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ANCHORED BENEATH THE heavenly realms yet set a dimension apart from the physical realm, the Abyss rested. This vast cave, large enough to harbor a city, served as a prison. Demons were locked here without hope for return. Pools dark as tar pits dotted the floor. The walls and pathways were carved out of the red and beige stone, but stalactites and stalagmites preserved the cavern's natural, warbled beauty. Embers popped from mounted torches, flickering their light upon the glossed pillars, providing some comfort to an otherwise foreboding place.
A few echoes bounced across the cave. Angelic soldiers stood in rigid lines beside a cleared arena. In their valiant red uniforms, they appeared as they intended to be seen, united as one body and one mind. Two of their own sparred while they spectated in interest.
Jediah watched one of his troops, an angel of small stature named Laszio, barrel roll to a stand. His weapon, two silver sticks, chinked far out of reach.
Laszio brushed his tousled sandy hair off his face. He spun around, and his single braid flipped against his cheek. His two wings, meek as a sparrow's, fanned out. Their crystal quills burned brighter.
His opponent, a slightly taller angel, gave a competitive smirk. With a gold whip in his hand, he flicked his wrist, and the end tassel cracked sparks.
The smaller angel's brow furrowed. He balled his fists and charged.
Jediah frowned. In his agitation, his wings, which then coated his shoulders, back, and sides with their diamond feathers, twitched. The sword strapped to his back grew heavier the longer the match continued. He couldn’t mistake the strain on Laszio. The inevitable wouldn't be delayed for long. Jediah heard Laszio's best friend, Eran, murmur encouragements from behind. It wouldn't change the outcome.
The taller angel, named Chrioni, swung his arm. Glowing like a fire strand, the whip bit into Laszio's torso. The smaller opponent clutched the cut and tumbled forward. Seizing the moment, Chrioni flung his chord. It wrapped around Laszio's wrists. Chrioni's wings emitted bright energy as they flapped the ground in a swift take off. He flew overhead, dragging the small angel up with him into a flip. Slack from his shining whip coiled around Laszio. The winner achieved a safe landing. The loser flopped onto his back, bound and tied.
Jediah bottled a resigned sigh. It went just as he thought it would. He relaxed his crossed arms and nodded at the victor.
Chrioni bent down to help his sparring partner up. They mumbled mutual compliments as he untangled Laszio. Then, setting the gold whip aside, they stood at attention. They kept their focused stares ahead as their captain planted himself in front of them.
Jediah smiled with approval. "Well done, Sergeant Chrioni. Your progress is unmistakable."
"Thank you, sir." Chrioni bowed his neck and put a hand over his chest.
Jediah paused as he noted a subtle sag in Laszio's shoulders. "Of course, there's always room for improvement. Your determination was admirable as well, Private Laszio."
Pursing his lips, Laszio straightened. "Thank you, sir."
Jediah nodded and turned around to face the rest of his division. "We'll pick this up later. Back to your posts."
"Sir, yes, sir!" Flying off, they dispersed in pairs. Their wings brightened the caverns.
Eran stayed behind. He brushed aside a braid similar to Laszio’s that hung from his short, black hair.
Jediah looked over his shoulder to see Laszio standing behind. He sighed and adjusted his stance so both soldiers could be in his view. "Yes, Private Laszio? Something the matter?"
"It's nothing, sir." Laszio's head lowered.
Eran rubbed the ends of his hair along his neck. "Well. Look at it this way, Laszio. You lasted longer this time."
"I know." Laszio rolled his shoulder and walked aside to retrieve his metal sticks. They glinted in his hand. A long silver string, a delicate yet sturdy chord, connected the two bars together. Laszio's fingertips stroked it up and down, seeking knots—if there were any.
Jediah prayed God would break this cycle. For as long as he's known Laszio and Eran, they were the most driven soldiers in his faction. That quality blessed them as much as it prompted them to attempt far more than their capabilities allowed. How often they overtaxed themselves. Jediah didn't care to count, but God bless them. They had gumption.
Jediah rubbed his forehead. His commanding tone softened. "Brother Laszio, it's what I always keep telling you. You and Eran both. You're magnificent fighters, but you need to pick your opponents wisely. Consider your options—"
"Then do what's workable," Laszio recited. "I know, Captain. I know."
Agitated, Jediah arched an eyebrow.
Laszio groaned and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"I'm glad we agree," Jediah admonished. He crossed his arms. "Words are like arrows, Private. Let a careless one fly, and it’s too late."
"Yes, sir." Laszio bowed with a hand pressed to his chest. "My apologies. I do not wish to dishonor you or our King."
Gazing aside, Jediah shrugged. "It's all right. I know you're frustrated."
Eran drew to Laszio's side and patted his back.
Giving them space, Jediah let them commune in silent support. Ever since he paired the two, the arrangement had turned out better than expected. Eran's resourcefulness with Laszio’s tenacity balanced the differences and at least granted them a decent shot at winning their sparring matches. Little did Jediah know that their dependence on each other would turn out reaching far past their needs. They were all but attached at the hip.
Eran looked to Jediah. "We'll just be heading back to our posts now, Captain." The two turned away, and the glorious light in their wings heightened.
Jediah sighed. He hated to see them upset over failure all over again. His usual inner battle restarted. Be the stiff commander or the brother?
He rubbed the back of his neck, then called after them. "How about another session? Just the two of you with me."
Their wings lowered and dimmed. Laszio faced Jediah with eyebrows raised. "When?"
"Right now." Jediah crouched. His fingertips touched the floor while his other hand reached over his shoulder to wrap around the hilt of his sword.
Eran made a wry smile. "I don't think another practice is going to change much, Captain."
"A little can go a long way. Light your weapons."
Laszio and Eran shared a look. Each pulled out his pair of sticks. They were carved with complex divots etched into the silver and connected by a sturdy length of chord. The two angels stretched their wings. A couple of lighted feathers touched their weapons, and golden drops leaked forth from the barbules. Light filled the carved patterns, and its glow bled into the strands.
"Now," Jediah instructed, "Focus on the energy within the base of your wings. Let it flow naturally. Don't fight for control. The fight should be out here. Not in there."
Laszio and Eran nodded. "Yes, sir." They sidestepped in separate directions.
Jediah watched them encircle him. Then he scraped his blade against the hardened leather as he pulled it out from its scabbard.
In one sharp motion, Laszio and Eran took their paired sticks in each hand and spread them apart, causing the strings to twang tight. The vibration alone shook a smidge of light off the string. Those same wisps folded in on themselves into a ball of pure energy. Sparks flew as soon as the manifested spheres spun along their lines.
Softening his hardened feathers, Jediah's wing armor unfolded. He allowed a single quill to ignite his sword. Gold and orange embers glinted along the razor's edge. Jediah turned his wings back into armor again and stood up. Repositioning his stance, he twirled the blade, and with the press of a secret button along the hilt, the short sword extended to its full length.
"Whenever you're ready." Jediah's energy, his lifeblood, the very essence by which all angelic beings thrive, surged within. For they were mere empty vessels — empty vessels for God's empowerment to fill.
***
Spring's eve swept over an isolated country village in the United Kingdom, and a ministry angel sat alone atop the local church roof. The skies were cloudless. Dressed in his kind's customary blue, Nechum hummed an ancient prayer while staring into the starry seas above him. Though created without wings, he flew in his mind into the black expanse and soared among its white flickers.
Nechum likened the stars to the angels themselves. They were just as old and just as vigilant over the earth. Their power fended off the darkness, yet were small and meek so as not to steal glory from the moon. Just as God’s mightiness reigned supreme, so did the moon remain the rightful centerpiece in the dark spaces.
His legs swung as they dangled off the roof's edge, and Nechum rubbed his hands on the scratchy shingles. To his left, the white church steeple speared the jeweled heavens with the cross at its top. It looked old-fashioned, but it matched the rest of the town. Nechum gazed over the village rooftops. Antiquated buildings, potholed streets, worn sidewalks—its age gave it charm. The fast-paced generation might call this place behind the times, but Nechum preferred it that way. God had blessed his past ten years of guardianship there, and he valued every second of relative peace apart from the major conflicts at large. Thousands of troubles over a thousand lands, yet the significant quiet of a countryside suited him best.
Nechum closed his eyes. His empathic sense, God's secret gift to all ministry angels, reached out. Its passive perception granted him divine awareness of the emotions of all things. Matters of the heart couldn’t evade it. Nechum could feel the town and its citizens. Their happiness. Their longings. Their pains. This midnight, he found most residents at peace in restful sleep. Only the usual few remained awake.
Smiling for the normalcy, Nechum re-opened his eyes. He continued his hymn, but then stopped short. A new stirring aroused his senses. He peered to the right. A shooting star streaked from the horizon and banked at an odd curve, rocketing straight over the wheat field. It enlarged and brightened.
Alerted, Nechum jumped to his feet. He pressed both hands over his chest, and his energy activated. His arms spread apart. A shield of rippling azure light stretched out before him. Whatever spiritual attack it might be, it would ricochet off the barrier like a ping pong ball to a paddle.
The speeding object still didn't seem to be stopping. Nechum tensed, expecting impact, but then he caught the glint of gold. Nechum gasped in recognition. He dropped the shield.
A gust blew in Nechum's face from the messenger angel’s sudden stop. Gold sparks flickered off the ends of his scrawny wings as they beat the air like a hummingbird. The messenger batted the mess of curls out of his eyes. "Pleh. Pleh." His tongue shoved stray hairs out of his mouth. "Got a little carried away there, didn't I? Almost overshot it by a few miles." He brushed yellow specks off the leather padding that protected his shoulders and chest. The rest of his gold uniform glowed underneath it.
Nechum peered at this strange brother, who at the moment was looking every direction except him. He sensed an innocent curiosity in him, almost childlike, yet Nechum sought to see his eyes. The coloration of the eyes coincided with an angel’s mood and would often change color according to disposition.
This messenger's eyes were a deep cobalt blue with a silver sheen as merry as a summer month bathed in sunshine. The brightness they sustained unveiled a spirit that brimmed with the joy of the Lord.
Nechum gave a courteous bow with a hand over his chest. "Evening, brother. Are you new here? Where's Malach?"
"Huh?" The messenger broke out of his distraction. As he spoke, his active hands gestured as if to help explain. "Oh, Malach. Yeah, yeah, right. Malach. The thing is, Malach had to replace an officer's courier. There was some battle or something recently. His messenger lost a wing... and a leg... You know how it is. Very last minute. So Archangel Gabriel asked me to finish Malach’s route for him tonight."
Nechum managed a single sad nod. “I see.” He hated news from the war they had been locked into since Adam’s Fall. “Well, please tell Malach I’m praying for his protection and for the courier’s swift recovery. Did he suffer much? The courier? Was he in a lot of pain?”
The messenger shrugged. "He'll be fine. It's not like any of us can die or anything."
"Yes, but... that doesn’t make it hurt any less."
Tipping his head, the messenger gave a sad smile. "Well, um, he’s okay. He'll regenerate and be up and at ‘em in no time."
Nechum put up a blank front. His empathic sense read the insecurity behind the messenger's gaiety. "You have yet to tell me your name, friend."
Without warning, the messenger snatched Nechum's hand in an over-enthused handshake. "Akela. Messenger Akela. At yours and our God's service."
"And I at yours." Nechum cringed a grin as he pondered the appropriate time to pull his hand back. "Nice to meet you."
Akela kept shaking. "Thanks. And your name is?"
Nechum tried to keep his voice steady from all the gyrating. "Nechum. It’s Nechum."
"Ah! Nechum! I like it. Got a nice ring to it too—Oh!" Akela dropped Nechum's reddening hand. "Sorry."
Nechum rubbed his fingers, yet tried not to make his discomfort too obvious. "No. No. It's fine. You're fine."
Akela smashed his hand into his topmost curls. “I went and did it again. I'm so sorry. I just get really excited when meeting unknown faces. I see one, and whoop, I forget myself.”
“That's okay.” Nechum massaged another cramped knot. “Lively greetings don’t hurt. Usually."
Akela's wings kept stirring the air as he continued to hover.
Nechum laughed to himself. "Are you going or are you staying?"
"Yeah, I should go. I'm supposed to deliver a message to a recipient—" Akela balked. "Oh, Right! You are the recipient. Pfft, there I go forgetting again. Honestly, why else am I here?" He pulled at a leather strap that wrapped crosswise over his chest, and his satchel moved from his side to his front. He clicked the polished clasp and flipped open the flap. "Okay. Let's see." He reached in with the eagerness of a child invading his mother's purse for candy. "Nope. Nope. Nope. Ah-ha."
His entire arm disappeared inside before it returned with the letter. The envelope reflected moonlight like mother-of-pearl. "This should be it." Akela's eyes read the sender and addressee's names. "From a certain Heber to a certain Nechum. Does the name ring any bells?"
Nechum accepted the letter. "Heber's the head of our province." He thumbed a corner. "Must be my daily summons."
"Sounds good. Though, I've really got no say in what you get. I just deliver stuff. That's my job."
Nechum stopped himself from rolling his eyes and chuckled. "I wouldn't have guessed."
A sudden tone pierced the air—a music that trumpeted from dimensions away. Its echo rang loud and long across all creation. Angels near and far, beneath the depths, among the clouds, in the cities, and beyond the hemisphere, could hear it.
Akela's giddiness doubled. He turned to Nechum. "Ready to go?"
Nechum grinned. With one hand over his chest, he reached toward the heavens. Multiple shields appeared and assembled into a set of shimmering stairs as clear as blown glass. Their steps stacked so vertical it resembled a ladder. Nechum climbed, eager to enter his Creator’s presence once more. Akela, though more than capable of speeding past him, flew at a polite pace.
Nechum thought it a beautiful thing. Though he didn’t fully know Akela, a common loyalty bound them. They couldn’t be more different, but they were family.
***
Laszio’s ball of light whizzed close to Jediah's ear, and its passing heat brushed his cheek. His eyes followed the sphere's path into Eran's receiving string. It bounced off the taught cord, but Jediah predicted its coming. Awaiting the right moment, he angled his sword before it could hit his face. It pinged off the blade and exploded inches from Eran's feet.
Jediah spun back around. He nabbed Laszio by the scruff of his neck and threw him forward. Then with a round-house kick, Jediah nailed him in the back. Both Privates collided into a jumbled heap. They groaned and made sluggish work getting off each other.
Jediah rubbed his mouth to stifle the disrespectful laugh lifting the corners of his lips. “Better. You’re both getting better.” Sword in hand, he brought it close to his face, pointed it upward and offered a small bow.
Laszio and Eran managed tired nods in return.
Jediah pressed the hilt's button. The sword's clicking mechanisms retracted the blade, and he slipped it back into its scabbard. "I think a break is in order. We'll continue training later."
Laszio cast a defeated look yet gave a thumbs up.
The ethereal trumpet called. Its ring poured and filled the Abyss, beckoning them to God's halls. Already, Jediah's troops sang as they headed out with great rejoicing. Even Eran and Laszio's moods lightened.
Jediah too welcomed the splendid shivers those sweet notes stirred within him. He unfurled his wings.
Coming, Lord. We’re coming.