Seven Archangels: Annihilation (20 page)

Raphael lowered his gaze.

Jesus touched his arm. "Come with me," and they went.

It was the Judgment Hall, empty at the moment, and the rustle as Raphael folded his wings echoed from the domed ceiling and stone walls. Jesus sat on the edge of one of the wooden tables at the front, one foot still on the floor.

"If I did that," Raphael said, "you'd say it was disrespectful."

"If you did this," Jesus replied, "your wings would bang into the table and you'd be uncomfortable anyhow, so I wouldn't need to say anything."

Raphael turned around a chair and straddled it backward, grinning mischievously. Jesus returned the look.

The Seraph regarded the hall, as large as a cathedral and yet small for its intended purpose. Sitting at the front he would have to shift into long-distance vision to see the back walls. Humanity was to gather here for the final sorting.

In the middle of scanning the room, Raphael gasped, and his wings flared. The thought rolled out of him as forcefully as if shouted:
Gabriel's funeral.

Jesus raised his hands. "We're not here to plan anything." But Raphael didn't relax.

"How are we doing?"

Jesus said, "You're doing everything you can."

"But it doesn't seem as if it's helping." Raphael bit his lip and leaned into the back of the chair. "I keep hoping something will trip and the balance will swing, but I can't find that one thing, and I don't know any longer."

Jesus looked out into the rows of unfilled benches. "What would you do if this was it and he couldn't get any better than this?" When Raphael didn't answer, he added, "And with no hope of improvement?"

Raphael blurted, "What are you saying?"

Jesus said, "I'm not saying anything. I'm asking."

"I'd do it anyhow," Raphael said. "I'd carry him with me. I'd give him all my healing power, and I'd keep doing everything I could."

Jesus said, "Eternity is a long time."

"It's too long to live with the knowledge that I could have done something and didn't. It's too long to live without him knowing I should have hung on."

"Should have." Jesus breathed the words. "What of Gabriel?"

Raphael was looking straight at the floor. "He talked about this with me, all these debates the Cherubim had for what seemed like years. There's a thousand shades of grey here, but they nailed them all down. He'd want to live if there was any chance he could still love and be loved by you."

Jesus folded his arms and looked aside.

"Mothers do this for infants." Raphael picked up his head and squared his shoulders, inadvertently flaring his wings. "I know he wouldn't grow out of it—in this scenario," he reminded himself. He began vibrating, his wings shaking. A glow cut through the front of the judgment hall, and it came from his shimmering eyes. "But I could do it."

"Of course you could," Jesus said. "I'm not impugning your abilities. But I'm asking if you should."

Raphael's soul vibrated more violently, and a hardness came into the set of his jaw. He seemed to grow taller as he stood out of his chair, and his wings spread. "Of course I think I should!"

Jesus gave Raphael a few moments to calm himself, but the Seraph didn't try. Below the surface he'd been sparked into frenzy, and everything about him rang denial. This Seraph's eyes were brown instead of green, and his hair brown instead of blond, but the Judgment Hall had seen this conversation once before.

"Would you consent to re-create him?" Raphael asked.

Jesus said, "No. I would not."

"Then I'll keep at it," Raphael said. "I'm not going to give up."

Jesus didn't say anything in reply. The final vestiges of Raphael's voice finished their echoes through the vaulted ceilings, and Raphael turned, his heart coiled like an overwound spring and his eyes unyielding. He shoved the chair toward the table, and it slid to stop when it banged into the side near Jesus's knee.

Jesus said, "What if I told you to let him go?"

"What?" Raphael lunged toward him. "I don't have to let him go! I can take care of him! I'll stay with him!"

"But if I told you to let him go—"

"I will not sacrifice Gabriel on the altar of my convenience!"

"I didn't say you would do it because it was convenient." Jesus looked right into Raphael's eyes. "You've done everything you can."

"And I'll keep doing it until we find another way—"

"What if there is no other way?" For the first time, Jesus raised his voice. "I asked what you would do if I told you to let him go."

Raphael had flames around his head. "I would hate you."

"I didn't ask if you would like me," Jesus said. "I'm asking specifically if you would obey."

Raphael vibrated so quickly that he threw off heat. His mouth was set in a line, and his eyes had darkened to obsidian as he threw shadows around the hall of judgment. Perfectly still, Jesus watched him. Just God and His creation and a question.

Raphael took a deep breath. "Yes. But—"

"Then let him go."

Raphael whipped away, and even though Jesus couldn't see his expression, he knew he would have his eyes clenched, his jaw locked. Raphael had been Jesus's guardian angel.

Raphael's fists were at his sides, and his wings were in flames, but his head was bowed, and all around him swirled streamers of a dozen emotions as he struggled to lock down some and unlock the one thing he wanted the most to stay secure.

Jesus dropped his gaze, swallowing hard. Raphael's shoulders sagged. The fire went out.

"Raphael," came Uriel's voice in the Judgment Hall, disembodied and without an echo, "you need to return right now. He's slipping."

Raphael looked over his shoulder at Jesus, his eyes like ice and his glare as penetrating as an arrow into its target. Then he vanished.

Jesus put his hands to his face, and he sobbed.

- + -

Michael ached to see how Gabriel looked deflated, like an old balloon.

Israfel already sat at the bedside, and she had Gabriel's hand in both of hers. From the corner of the room, Michael watched as Raphael appeared: shoulders slumped, wings limp.

Where was the fire? Michael had expected Raphael to explode into the room, frenzied and half-mad, and instead Michael saw only resignation. With a second look, though, he could detect the aftershocks of fury as they rippled away, dragging the last of his strength with them.

"Don't give up," Michael murmured, one hand on Raphael's arm. "You have to hang on."

Raphael averted his eyes. Michael let out a gasp as if he'd been punched in the stomach. It didn't feel for the next minute as if he could draw breath.

Uriel whispered, "Mary, I need you here," and in the next moment she was there, the front of her sweater dusted with flour, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with wisps escaping to frame her face.

"This is it?" she whispered.

Michael nodded.

Israfel still had her harp in her hand, and she settled at the edge of the bed so Raphael could come closer to Gabriel. She rested the instrument across her lap and began to play.

"Do you remember the song we sang—I sang—" Raphael looked down at Gabriel growing formless. "Every night before Jesus went to bed?"

Between one musical phrase and the next, Israfel transitioned to a major key and a suspended seventh chord.

Mary took Uriel's hand. Raphael sang,

Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the universe,

Who causes the bonds of sleep to fall on my eyes,

And slumber on my eyelids.

Mary added her voice to the bedtime prayer—Jesus's favorite—as he hesitated.

Grant me, O Lord my God,

And God of my fathers,

To lie down in peace,

And raise me up again in peace,

And suffer me not to be troubled with evil dreams

But grant me a calm repose in your presence

And enlighten my eyes

Until I sleep the sleep of death.

Raphael eased Gabriel's hair from his eyes, fingertips tracing his forehead as if stirring the wavelets of a pool without breaking the surface.

Blessed are you, O Lord,

Who gives light to the whole universe in your glory.

Israfel transitioned into the words Raphael had always added into the bedtime prayer.

I promise I will never leave you,

And all the long night be at your side

Always thinking of you until you wake,

Until your eyes open again in the light of God.

You'll always be a part of me

Because that is the promise I have made.

Israfel brought the song back to the beginning, but the words still rang in Michael's ears. He could see Mary horror-stricken as he was, remembering how many times the angels had sung this at nighttime when Jesus was a child, a little boy bouncing on the edge of his bed begging for just one more song before he went to sleep.

Raphael's face had crumpled.

Mary touched Uriel's wing. "Please try once more, whatever it was he told you to do."

On the other side, Raphael grabbed Uriel's arm. "Don't hurt him."

Squeezing Raphael's hand, Uriel said, "I'll be gentle."

Uriel went insubstantial and crouched in the middle of the bed, kneeling halfway through Gabriel and vanishing partly into him. The effect from Michael's perspective was much like seeing a cloud and thinking it looked something like an angel might, with clear-cut wings and shoulders but a smear of mist for arms and legs.

Raphael leaned closer to Gabriel, kissed him on the forehead. He whispered as if every word stung, "It's okay if you have to leave us. It's okay if you have to let go."

Israfel choked.

Michael's heart ached.
Why did you say that? Don't you realize it all depends on how tightly you hold on?

Then Michael felt Uriel send to Raphael,
Keep talking to him.

Raphael looked up, blank.

If you can't talk, then sing. Just keep doing it.

Michael detected the Throne's surprise. He projected a question to Uriel, making sure not to attract the notice of the Seraphim.

Uriel's voice replied in Michael's mind,
His substance is reaching toward Raphael.

Wouldn't you expect it to?

It didn't before. It's as if he's awakening to Raphael's presence.

Michael frowned. Mary had her hands on Israfel's shoulders, and he was sure the Seraphim hadn't noticed Uriel's wonder as they transitioned into the Trisagion.

Uriel's misty form extended toward Raphael, and Michael felt himself emitting rings of tension even as Uriel sparkled with curiosity and searching.

What are you finding?
Michael kept the question contained within the walls of his mind.
Dear God, let him find something—

Uriel whispered, "Raphael, let him go."

Raphael raised his head, tears overspilling.

"You can't keep him forever."

Raphael put his face in his hands, but Michael could see Uriel sparkling. Something had changed, and Uriel's look didn't match Uriel's words.

"Hold my hand," Uriel murmured. "Now squeeze and let go, and as you do it, imagine letting him go too."

As Uriel caught Michael's eye, a series of disconnected images swam through his head: Raphael's and Gabriel's wills coiled about one another like a spiral staircase, Raphael's tight as a stranglehold around Gabriel's and plugged into it, nurturing it but keeping it firmly in place.

Michael gasped.
His heartstring? Raphael has it?

More images: the thing tested out sound, whole, muscular as an anaconda and miles long.

Raphael moved closer to Gabriel at some prompting from Uriel, whose misty form now encompassed both of them.

"Do it again," Uriel said to Raphael.

The Seraph grabbed with both hands this time, squeezing until he ought to have crushed Uriel's hand, and then letting go with a long breath like a sigh that shuddered at the end.

Michael tried to offer reassurance, but Uriel shook his head. Instead, Michael sent a stream of his energy into Uriel's heart to empower the Throne.

God, please, let this work.

"Keep doing it," Uriel murmured. "Raphael, let him go. Easy, easy, just let him go. You can't hold onto him forever. Let him go."

Tears streaked Raphael's face. Michael moved close to the Seraph, stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders. Raphael grabbed his hands, and Michael hugged him.

"Leave him alone!" Israfel was her feet. "If Gabriel's going to die, then let him die, but don't make Raphael help!"