Rafe clapped Truth on the back with a clawed hand, and spoke in what he meant to be soothing tones, though I thought Truth might still faint from being spoken to by Seraphiel. “Eat while we walk, young Protector, and tell Gavriel and me all that you can about our… I mean, his beloved.”
Shock, swiftly followed by comprehension, dawned in Truth’s brown eyes, and he began speaking quickly between bites of apple, as we all walked to the trembling Gate together.
“...andthat’s when she taught us all to play the kazoo.” We had just turned the corner to the space before the Great Gate, and Rafe had opened his mouth to ask a question when we all stopped and stared.
Arabella was standing before the Great Gate, with one hand resting lightly on it. She was singing, but so softly I could barely make out the notes. Her face was aflame, literally. The notes she sang emerged from her lips as holy fire and spun through the air to the gate, where they vanished into the columns, leaving lustrous swaths of brighter gold where they touched.
The Protectors who had confronted Rafe in the Maker Hall had followed us into the main space, and they fell to their knees, some with their foreheads pressed to the ground in prayer, some holding their palms up. The Guides, I noted, were clustered farther back, in the entrances to the hallways adjoining the space, as if they might slip away unnoticed. I didn’t blame them for being afraid of Rafe.
We stepped through the crowd, and when we were close enough to hear the song, I was awestruck at the simple, pure tone of Arabella’s soft alto voice. At first, I thought she was still imparting her Celestial Message to the gate, ready to complete her mission. But when I closed the last few yards between us, I knew this couldn’t be that. There was only a thread of holy fire in her song. She was strengthening the gate with a part of the power she held, but the power I sensed remaining in her, barely contained, was terrifying.
I was confused as to why she wasn’t using it. Wasn’t she meant to release Revel? Rafe felt my gaze on his face, but didn’t look at me. Hiding something? I hoped not.
The song wasn’t words, exactly. Or not ones usually spoken aloud. I recognized the patterns and the cadence from the Celestial music I’d once studied. This was the Mother’s tongue, delivered into the mind of the Messenger. The power of that message was what sped a Messenger across the void to our realm. Once the Message had been given, the Messenger would possess just enough strength to return to the Celestial Realm, although Rafe had taught me long before that re-entering that final gate was in no way certain. The memory of that lesson flooded my mind as Arabella’s notes trickled into my ears.
My teacher—although I was starting to think of him less as my superior and more as a best friend, like Mik—leaned over the tome he’d opened on the table. The writing on the parchment was almost incomprehensible.
“Is that another joke?” I asked, squinting.
His own gold and silver eyes had fine lines at the corners, which said without words exactly what kind of Celestial Seraphiel was. A mischievous one. He’d pulled enough pranks on the Guides and other High Angeli here—leaving the blame at my feet more times than I cared to count—that the laughter he loved to fill the realm with had left permanent marks on his face.
“Why would you think it a joke?” Seraphiel asked, but his tone betrayed a little too much innocence. Too-perfect nonchalance. “When a soul ascends, they travel across the void to the threshold of the Celestial Realm. There, they wait until the gate appears. If their souls are pure, they enter on their own, singing their name. And then, they are given a gift.”
“It says here”—I paused; the lettering was hard to read—“that the gift may be meaningless to all but the one whoreceives it.” That part of the text had a ridiculous list of items handwritten in the margin with the wordsBest Gifts Everscrawled over them. “There’s nothing on this list that would be of any value. No swords, or symbols of power, or instruments.”
“Do you think they would need swords in the Celestial Realm, Gavvy?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m five hundred years old, Leader Seraphiel. Please stop calling me Gavvy.”
He threw his legs over the arm of his chair, creating five balls of soulfire and juggling them as he talked. “Only if you stop calling me Leader Seraphiel.”
“Fine. High Angelus Seraphiel.” I gave him a look. He insisted on going by High Angelus when he was no such thing. He was one of the First Children.
He winked at me. “I think I’d rather be a friend. Call me… Rafe.”
My cheeks burned. “Rafe, then. These gifts don’t make sense. Who would even want a pair of feathered, vibrating gloves or a sculpture of the inside of the universe’s most perfect nostril? Or a sexual toy that can pleasure fourteen Celestials at once—that’s not even possible!”
Rafe dropped the fiery orbs, he was laughing so hard. “You have much to learn, Gavvy—Gavriel.”
I was certain now that he’d made this list up and scribbled it there to trick me into memorizing it as canon. “I wouldn’t even take those gifts if they were offered. They’re crass. They’re not… dignified.”
His eyes speared mine, glimmering less with humor and more with warning. “You know, the Celestial gate only opens once for each soul. Even then, it doesn’t always open. If you’re the type who would turn away your one perfect gift, intended for you to keep for the rest of eternity, the gate probably wouldn’t open at all.”
“That’s happened before?” I’d heard the truth in his words, though. A frisson of fear crept up my spine. “Where did those souls go, the ones who were turned away?”
“Some did as they were meant to and waited outside the Celestial gate until their souls were ready. Others left and tried to go to Earth, but ended up in the Abyss.” His voice deepened, filled with rage. “And sometimes, they dragged other traveling souls along with them.”
“The imbalance.” I breathed the words. “Those souls were meant to be in the Celestial Realm. But they didn’t make it inside.” He hummed in agreement. “But Leader… Rafe. What happened to the souls they dragged with them? Are they still trapped in the Abyss?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice raw. “And someday, someone will have to go and get them, and bring them home.”
I wanted to ask more, but his face was so sad. So I changed the subject. “I think we should request that the Maker’s Apprentice Mikhail make physical copies of some of these Celestial gifts as practice in his craft lessons. As teaching tools for the senior Protectors.”
The gleam returned to Rafe’s eyes as he leaned forward. “Which ones, Gav? You choose.”
“This one would be fun.” I pointed to one of the gifts, smiling as the sadness fled the room.
When the memory fled, I turned my head and caught Rafe staring at me. The corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile I still loved, even if he was almost unrecognizable otherwise.
