the planting. He wants you to take the eastern road."
Gabriel looked aside. "Do you know where I'm going?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't. You may receive further instructions tomorrow."
Gabriel shuddered.
"It is getting close." Saraquael touched Gabriel's hand. "Have you kept track of the days?"
Gabriel shook his head. "I— No, I couldn't."
Saraquael squeezed. "Be strong. You've stayed strong for so long, and it won't last too much longer. We're with you now—especially now," he added.
Gabriel leaned closer to him. "I have to know, now, before I see Him again: does He still— Does He really want me back?"
Saraquael's fingers tightened on him. "I can't say yes strongly enough."
Gabriel bit his lip. "But does He still love me? Can He forgive me?"
"He can," Saraquael said. "He has. And He does."
When Gabriel still didn't look up, Saraquael said, "I have a message for you."
Gabriel raised his eyes.
Saraquael gleamed with God's light, and Gabriel leaned forward to catch it all even as Saraquael's voice flowed into the dreaming speech: "You've done well with this year. The arrow is going to strike the center of the target. And it's good. It's very good."
Gabriel ducked his head to hide his wet eyes.
Saraquael shook his head briefly to clear his mind. "The rest of the message He wants to give you himself." Saraquael touched Gabriel's shoulder. "Hey, don't make me cry too."
Gabriel hugged Saraquael. "It's hard to believe."
"But I believe it." Saraquael put a hand on Gabriel's hair. "And you have to see the party we've planned for you."
Gabriel laughed against his shoulder. "I was thinking of hiding away and staring into the face of God for about five hundred years."
Saraquael sat back as Gabriel dried his eyes. "You can do that—but when you're ready, we've got the band lined up, because you're coming home."
Elul 27
Gabriel awoke before Saraquael, and he prayed. He prayed his uncertainty, his baffling reluctance to leave, his fear of what he didn't know. He prayed his sadness at still being separated from God, and he tried to pray up some excitement that he'd return, but excitement wouldn't come. Not when he was still in the middle of loss.
Listening to the night becoming morning, Gabriel reviewed the year he'd endured and found himself yielding to curiosity. He counted days. He had to shift into the angelic realm—only his mind—but once he did, he could recall every day. He noted the halfway mark, used other indicators for the time of the concussion (which in this state he could remember perfectly, and wished he couldn't) and decided that if he were working on the calendar year, then he had approximately thirty-four hours remaining.
Which felt exactly as he'd thought it would—insurmountable. He curled on his side, trying in futility to think other things.
Thirty-three hours remained when Saraquael and Raguel awoke, and Gabriel joined them in readying for the day. He realized he looked as bleak as he felt when Raguel avoided his eyes and Saraquael touched his arm for the third time. Thirty-two and three-quarter hours. He hadn’t said a word aloud all morning.
The time came. Gabriel didn't leave with much: he took only his pack and his crooked arm.
"I owe you your wages," Tobias said. Gabriel insisted he didn't need them. Tobias forced them on him anyhow. "The only hired man I never paid got out of it by ascending into heaven. Unless you plan to do that, you're taking the money." So Gabriel took the money.
He pulled Raguel aside before the boy went into the fields. "I wanted to say goodbye."
Raguel swallowed hard. "We had you for almost half a year." He stared at the ground. "And I'll pray for you. That's good, right?"
Gabriel hugged him, and Raguel tucked his face against his shoulder. "No, it's not really enough. But I'll send word." Gabriel tightened his grip. "I'm not sure how, but I'll get word to you after I'm home."
Rafaela cried shamelessly. "I love you," she kept saying in Hebrew. "Don't go. I love you."
Gabriel gave her one last barley cake before he left. Then he and Saraquael parted company at the gates.
As he traveled, Gabriel recalculated the hours—twenty-nine. He re-added the days and double-checked by correlating the Sabbaths. Twenty-eight and a half hours.
May God have mercy, he thought in time with his own steps. He wanted home. He didn't want another day of this dryness—of being alone in his own heart. And what if the calendar year wasn't the guidepost? What if God intended a solar year?
I still have so much to learn. He swallowed hard. There are so many ways I've fallen short and I have so much ground to make up that it only makes sense if you want me away longer than a year. If you want me to keep growing, if it's better that way. He blinked hard to keep back the tears. I want to come home, you know I do, but I spent hours every day sleeping. I could have spent them learning. If you want me to make up the time, then do it.
Twenty-seven hours. He passed a family traveling on the road and handed off the money to them.
He could call for Michael or Remiel to walk with him, but it wouldn't help. Inside, his heart burned. He recited psalms in the hollow of his mind, the places God ought to be filling.
Between one step and the next, he looked up to find Michael.
"Now." Michael extended a hand. "It's time."
Gabriel jerked back.
A dozen angels crowded him, and Gabriel's human senses overwhelmed him: the air broiled around him, his stomach protested, and an aura glowed around everything. Even the air smelled nauseous.
The veneer of Michael's features took on the glint of Satan's green eyes. "Come on—I'm taking you home!"
"Leave me alone!" Gabriel shouted. "Michael! Help!"
Laughter all around. The real Michael appeared, bringing more angels, more confusion. Satan's eyes narrowed. "Don't fight me. You've got to come now!"
He grabbed Gabriel's hands, and with a wrenching squeeze, Gabriel felt himself strong-armed into his angelic form. He knifed open his wings and discharged all his energy to get some distance, then turned toward the Michael with Satan's eyes. "It's not time, you liar! I have one more day."
Satan said to one of the demons, "You told me he didn't know."
Then both Satan and Michael turned, and Gabriel looked where they did only to see Satan again in a new place. Even in angelic form, turning so rapidly left him as dizzy as when he'd had a concussion.
Michael was saying "What is he doing here?" and Satan said, "Well this is a whole new level of chaos."
Trying to back away from Satan, Gabriel reached for God reflexively.
Inside he heard the unmistakable sound of God's voice: Grab him and don't let go.
He had no idea why to grab Satan, but he didn't analyze. Michael tried to snatch him from behind, but Gabriel flung himself at Satan and clutched him around the waist.
Even as Satan let out a surprised cry, another demon shouted, "Bring him home! Carry him home now!"
"Let go of him, Gabriel!" Michael bellowed. "Do you want to be damned?"
Satan's fire swirled around them both, and Gabriel closed his eyes against the longing it evoked, tried not to hear the hurt behind Michael's rage. Someone was trying to pull him off, and he grabbed tighter as one force dragged him toward Heaven and the other to Hell, and all the while the fabric of Creation groaned in protest.
It made sense—Satan's subordinates wouldn't discharge their energy at him and risk hitting their master. Maybe. Maybe Satan wanted to force him into the Abyss, only he couldn't if Gabriel held him so tightly that he'd be dragged in too— But oh, the fire. His head pounded, and his mouth watered, and his arms ached from the strain.
Michael shouted, "By the authority of God invested in me, you have to let him go!"
In the next moment, Gabriel's hold slipped.
As he snatched to make sure Satan didn't escape him, he loosened the control over his own hungry soul. The Cherub part of him reacted to the flames, swallowing them the way only a Cherub can.
With a cry midway between a gasp and a shout, Gabriel sucked all Satan's fire into himself, igniting all the parts that had so long craved to touch flame. His neck snapped back, and his wings flared. It felt delicious and right and perfect for the first instant, and then as the fire swirled back up through him—horrifying.
Satan hollered, "No! I wasn't trying to do that!"
I'm sorry! God, I'm sorry!
Gabriel nearly let go, but God had said, had told him—
Maybe it was just to keep Michael protected. Maybe God had intended all along to winnow him. It would look more like Gabriel's choice this way, if he was going to fail anyhow.
"That shouldn't have been allo
wed to happen!" Michael was shouting at someone. "You swore to me it was impossible!"
New fire surged, not inside like a Seraph's but all over the outside of him, like being plunged into a lake of lava. Gabriel screamed. His neck arched, and his body spasmed.
Satan twisted in his arms, trying to push him off. Gabriel clung to him anyhow, trying to focus past the pain.
Behind him, a presence. "Carry him back!"
"But he's hurting—"
"You've got him—bring him back."
Reality twisted as Gabriel felt himself torn off the plane of Creation.
I'm sorry, he kept praying, tears streaming from clenched eyes. It might be the last time he could ever pray—it started with a year and would end with eternity. Tell Raphael I'm sorry. Forgive me. I love you, and I'm sorry.
Then Gabriel's inner eyes opened, and he saw his Father.
Time stopped.
There was nothing, nothing else, just him and his Creator, face to Face, all of him and all of God, moment to moment. No pain, no longing, no fire, no sorrow. Only the pair of them together as if never parted, and Gabriel exclaimed with joy. He didn't know where he was, where he'd been. They were alone, and he focused only with his inner sight.
I love you!, he prayed, and God assented.
This was the Divine throne room, where you and God met alone no matter how many people accompanied you there. No sight, no smell, no hearing, only light. Total focus. Awareness of only one thing permeated Gabriel. It was everything. It was more than everything.
He was home. Home. With his Father again, loved.
He grew conscious of God easing him back into himself.
Like a sleeper attempting to cling to dreams, Gabriel protested, but God reassured him he could return.
Gabriel blinked, and the world resolved around him.
You can let go now, God said.
Gabriel unlocked his arms and looked up at Satan.
He found Raphael.
With a gasp, he leaped up to hug him, and Raphael's wings got tangled in his as they each attempted to enclose the other. Fire swirled from Raphael even as Gabriel felt his heart churning out rings of calm, smooth like steel.