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ERAN AWOKE IN DARKNESS. Muffled sounds hummed. An orange flicker, tiny as a needle point, appeared, then vanished in his vision. Then came another flicker and another.
Eran moaned and tried to move, but everything ached. A humming pain hammered his head. After rubbing the bleariness from his dry eyes, he squinted and searched around to regain his bearings.
A tiny volcanic mound, demure as a campfire, released gentle sparks that danced and lit the jeweled cave. The slightest glimmers from the gem encrusted ceilings were drawn by the dim, wavering light. Topaz and rubies captured the beauty of flame. Rainbows peeked from diamond veins, and the cloudier amethysts and sapphires contrasted the other jewels with their cool visage. No amount of human wealth could buy such a trove.
Turning toward his opposite side, Eran looked out the cave’s round opening that framed Io’s vast landscape. It seemed a curiosity how he had missed Io’s transient beauty until then. The subtle glow of its golden rivers illuminated the now darkened mountains. Splotches of red, black, yellow and white painted the region with their color swatches, and all of this was begat in the aftermath of what would surely be known as the Battle of Io—at least, once their mission was completely over.
Eran remembered. Malkior, the fire demon, was captured. Yakum, demon lord of Beijing, was next.
Those muffled hums Eran heard a minute ago clarified, and he noticed Akela, who sat nearby, singing. The notes of his song ebbed and flowed in pure tones equal to the skills of the Poet King, David, himself.
-
Could we with ink the ocean fill, and were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole. Tho’ stretched from sky to sky.
Oh love of God, how rich and pure. How measureless and strong.
It shall forevermore endure. The saint’s and angel’s song.
-
Recognizing Akela’s hymn, Eran smiled. “That’s one of my favorites.”
Akela twisted around. His cobalt eyes shone a richer blue than the seven oceans. “God bless you, brother. You’re awake!”
Eran rolled his pinching neck, and his kinked wings cramped.
Akela fidgeted as Eran worked through the pain. “Oof. That Malkior really packed a wallop, didn’t he?”
Eran paused. The memory of it flooded back to him. Their brief victory. The explosion. His falling. “Where’s Laszio?”
“Behind you,” a raspy voice answered.
Laszio rested on a sandier patch of rocks. He had stumps that were once his left arm and leg, but he still had that spunky smirk as if he dared Malkior to return from the Abyss and dish out some more.
Eran tried using his hands to turn himself around.
“Don’t do that!” Akela cried.
Eran crumpled to the shooting pain that racked his legs. He reached down to reposition them but touched air. They were missing.
Shaking his head, Akela stood up. “I tried to warn you.” After walking over, he bent down and wrapped his arms underneath Eran’s. “Okay. Hang tight.” He interlocked his fingers, forming a two-handed fist over Eran’s chest. “One. Two. Three.” Akela hoisted him up.
“Agh!” Two gold smears trailed behind as Akela dragged Eran closer to Laszio, but he set him down much slower and steadier than Eran ever expected from him. Everything still stung, though, and Eran shoved his agony out in a sharp push of breath.
Akela patted Eran’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he said. “I wish I could’ve made it hurt less, but, gotta be honest, I’m not the gentlest angel.” Akela plopped down to a sitting position but winced the second he did so. He hissed and strained to rub the dark spot centered on his back.
It was then Eran noticed Akela’s scorched wings with their flaked, blackened quills. Eran reached out. Certain not to rub too hard or too soft, he massaged the area Akela reached for. Akela’s back went straight like a rod, but soon melted under Eran’s practiced touch. After centuries of battle, therapeutic skill came in handy once in a while.
“Oh, that’s the spot,” Akela remarked. “A tad lower. That’s it. That’s it.” He let out a dozed sigh. “Ahh, that’s the ticket. Thank you, brother.”
“Don’t mention it,” Eran said.
Sinking into deeper thought, Eran recounted their skirmish against Malkior, and his heart leaped. “God blessed our effort!” he thought. “The new move worked! Using wings as punching gauntlets was a high risk, high reward option, but still. It worked! Nail Elazar with that much striking force the next time he comes poking around, he’d be left recovering for half a day. It was perfect!”
Eran reigned in his excitement. Perfect? Nothing apart from God is perfect. He recalculated the facts. The move was not perfect. Far from perfect. There were too many variables, too many ways it could go wrong. What if instead of Elazar they punched one of his impenetrable shields? How could they possibly get close enough? Mounting negatives threw his positivity into a downward spiral.
Eran stopped his careening assumptions. He reminded himself that he asked God for proof that there was a chance. God answered, and a slim chance didn’t mean ‘no’ chance. He just had to go with it.
“You know?” Akela said, interrupting Eran’s thoughts. “You two are pretty incredible.”
Laszio stirred and arched an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
Facing them, Akela smiled. “You’re unstoppable, and I’d daresay, you carry more inspirational power than even Jediah does. And he’s already pretty inspirational.”
Touched but skeptical, Eran asked, “But how does that work?”
Akela chuckled. “If even God’s ‘little guys’ can make the major plays, it says a lot about what He can do with anyone and everyone.”
The compliment was delivered with such sincerity and kindness, a powerful vigor coursed through Eran. “Thanks. And you are faithfulness personified, Akela. You may be scatterbrained, but you don’t lose sight of the Big Picture—just like your smile.”
Akela bowed his sheepish, beaming face. “... thank you.”
After a moment, Eran squinted. Three faces were missing. “Akela? Where are the others?”
Akela cleared his throat. “Oh, um. The captain and Nechum went looking for Alameth. He went missing shortly before Malkior’s capture.”
Instant irritation flipped Eran’s joy on a dime. “Alameth bailed?” he asked in disgust. Exasperated, he let the back of his head hit the rock. “Well, that’s a fine thing to do. What’s wrong with him?”
“Wrong with him?” Akela asked with a perplexed look.
Laszio huffed. “Alameth seldom speaks. He doesn’t smile. He smoked up the catacombs—while we were in them, which aided Malkior’s escape no less. Nechum already admitted he’s emotionally dead, and now he’s a deserter. How can there not be something wrong?”
Lowering his eyes, Akela fiddled with the fringe of his satchel.
Eran sighed. “We’re not saying Alameth’s gone rogue, Akela.”
The corner of Akela’s lip lifted in a wry, lopsided smile. “It sure sounds that way.” His eyes then stared at them with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “Mind a word of advice?”
Stunned, yet impressed by Akela’s sudden sobriety, Eran nodded.
Akela shook his head and sighed. “Don’t assume the worst in your brothers. Especially the ones you know little about. And just to let you know,” Akela added. “It wasn’t Jediah, Nechum, or I who saved you two from the lava bed.”
***
Nechum loved the sky there. Io’s non-existent atmosphere didn’t dim the stars. They glistened twice as bright as on earth, and their bountiful clusters were jewels of frosted blue that overlaid their neighbors, forming galactic sapphire bands outlined in violet.
“Any sign of him?” Jediah asked. He hadn’t yet stopped eyeing the mountain ranges.
“It’s difficult to say,” Nechum replied. “Alameth is a tough one to sense.” He saddened to once again see Jediah’s burns. The scabbed handprint Malkior branded on his face stretched from his chin, over the cheek, across the nose and around the eyes. Similar burns etched his neck and hands. He appeared barbaric, like the violent, ancient Highland tribes Nechum once knew. But Jediah wasn’t anything like them. Painted handprints were the Celt’s intimidation practice—a ritual to celebrate bloodlust. Not Jediah. His peeling sores and scars were a testament to his zeal, and Nechum loved and respected him all the more for it.
Nechum patted the waterskin under his shawl. It flattened empty against his side, with its last drops having been spent resuscitating Laszio and Eran.
Jediah stepped on a higher rock. “Do you detect his distress anywhere?” he asked.
Nechum rechecked his empathic sense, but the only distress he felt came from Jediah. Its potency overpowered anything else. “No, sir,” he answered. “Just yours.”
Jediah’s strong countenance dwindled, and whether it was the less rigid posture or the exposed tiredness in his face, his inner weariness suddenly made his youthful appearance match his ancient age.
Nechum folded his hands and spoke quietly. “Brother, I know you must always be there looking out for the others, but please, stop pretending you’re all right. If for no one else, then for me.” Nechum’s neck tensed as he drew near. “Jediah? What are you afraid of?”
Hesitant, Jediah pursed his lips. “Of... messing up what I’m about to do.”
Nechum tipped his head. He sensed more than doubts on Jediah’s mind. “Are you referring to the situation with Alameth? Or something else entirely?”
Before he could respond, Jediah’s eyes focused on something. They widened in interest, but not with joy.
Nechum turned and also spotted a familiar, hooded gray speck that wandered along a rugged ridge.
Jediah walked ahead. His rapt attention on Alameth seemed equal parts sad, agitated, and fearful. Alameth too stopped where he stood. For it seemed even from a mile away, their eyes had connected and locked as if drawn to each other.
Jediah’s armored wings softened, and the feathers lifted off his shoulders and sides. “Mind giving us a minute, Nechum? I must speak with him alone.”
Nechum gathered the courage to counter his superior’s request. “With all due respect, sir. I’d like to be there for the both of you, but I promise I won’t interfere.”
Jediah stood silent, as if waiting for Nechum to fortify his point.
“Alameth and I have talked regarding this before,” Nechum explained.
Jediah looked toward Alameth, then back to Nechum. “Very well.”
Alameth didn’t move an inch as they approached him. Nechum reached out with his empathic sense. A miserable depression burdened the angel of death, but he had calmly surrendered to it as if it were a normal thing. After patting Alameth’s shoulder, Nechum selected a spot to sit and listen.
Alameth bowed in respect, as Jediah flattened his wings behind himself, giving a non-confrontational demeanor. “We’re glad to have found you, Alameth. Care to explain what happened?”
A careworn pallor aged Alameth’s expressionless face. He stared at the ground as he spoke. “You saw what happened, sir. What’s there to explain?”
“I saw what happened,” Jediah said as he stepped closer. “But I’m more interested in why. Why did it happen?”
Alameth cast uncomfortable glances. “Is it a crime to defend my brothers? To desire their well-being?”
Jediah folded his hands behind his back. “No. No, it isn’t, but your methods concern me. I’ve fought in more battles than I care to recall, Alameth. I’ve watched fellow soldiers go to impossible lengths to complete our objectives, but as God’s soldiers, we take care in how we do it.”
Jediah scraped his sword out of the scabbard. The polished blade captured the infinite heavens in watered silver. As he laid it in his palms, Jediah seemed to cup the galaxy in his hands. “When I wield this blade, Alameth, it’s a reminder to enemy and ally alike that I am not my own. For I am to God what this sword is to me. A sword does not slay for its own glory, nor does it grasp revenge on its own accord. It acts by its master’s will and his alone.” Jediah tipped it upward and stared into its mirror. “It’s a tool, and a tool apart from its master is nothing.” He swung it around in skilled twirls, casting its starlight. A flurry of colors shone off the dull rocks. Lowering it, Jediah set its point into the ground, then slid the weapon back into its scabbard. “We reflect God to everyone, Alameth, so if we fight mercilessly, what image of Him will others see?”
Alameth seemed unmoved, but Nechum sensed Jediah’s words sinking into him.
“Alameth,” Jediah continued. “I’ve seen soldiers take the fight too far and relent in seconds, but you... you carried on for a solid minute.”
Alameth didn’t argue, as he sat on a smoothed mound. A distant eruption cascaded light off his clothes in a mournful sheer. His shoulders sagged, and he fingered the intricate clasp that pinned his hood to his collar. Its delicate silver cross gleamed. “I’m tired. So tired,” he said in a murmur soft as morning haze.
Squinting, Jediah crossed his arms. “Tired of what?” he asked.
“Of this,” Alameth responded. “All of this. Sin, death, the curse, this war, every wrongful act that traps me in a role I never wanted... I wish God ended it all now.”
Nechum flinched as he sensed Alameth’s irritation stir the mists. Even Jediah inched away. But in one drawn breath, Alameth calmed, and his restless fog settled to a standstill. A demure glint betrayed the steadiness in his eyes. Alameth’s voice gained strength. “I delight to bring God’s people home, Captain. It’s my greatest joy, but I can hardly bear condemning the lost.” His hand combed rigorously through his hair. “So why? Why must there be such beings like Malkior who brutalize others and treat life with such contempt?” Alameth then rubbed his eyes and buried them into his forearm sleeve.
Nechum couldn’t take it anymore. He got up and rubbed gentle circles into Alameth’s quivering back.
After a while, Alameth collected himself and lowered his arm. “I can’t stop sin’s destructive consequences. No matter how much I ache to,” he said. “But just when I thought for once... just once... I could protect someone... all I end up doing is... becoming just like them.” Alameth’s voice cracked and broke into silence. He bent his neck, hiding his face from them.
Nechum hated it, making Alameth rehash his torments to another all over again. In the beginning, Alameth’s powers begat beauty and life. To have to endure the centuries, wading neck deep in a marred creation’s filth pits... Nechum could hardly endure the world’s ugliness himself. For Alameth’s kind to withstand what they have, it required nothing less than the most remarkable fortitude that only God could sustain. Nechum sighed and kept soothing Alameth with a compassionate hand. The renewed heaven and earth couldn’t come sooner.
Jediah knelt to Alameth’s eye-level and gripped his shoulder. “You are nothing like them, Alameth,” he said in a firm, uncompromising tone. “And I’ll have words with anyone who says otherwise.”
Nechum’s spirits lightened, as the brighter colors in Alameth’s eyes overtook most of its darkness, but then they lowered. Alameth swallowed. “I have one request, Captain—if I may ask it.”
“Yes, name it,” Jediah said.
A portion of darkness returned to shade Alameth’s eyes, destroying the peace they just regained. “Once we find Yakum, don’t involve me.”