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ELAZAR QUIETLY CRITICIZED the officers and messengers Lucifer surrounded himself with. Hoia-Baciu Forest buzzed in their uproar. They harped and squabbled, vying to gain their prince’s favor. Elazar found better purpose in sharpening his dagger with a flint than participating in such a mindless bedlam.
News had spread quickly, whether by hushed whispers or proclamation throughout the spiritual realms. Malkior was gone, banished forever until the end of the age. The angels reacted with cheers or solemn approval. Demons, on the other hand, accepted it the only way they could: with pompous swears of vengeance. Truth of the matter was, they were more petrified by this development than they had been for a long time. No one had been condemned to the Abyss or any spiritual prison in the past four thousand years. To them, this was a threat message, and to their further discomfort, the military scouts reported that Jediah’s chains weren’t hung up yet. One more official was slated for capture.
“We should have done as Captain Zivel said,” an officer argued. “We should raid the Abyss now, before another one of us is picked off!” His proposal met mixed approval as the other war leaders murmured questions between themselves—not least of which was Captain Zivel’s whereabouts.
Elazar smirked to himself. That stupid oaf wouldn’t dare show his embarrassed face to Lucifer again, not after his humiliating failure during the storm ambush. Elazar left him split open in Alabama. By the time Zivel would have resuscitated, he had already reported of his disobedience to Lucifer. Slinking off was the smartest thing Zivel ever did.
“Weren’t any of you listening?” Lucifer bellowed. Growing in immense size, his shadow menaced all of them. “So long as Jediah has the key, we are at a disadvantage! We’re not attacking until we have it and guarantee victory!” The growls in his throat rumbled louder than ten lions.
Everyone in the circle bowed and expressed full fealty by laying their softened wings flat on their backs.
Shrinking to his normal height, Lucifer rolled his shoulders and smoothed his hair. “Until Jediah is crushed and stripped wingless, the Abyss is off the table.”
At that, the lot of them threw themselves into another chorus of arguments. Each single voice tried to topple twenty others.
Elazar rolled his eye and picked at his nails with his dagger point. They’re as productive as a coop of headless hens.
“Quiet!” Lucifer finally roared. “Quit pretending like any of you know what you’re talking about. None of you do. Master Elazar, care to join us?”
Unintimidated, Elazar didn’t need the use of his empathic sense to feel the demonic counsel’s utter disdain for him. Leaving the tree he leaned on, he entered the circle center, gave a small bend of the neck, but did not lower his eyes. “You called, your stupendousness?” He weathered the Devil’s narrowed glare.
“I’m the one who recruited you, rogue,” Lucifer reminded. “What do you make of this? Where might Jediah go next? Who might he be after?”
Elazar grinned but feigned deep thought to rub his superior importance to the rest of the council. He scratched his chin and paced large circles. “Hmm. Tall order there. Figuring out the angel himself, that’s easy. To figure out his Master, though, is another matter. What was that the humans like to say again? ‘God works in mysterious ways’?”
“Skip to the point, Elazar. Or one scarred eye will be the least of your pains,” Lucifer warned.
Elazar raised his hands in as minimal show of respect as he could get away with. “But of course, my liege.” He cast looks at the leering crowd. “However, I hold no confidence in your competitive company.”
Lucifer scowled.
Elazar queried, “Wasn’t it you who promised I would get Jediah? And no one else?”
After turning his slitted eyes towards the others, Lucifer waved them off. A few lingered out of stubbornness, but two seconds under their prince’s scrutinizing glare sent them shuffling like children ordered to bed. Lucifer then folded his arms, bunching his long opulent sleeves. “Remember, Elazar, you’re no more important to me than any of them.”
“Why else do you think I never pledged to you?” Elazar retorted.
Lucifer lifted an eyebrow, somewhat impressed by Elazar’s tenacity—if by a little. “Start talking,” the Devil growled.
Elazar smiled. “God may work in mysterious ways,” he began. “But He works systematically and consistently.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Oh. I didn’t know that. Really,” he huffed.
“God took out Malkior,” Elazar continued. “He was a talented informant and a key player for your invasion. It’s likely his higher up is next.”
“Yakum then,” Lucifer concluded.
Elazar smirked. “Yakum.” He produced a jet black page as dark as coal from his pocket. “I suppose I should forewarn your chief biochemist, shouldn’t I.” Elazar approached the nearest tree. After unsheathing his knife, he sliced his palm and smeared a coat of his own ooze over the blade. Then pressing the paper against the trunk, Elazar scribbled sharp, vicious strokes with the flat of the knife’s tip. The scarlet ink cut across the parchment’s fibers like blood whipped from a slave’s back.
Lucifer loomed over him as he wrote. “It’s curious,” he said. “You had your chance to snap Jediah in half during that storm, except you didn’t. You could have won.”
Annoyed, Elazar was tempted to rebut him, but decided against it. He didn’t have to answer or explain himself to anyone, especially the Great Deceiver.
Lucifer murmured a mocking chuckle as he mused. “I guess wrecking Jediah wouldn’t get that angel to hate you to your satisfaction, would it?”
Elazar dotted the last period and pressed his handprint as a signature. He offered it to Lucifer, who tucked it in his robes.
“But I wouldn’t fret about Jediah if I were you, imp,” Lucifer added. “I’m sure he hates you plenty.”
As he turned away, the Devil’s condescending grin irked Elazar. He would have loved to strangle him. Rubbing his face, Elazar’s fingers stopped over his ruined eye. He traced the scar’s inflamed line. Its length had shortened. Grunting, he whipped out his dagger and checked his cloudy reflection in its obsidian mirror. Red particles attempted once more to repair the scar as it always had for five thousand years.
Elazar grumbled. His fingers squeezed, bunching the handle’s leather straps. He aligned the razor to his cheek’s thinning line but paused. For old memories coupled with Lucifer’s words held him in place. At their taunting, he overthrew all hesitancy. His wrist twitched, then came the upward stroke. The swift slash finished the job. Elazar stifled a yell. The new scars always throbbed and burned, but after this long, Elazar found he couldn’t live without one.
***
Jediah hovered over Nechum, who hunched over the buttoned device he had called a computer. The screen blared in the dark library, and Jediah hoped the bookshelf walls hid the brightness from the building’s security cameras that Nechum had pointed out earlier.
Glued to the display, Nechum pecked the keys in rapid clicks. It impressed Jediah how easily he manipulated the fragile, squared letters while in angelic form without breaking them. Even Laszio and Akela stood enraptured as his nimble fingers danced.
“I still don’t quite understand why travel visas are required for Image Bearers to cross borders,” Laszio remarked.
“It is difficult for beings like us to understand, Laszio,” Nechum replied. “But right now, I need to concentrate. This isn’t as easy as it looks.” Garish pictures crowded the screen. Nechum grunted, grabbed the oval device called a ‘mouse’ that sat next to the lettered grid, and clicked them away.
Readjusting his blue hood, Eran turned to Jediah. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to remain as humans during our Beijing operation?”
“I don’t see there being much choice,” Jediah said. “Word has spread about us, so now everyone’s on the lookout for soldiers in ministry clothes. Besides, Nechum informed me that less than two percent of China’s people are Marked Christians. I’m expecting we’re going to be vastly outnumbered there.”
Eran nodded, but stared ahead with eyebrows furrowed. “Sir? Do you think Elazar will track us there?”
Jediah drew an agitated breath, crossed his arms, and kept his eyes glued on Nechum. “He may. Let’s pray that he doesn’t.” This was the third time Eran inquired about Elazar, and he wished he’d drop the subject.
“And what about the others?” Eran asked. “Shouldn’t the others know the name of our whistleblower?”
Jediah looked Eran square in the eye. “If we go completely underground for the rest of this operation, Elazar should be a non-issue.”
Eran looked away, dissatisfied but compliant.
Nechum clicked the plastic ‘mouse’ device again. A tiny arrow darted across the screen in sync with his hand. Then he sat still, waiting for the computer’s response.
Laszio tapped the display. “How long do these things usually take?” After a minute of nothing, he leaned in and tapped harder. “Did it die?”
Nechum sighed. “No. It’s just thinking.”
“Pfft. Thinking. Like junk can think. They’d have chips for brains if they did,” Laszio said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, you’re not too far off there,” Nechum chortled. The display cleared, and his fingers set to racing once more.
Laszio nodded. “Oh good. It’s alive.”
“Technically it’s not, but I get your figure of speech,” Akela said with a wink and a nudge Laszio seemed to tolerate.
Jediah checked the empty aisle behind him. He pulled his hood down to his eyebrows, half expecting a creeping shadow or a red eye, but there was no one. No Elazar. He then watched Akela, who was investing his interest into everything. Jediah’s wheels turned. His letter was finished. This night would be his last to help Chloe before he vanished into obscurity, and flaky Akela was his linch pin. If the messenger refused to help, his hopes were shot.
Anxiety prickled Jediah’s tantalized nerves. He rubbed his hands together and became altogether convinced he’d keel over and die right then if he weren’t an angel. Disgusted by his behavior, Jediah chastised himself. This was Akela he was pondering about, the friendliest angel he knew, yet he found it tempting to just let tonight’s opportunity pass into quiet. Chloe’s grandfather is a Christian. Surely, he could handle ministering the Gospel to her himself.
“No!” his conscience cried. “You don’t know what she has or hasn’t heard. Chloe needs this. Do it for her. Then leave the matter to God.”
The trick then became choosing the least awkward moment to pull Akela aside. As Jediah raced through his options, he drew to Nechum’s side to check his progress, hoping to watch without causing a nuisance.
Nechum glanced up. “If you have a question, sir—”
Jediah shook his head. “No. Just stick to your task.”
Apologetic, Nechum replied. “I know this is taking so long. Sorry. It’s all just very short notice. You have no idea how far ahead people plan international trips. It can take months' worth of preparation and money. Thankfully, though, I’ve saved enough to cover expenses.”
Nechum clicked, and a company banner popped into existence. He then interacted with two white bars labeled ‘ID’ and ‘password.’ “You know what’s funny?” Nechum said as he typed. “After all these decades, I finally understand why God asked me to start this bank account. All those hoops I had to jump through...” He pushed out a wistful sigh.
Intrigued, Jediah pressed, “What sorts of hoops?”
“Oh, adopting several identities. Laws I had to abide by. People to convince. Odd jobs I took here and there,” Nechum said. He nodded to himself. “I tell you, the whole thing was one of the lengthiest assignments I ever had.” He gave a faint smile. “But now, after years of disuse, these savings will finally see purpose.”
Words like ‘transaction’, ‘credit cards’, and ‘forms’ flashed by, as Nechum’s hands recited innumerable number sequences one after the other. Jediah trusted they all somehow accomplished something.
Nechum let out a satisfied breath. “Okay. Now to print off the Visas, passports, and receipts. God willing, they’ll be verified quickly, and that copier isn’t out of ink.” With two taps of his fingers, another machine whirred. Nechum drummed his hands on the desk. “Okay. Here comes the tricky part.” Typing the words ‘Beijing Hotels’ in a white bar, he scrolled down, reading offers and prices fast enough to rival Akela’s flight speed. He paused and rubbed his forehead. “Reserving a hotel room for this weekend will be a miracle, but God will open accommodations for us. I’m sure.”
Laszio crossed his arms. “Hotels? Accommodations? Sounds like were going on vacation.”
“We’re not,” Nechum said. He twisted in his chair and retrieved the fresh photographic documents from the copier tray. “The Gershom family is.” He then handed them to Laszio, careful not to smear the warm ink.
Laszio’s eye color paled as he counted and perused the six personas. “Oh, boy. And it’s only going to get tougher from there. Isn’t it?”
Nechum cringed but answered, “Beijing is densely packed, and the Chinese people live under strict scrutiny under their authorities. They’re sticklers for security. Everyone from their President to the local bum is strictly monitored.”
“And most especially tourists like us,” Jediah added. He turned to the others. “Normally, I’d suggest going about our capture mission another way, but in the current circumstance, this is the path of least resistance to Yakum.”
Laszio winced as if he knew where this was going. “So...”
Jediah took the papers from Laszio’s hands. He leafed through them and pulled out two. “Nechum and I will pass ourselves off as your parents.”
Laszio chuckled. “Okay. Which of you is ‘mommy’?”
Grimacing, Jediah rolled his eyes. “Me.”
“Guess it’s, ‘Ma’m, yes, ma’m,’ from now on then, huh?” Laszio burst out laughing, but his mirth quickly fizzled when he noticed Jediah’s returned smirk.
“Close, Private, but not quite.” Jediah handed him his ID and picture.
What remained of Laszio’s humor soured.
Eran peeked over his shoulder and snorted a laugh. “Oh, my gosh!”
In a stricken daze, Laszio shook his head as he repeated rapid-fire ‘no-s’, but Jediah could only pat his shoulder. He handed Eran and Akela their copies. “Akela?” he muttered.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’d like you to come with me. I need to talk with you, after I give Alameth his ID.”
Quizzical, Akela squinted. “Okay?”
Venturing through the building, columns of used and abused books towered the halls, and the thick dust that coated the coverlets gave a musty smell. Jediah entered the open lounge. Sofas were set in semi-circles before large draped windows, and moonlight filtered through the milky residue that streaked the glass. Alameth lingered close to the window. His hood was up, but Jediah knew by the tip of his head that he was staring into the heavens. “Found the quietest place, huh?” he said.
At first, Alameth didn’t respond. Only his raised, then lowered shoulders hinted at a long-drawn breath. “Yes. It’s quiet.”
“Here are your identification papers. Would you mind if Akela and I have the space?” Jediah asked.
Alameth gave a small bow, accepted the papers, and took his leave.
Jediah waited until he got out of earshot. He pushed out a breath. This was it. “Akela, there’s something I want you to do for me.”
***
The pounding in Jediah’s chest gained speed the longer Akela sat slack jawed on the sofa cushion. After shaking his head, Akela squeezed his temples and hummed for a second. “Excuse me. What now? Y-you want me to do what now?” he asked in a babbling yet dangerously calm tone.
Licking his lips, Jediah restarted. “Akela, I know it sounds bad.”
“You want me to do what?” Akela shouted, shooting up from his seat.
“Shhh!” Jediah shoved him back down. “Akela, please, get a hold of yourself.”
Puffing spaced breaths, Akela fanned himself. “But what you’re asking is... delivering an unsanctioned letter to a little girl—a human—is... is...”
Akela didn’t finish his sentence, but Jediah already filled in the blanks with all the answers he wouldn’t have liked. “Unprecedented. I know,” he offered.
Standing up, Akela looked him square in the eye. “What you’re asking is dangerous.”
Jediah swallowed, clearing the rumble in his throat. “I know, but I don’t see how I can neglect helping her”.
“Captain... it likely won’t work.”
Jediah’s neck heated. “But where is it written that I cannot try? Or that man can no longer have contact with us?”
Akela dropped his head into his hands, rocked on his feet, and pulled his cheeks. “What do you expect me to do?” he demanded. “Zap, bang, boom into her room in the middle of the night? Yeah, that’ll turn out swell. She’ll be the youngest recorded in medical heart attacks.”
Frustrated, Jediah got in Akela’s face. “Akela, listen,” he whispered sharply in his ear. “Time is short. My chances are running thin and so are hers.”
Akela shrank. “Your chances? What do you mean ‘your’ chances?”
Realizing he slipped up, Jediah conspired to steer the topic away from himself. “Do you remember the Garden, Akela? God walked side by side with Adam in Eden, and so did we. They could see us—talk to us. For those first few days, neither sin nor guilt barred our worlds. Life was innocent.”
Akela nodded. A tinge of sadness mingled with the nostalgia in his smile.
“And,” Jediah continued, “It’s like the original innocence never left you, Akela. In your eyes,” Jediah paused, considering his words. “I see Eden.”
Sheepish, Akela lowered his eyes. “Thank you for your kind words, sir.”
“Then please, Akela,” Jediah entreated. “Chloe is sick—dying perhaps. I don’t know how many days she has left—if any. But the Spirit is tugging at her sleeve. I know it. He’s standing there, waiting for her, but she hasn’t reached for Him. If I don’t encourage her to, and she dies unsaved, Akela, I’ll live the rest of this age knowing my complacency condemned her. But if you help me deliver this letter, I’d be able to rest knowing I did what I could do, no matter if she accepts Christ or not.”
Eyes filled with conflicted pity, Akela shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. This is unmarked territory.”
“Then tell me I’m forbidden from sharing God’s message of grace with her,” Jediah challenged. “Say it now, and I’ll rip this letter apart before you right here.” He held out a folded envelope.
Akela reached to take the spotless parchment, but hesitated and drew back.
“Please, Akela,” Jediah entreated. “Help me teach her to walk with God. Rekindle Eden in her heart.”
Despite the color being driven from his eyes, Akela bit his lip and took the letter.
Jediah shivered a sigh. “Thank you.”
Akela examined the letter, then burrowed it under his leather guard instead of his satchel.
“Don’t let the others know,” Jediah said. “It’s best they weren’t tangled in this. And Akela? If things go wrong, I swear you will not bear the blame.” Jediah placed one hand on his chest and raised an open palm with the other to invoke the gravest of angelic oaths. “May God deal with me be it ever so severely if this act of mine brings her harm.”
Akela shuddered, “No pressure, right?” His wings blurred into a hover. “Sir,” he said as he turned to leave. “When I called this idea of yours dangerous, I didn’t mean it was only dangerous for her.”