Chapter Five
Michael’s only thought had been to get away, to leave Gabriel’s grating presence and the crowded palace behind. He had leapt from the launching point with no destination in mind and now found himself soaring aimlessly over the Kingdom. The line from the Gates stretched endlessly back to the Rift; the shimmering split in the air that admitted souls to what Jehovah called their “final gift”.
Maybe it was heretical to think it, but Michael had trouble supporting the criteria that decided whose names were entered in Peter’s ledger. Too often he had seen unscrupulous lives absolved by someone’s deathbed confessions. While he tried to be hopeful that these souls had truly “seen the light” and wanted to do better, it left a slimy feeling on his conscience. He angled away from the Gates subconsciously. He would visit with Peter later, when Matthew took the other man’s place at the entrance.
Michael swept over the sprawling lawns, smiling tightly when residents that recognized him lifted their hands to wave as he passed. Normally he would stop to interact with them, but today he didn’t have the patience for socializing. He crossed over farms that produced the food the spirits ate purely for the sake ofindulgence and normalcy, and passed the small towns nestled in the hills and arranged into little communities.
He dipped low to drag his fingers through the rivers and skimmed the tops of the trees in the forests that bordered the northern edge of the palace grounds. He circled aimlessly, oblivious to the world, following patterns and flight paths that he knew by muscle memory alone.
When the strain of flight began to beat a dull ache into his trapezius and the pounding of his pulse had slowed from near-panic to the normal levels of exertion, he tucked his wings for a dive. Circling down slowly, he landed lightly on the empty beach below.
Sparkling sand filtered through the gaps in his leather sandals and a salty breeze tugged gently at his windblown curls. The familiar burn in his shoulders was welcome and comforting. Michael settled back to soothe his sore muscles against the pale golden sand, warm from the sun’s unyielding rays.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for as his eyes absently scanned the slowly darkening sky. The other beaches hosted souls enjoying the water and each other's company, but Michael had instinctively navigated to a secluded stretch. Well hidden within a calm, quiet grotto, the only person who would have known to seek him in this hidden inlet was long gone from this land.
The fading light as the day wound down reminded him of another sunset, as riddled with tumultuous emotions as this one.
Dazzling sunbeams streamed through an ornate stained-glass window. Ruby, amethyst, emerald and sapphire mingled in dappled shards on gilded ivory wallpaper, painting the sparsely furnished room like a rainbow with the sunset’s help.
A tall, muscular figure paced the small space, clad in a simple white garment that was equal parts tunic and robe. His honey blond curls were tied back in a neat tail at the nape of hisneck. He scowled in the direction of the window, yanking a pale sash across the glass to blot out the brightness and warmth. This was not a day for beauty.
The traitorous doubt roiling in his gut made him want to be sick, as if it was a living creature trying to claw its way out. He spun on his heel and bent over his washbasin, gripping the ceramic until his knuckles turned white and glaring at himself in the mirror. He choked the feeling down and buried it.
He couldn’t allow his personal feelings to cloud his judgement. Facts were facts no matter how you cut them, and he couldn’t change those facts just because he didn’t want them to be the truth. He released the basin and grasped the hilt of his sword instead, familiar warmth flooding his palm as he drew his power up from deep within himself. He’d need every scrap of his strength for this task. Hopefully it would steady not only his blade, but his shaken will.
A knock sounded, and he straightened, turning slowly. Raphael stood in the open doorway, his expression grim and emerald eyes unusually dull. The younger angel’s typically playful demeanor was conspicuously sobered on this day, and it only served to set the blond further on edge.
“Mikha’el, my friend,” his soft voice was roughened and taut with emotion. “It is time.”
“Yes,” Michael sighed. Saying it aloud only filled him with more dread. He couldn’t believe that Luce of all people could be guilty of the crimes they accused him of. His Lucifer, so idealistic, full of passion and divine purpose. But apparently not as pure of heart as Michael had believed.
Raphael met his gaze evenly. The steady back and forth motion as he brushed the dark tail of his braid over his palm was the only indication of his own apprehension. “For what it may be worth...I wish it had not come to this.”
“What are wishes but dreams we cannot realize?” Michael mused bitterly, then scoffed at his own ‘poetic’ thoughts. “We are wasting time.”
He strode to the door, using each steady step to hide his trembling. Today his King would bestow the heaviest burden Michael had yet to bear, but he would not shirk his responsibilities. Those proud shoulders would square up to hold the weight of the world if Jehovah would command it. Duty, honor, loyalty…all the things Michael held dear.
Not all the things, his traitorous mind whispered, and Michael squashed the flutter of grief. All the things that mattered now. His ties to Lucifer, such as they were, would need to be severed before they bound him and dragged him down.
“Mikha’el, Rafa’el,” their names—their old, true names—boomed from the stern lips of the figure seated in the ornate ivory throne atop the dais. Jehovah was in his finery for the occasion, resplendent in a flowing white robe trimmed with gold and crimson. A finely wrought golden crown rested on his unbound hair, the color of sun-bleached sand. He lifted a tanned hand laden with jeweled rings and beckoned them closer, eyes weary and expression dark. “You are late.”
Michael bowed deeply. “I hope you might forgive us, Almighty. Today is a…trying day.”
“While I understand,” the King frowned, “I still find it distasteful to be late to this, a most important trial.”
A harsh swallow, but no argument. He was right, of course, and shame burned in Michael’s chest along with the guilt and grief. Soon there would be no room left for these swirling emotions, and he was certain his heart would burst.
Jehovah heaved a sigh. “This brings me no joy. I know your heart is equally burdened.”
“Yes,” Michael answered, some of the raw pain leaking unbidden into his voice. He choked it back down, mentally reciting Lucifer’s list of transgressions to solidify his resolve.
“Let us not drag this out,” Jehovah decreed. “Bring me Lus’ior of the Morning Star and let us try the traitor for hisnumeroustrespasses.”
A smaller set of doors on the opposing wall swung inward, and a double line of warriors entered, splitting apart to form an arc of armed muscle before their King. The two soldiers at the end of either row led a figure bound in irons between them—a figure that was not hunched or cowed but walking proudly, with his shoulders squared and chin lifted in defiance. Michael shoved down his swell of mingled love and agony with a hard, sharp inhale and forced himself not to look away.
Even bound and beaten, Lucifer was glorious. Sweat and grime plastered his long, dark hair to his face. His normally immaculate beard had grown out, unruly and matted with blood on one side. A short scuffle ensued when the guards holding him tried to shove Lucifer roughly to his knees, the Prince resisting only until Ezekiel struck him roughly across the face. Lucifer glowered at the white-haired angel. As a dark bruise rose, purpling and livid on his cheek, he pointedly shrugged off his holders to lower himself unassisted.
He was still the most beautiful thing Michael had ever seen. His heart skipped and stuttered in rebellion, sending a wave of anguish through him. How cruel fate could be, to give him this gift and so quickly snatch it back. And not only to tear it away, but to hold its loss over his head like this; to place an unbearable burden where there had once been a current of affection that had buoyed and lifted him.
