Sacred Cups (Seven Archangels Book 2) Page 25

  Raphael sounded uncomfortable. “I wonder if Beelzebub knows he feels that way.”

  “I got the impression it was mutually understood.” Gabriel folded his arms. “How is Nivalis?”

  “She’s a wreck.” Raphael looked down, shaking his head. “She wishes she could have done something more, and all I can tell her is that she did everything she could, and that at some point we’re just not allowed to interfere any longer, and she can’t blame herself for someone else’s choices.” He stepped closer to Gabriel. “And really, if I’m telling her that, it’s not fair to insist that you should have done something more or that you should have gotten more involved than God allowed you to do, or that you’re to blame for God’s choices.”

  Gabriel avoided meeting Raphael’s gaze.

  “So, with all my heart, I’m sorry I’ve been so angry at you, and that I insulted you in front of everyone, and the way I went off the handle at you before. You’re right that I was directing my anger at you instead of at God, and that wasn’t fair.”

  Gabriel’s wings dropped. He tilted his head so it lay against his forearm, and he closed his eyes.

  Raphael walked away. “And if you’re still going to be like this toward me, then I shouldn’t have even bothered, should I?”

  Gabriel’s jaw locked, and his throat tightened. His fingers gripped the tree branch so hard they hurt, and he fought the urge to run by tucking his face down toward the branch and trying just to breathe without seizing.

  A moment later he felt Raphael right in front of him. “Oh, blast, Gabriel, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  As Raphael reached toward him, Gabriel threw a Guard around himself. It crackled where Raphael tried to touch. Gabriel wrenched himself up onto his knees, wings spread for balance. His glow reflected in Raphael’s eyes.

  “What more do you want from me?” Raphael snapped.

  “I need five minutes alone,” Gabriel said.

  “Does that mean ‘apology accepted’?”

  “It means I can forgive you, and I do forgive you, but I don’t know—” Gabriel looked at his hands grasping the branch. “I don’t know how I can trust you again.”

  Gabriel locked down tight, avoiding whatever look was in Raphael’s eyes.

  Finally Raphael said, “Have your five minutes.” His voice was subdued. “Come back afterward if you think you can.”

  He flashed away.

  Gabriel stood on the branch and wrapped his arms around the trunk, pressing his forehead into the bark and feeling the tree greet him in return. The tree told him in tree-language about water and sunlight and springtime. He felt through the rings in a living dendrochronology, picking out the wide rings of the wet years, then the tight ones where water had seemed so scarce.

  Four minutes left.

  He reached for God. I don’t know if I can.

  Mephistopheles was that persuasive?, asked the Sprit.

  He didn’t say anything I hadn’t been thinking. Gabriel shook his head: deserved it, arrogant, legalistic, ice-hearted.

  List your alternatives, said the Spirit.

  He could keep himself at arm’s length, avoiding any kind of real contact, making sure not to slip when things seemed to be going well. He could fear betrayal forever, always uncertain what would happen if he gave Raphael a weapon to use against his heart or if Raphael would use one of the plentiful weapons already at his disposal.

  Meaning to be cautious all the time, the Spirit said, and always on edge.

  Gabriel nodded. The other alternative was to return and act as if he trusted Raphael again. Then when the betrayal came, it would be sudden and total, one clean pain and after that he would know exactly what to expect. But it would hurt worse because of all the extra ammunition Raphael had accumulated, and he’d look like a fool for having trusted him again.

  Three minutes left.

  Which would you prefer? asked God. Would you rather mistrust him or be betrayed by him?

  I’d rather this hadn’t happened, Gabriel said. I’d rather that Jesus was still alive, that I hadn’t been the one to give him the cup, that I’d pulled him out of Sheol, and that Raphael didn’t think all those things he said about me were true.

  The Spirit moved in close to him.

  He’s praying for me?

  He’s praying for both of you. He’s very upset.

  He should be upset. Gabriel thought that rather than prayed it, but he knew God would hear anyhow.

  Jesus had said, “Don’t turn on each other.” It was easier to weather a storm together than apart, but this was a self-made storm in too many respects. Too many misunderstandings, too many missed opportunities.

  Two minutes.

  So the choice: forgive and protect yourself, or forgive and offer a second chance.

  I hate this, Gabriel said. Why did you work so hard to make me compassionate if all it was going to do was rip out my heart? Before that year, I wouldn’t have cared if he was angry because I’d have known I was right, and I’d have excused him. Forgiving is a lot harder than excusing.

  But if he acted to protect himself, had he really forgiven him? Or was it only responsible for himself to feel skittish after that kind of attack?

  He started walking back toward Jesus’s tomb. The small group of Roman soldiers didn’t notice him; their guardians did.

  One minute.

  I think too much, Gabriel sent to God, who offered him a hug.

  Gabriel passed through the rock and sat beside Raphael. Raphael hugged him, breathing unsteadily. “I’m sorry,” he said even as Gabriel said, “I’m sorry.”

  Raphael said, “Listen.”

  “You listen. You’ve said enough.” Gabriel let Raphael wrap his wings around them both, and he fought to relax his heart. “It’s been an awful two days. I don’t want to go around it anymore. I just want to forget.”

  Raphael said, “I didn’t mean a lot of what I said.”

  “You don’t even remember half of what you said.” Gabriel shivered. “And you meant every word of it, otherwise it wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.”

  Raphael deflated.

  “But right now the point should be him, not you, not me.” Gabriel shook his head. “We can’t turn on each other. There’s something more important going on, and it should be about him, and about the twelve, and about Mary, and about whatever happens now that he’s dead.”

  Raphael nodded, but he didn’t let go.

  Gabriel leaned against him but was unable to relax, and he tried not to let himself feel afraid as he extended his heart into Raphael’s. Raphael met him halfway, his fire surging for the moment until Gabriel reached in to calm it, and for that moment they existed in unison.

  Twenty-One

  Gabriel and Raphael stayed in the tomb together, Raphael playing a lyre at times, alternating with Gabriel reading aloud from the scriptures. Other angels paid their respects before heading back to their assignments, many offering their condolences to Raphael. Word had spread about many things, and more than a few of the visitors seemed startled to find Gabriel there.

  With about an hour until sunrise, as Gabriel read from Isaiah, Raphael gasped and jerked up his head.

  Light exploded through the tomb.

  Gabriel was on his feet even as Raphael rushed to Jesus’s side, radiating surprise and excitement and disbelief. “He’s alive!”

  Michael’s voice shouted in his mind, Gabriel! Sheol just detonated!

  Better than that—get over here!

  Raphael radiated fire and joy as Jesus struggled with the burial cloth. The Seraph ripped off the upper part of the cloth, then loosened the head wrapping and flung it behind him into the corner.

  Jesus sat up, grinning.

  Shouting, Raphael tackled him with a hug. Gabriel watched from a distance, arms folded, eyes bright as Raphael laughed and refused to let Jesus go.

  Jesus stretched, then looked at Gabriel. “You come here too.” Gabriel sat next to him, and Jesus hugged him. “It’s so g
ood to see the two of you.”

  “You did it,” Raphael whispered. “You’re here.”

  Gabriel dropped a pair of his wings so they became a cloak of sorts, and Raphael handed it to Jesus before doing the same with a pair of his own wings.

  The room grew crowded with angels, and Gabriel went insubstantial, backing away so the others could get close. Remiel sobbed into Jesus’s lap. Michael knelt at Jesus’ feet apologizing for not stopping the Romans. Raphael didn’t move from his side. Jesus rested his hands on Remiel’s cheeks and guided her to look up at him, and when their eyes met, she cried all the more, but he smiled at her and ran a hand through her hair.

  Raphael flagged Gabriel from across the room. He’s hungry.

  Gabriel opened his hands, and then the container of risotto appeared. The angels passed it to the front.

  Jesus said, “This is something you learned in Ecbatana?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “It’s Roman.”

  “It’s good anyway,” Jesus said, and Gabriel smiled. “Thank you.”

  Uriel appeared and bowed before Jesus.

  “Don’t tell Mom yet,” he said. “I’ll come to her myself.”

  With an inclined head, Uriel departed.

  It was angelic chaos for a few minutes, everyone talking at once, Jesus eating for the first time in days, and Gabriel watching. Nivalis appeared and apologized, and Jesus pressed his fingers against her temples and promised her he held her blameless. Gabriel felt her frenzy ease, her self-blame, and momentarily even her loss seemed easier to bear.

  A moment after that, the angels all fell silent. They cleared a space at the center of the tomb.

  Satan had arrived, his four chiefs around him, all five armed. He stared levelly at Jesus, who looked back at him without flinching.

  Gabriel armored himself. Michael and several others had done the same and gotten to their feet. Raphael, he saw, remained in place, watching the enemy without seeming prepared to defend, and he fought an urge to warn him.

  Satan hadn’t said anything yet. Jesus set the risotto to the side and walked toward him.

  “Was this one lying,” Satan said with a gesture at Gabriel, “when he said you preferred to stay dead?”

  “He wasn’t lying.” Satan stood a few inches taller than Jesus, but Jesus wasn’t intimidated by the Seraph’s posture or his unflinching gaze. “I had to remain in Sheol to fulfill the scriptures and to redeem mankind, but with that done, the Father freed me to return.”

  Satan glowered at him.

  Gabriel flexed his fingers toward his sword. Mephistopheles pivoted toward him, hand on his own weapon and wings spread, face grim. Across his eyes passed a flicker of warning: Don’t.

  “I don’t understand you.” Satan sounded furious. “You could have saved yourself. Why didn’t you attack them the way they attacked you? You see now this race cares nothing for you, that of all those who sang your praises, only a handful cared enough even to remain and watch, and of those none intervened on your behalf, only stood fretting like a nest of mice. You see now that I was not wrong, that human dignity is an oxymoron.”

  Jesus said, “That isn’t all I see. This wasn’t their best hour, but I love them.”

  Satan folded his arms. “What else do you find in them? They’re weak, scared, in love with their own comfort, changeable as the wind, and quick to forget what you’ve done for them. There is nothing honorable in this race of monkeys.”

  Jesus said to him, “I will glorify them.”

  “You didn’t have to glorify us.” Satan’s voice sharpened. “We were created in your glory from the start.”

  Jesus shrugged. “That was my decision.”

  Satan turned.

  Jesus said, “Stay with me.”

  Satan’s eyes glinted white. “Not with you like this. Not with your expectations unchanged. Not until you admit the futility of cavorting with animals and worse.”

  Still facing Gabriel, Mephistopheles shifted his eyes toward Jesus. A shiver passed through wings that were appreciably less downy than a few hours ago.

  Jesus said, “Love doesn’t require exclusivity. If I love them this much, how much more—”

  “Then your love is worthless.” Satan spat on the ground. “If you bestow it on anything just because you made it, then it’s not worth having.”

  He stalked through the angels, who parted before him. Asmodeus and Belior followed, and then Beelzebub.

  Gabriel whispered, “Mistofiel, stay.”

  The Cherub looked Gabriel in the eyes, then at a departing Beelzebub, then back at Gabriel.

  Beelzebub turned. “Come on!” He swept out of the tomb.

  Mephistopheles followed him away.

  Gabriel sagged against the wall.

  Jesus shook his head, then turned back to the other angels. “We’ve got work to do.” He looked at Raphael. “First, I want to say thank you for staying with me the whole time, even though you knew I couldn’t feel your presence, and even though you weren’t permitted to help.”

  Raphael went down on his knees. “I was only doing what I was assigned to do.”

  Jesus touched his hair. “You did it well. Michael,” and Michael got on his knees as well, “you kept control of the angelic forces, and you prevented the enemy from doing more harm than they did. Thank you.” Michael nonverbalized that he, too, was only doing his job.

  Jesus looked out over all of them. “I know it was hard for all of you to watch and not stop him, but this had to be done to redeem mankind. Death’s hold is broken. Satan’s power is shattered. Adam’s sin is undone. Humanity can come home.”

  The angels cheered.

  “Now,” Jesus said, “the only thing left to do is spread the word. And there’s no one better for it—my messengers.”

  Laughter, more angels crowding up to Jesus, and he had private words with all of them, a momentary touch, a smile, even just a glance.

  Raphael returned to Gabriel. Gabriel shifted sideways.

  “We’re okay,” Raphael whispered.

  Gabriel said, “It seems that way.”

  Raphael beamed, but Gabriel avoided it.

  “Michael—” and Michael looked up at Jesus, “—Sheol is in a state of chaos. I need you to take a large contingent of angels—use your judgment as to how large, although I want Saraquael and Gabriel to remain with me—and sort the souls. Keep them corralled, and help the angels who are currently keeping Satan’s forces away from them. You’ll have to get them ready for judgment.”

  Michael focused one at a time on Raguel, Remiel, Zadkiel and several other angels, then left the tomb.

  “I’m going now to see my mother,” Jesus said. “Gabriel and Saraquael, Mary Magdalene is outside. Would you mind staying to make sure she hears the good news?”

  Gabriel inclined his head while Saraquael bowed. Jesus departed with Raphael and almost all the other angels.

  Gabriel looked up to find only Saraquael remaining, but studying him. He recoiled.

  Saraquael gestured toward the rock. “Let’s get rid of this thing.” And with eyes shining, he shoved the rock aside as if it were made of bread. It rolled with a scraping groan against the front of the tomb.

  Gabriel remained invisible, but Saraquael strode out of the open tomb and alighted on the perfectly rounded top of the stone, looking out at what the morning had brought.

  The guards collapsed. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary regarded him, open-mouthed, ready to run.

  Gabriel said, “Play nice.”

  Saraquael projected his amusement at Gabriel, but he looked only at the women. “Don’t be afraid. I know you’ve come looking for Jesus, who was crucified, but he isn’t here. He’s risen, just as he said he would.”

  The women had backed away. Gabriel dissociated himself and swirled around them, offering strength and reassurance. He wasn’t sure if they could detect his presence, but it hardly mattered, considering the gravity of the morning. Yes, he injected into their hearts, they were looking
at an angel—-but he was not here to hurt them. He was on Jesus’s side, and how could an angel in Jesus’s service be a danger to them now?

  Saraquael slipped down from the rock and gestured to the tomb. “Come and look at the place where he lay. Then run to tell the disciples that he has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. You will see him there.” Saraquael bowed. “And now I have told you everything.”

  Gabriel chuckled. “Show-off.”

  Saraquael vanished from their sight. The women peered into the tomb, then sprinted back toward the city.

  As Gabriel leaned against the side of the tomb, Saraquael said, “Why did you lie to Raphael?”

  Gabriel’s eyes flew open. “What?”

  “I don’t know what you said, but I can read people. I’m a poet, remember?”

  Gabriel said, “I didn’t lie.”

  “He was clearly asking if everything was all right between the two of you, and you may not have lied, but you left him with the impression that it was.”

  Gabriel didn’t answer.

  “He wants to believe it badly enough, and you’re usually so understated, that he’ll accept anything less than a screaming declaration of discontent as evidence that everything is settled.”

  Gabriel looked up. “Why is that wrong? He’s apologized. I’ve accepted. What more should I ask for?”

  “What more do you want?” When Gabriel made no reply, Saraquael added, “You don’t need another misunderstanding on top of the first.”

  “When did my life become everyone else’s concern?” Gabriel said. “And when did you become authorized to fix it?”

  “I’m a poet,” Saraquael said, “and poets meddle.”

  “Perhaps that’s why so many poets in history have been boiled in oil.”

  Saraquael laughed out loud. “That’s the most gracious way anyone has ever told me to shut up.” He jumped back onto the stone. “I’ve said my peace.”

  “You mean well,” Gabriel said, “but we need to let things settle so we can get back to normal.”

  The angels remained at the tomb throughout the morning. The Roman guards reported to the high priests that the body was gone, and a number of the priests came to see the tomb for themselves. Gabriel and Saraquael remained unseen while the men examined the tomb and argued among themselves: surely the grave had been robbed…no, grave-robbers wouldn’t steal a body…the disciples must have stolen the body…had he been laid in the wrong tomb?...what about the angel the guards had claimed to see?