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ALAMETH LAID AS STILL as possible. Reminders of his every affliction resurfaced at the barest move.
“On your knees, Captain.”
Alameth grimaced.
“On your knees!”
Someone yanked the cuffs, and the hot throbbing in Alameth’s wrists flared. They yanked again, dragging him. The marks that scored his legs reopened. Biting back a groan, Alameth spent what little energy he had left to lift his lower back, but his upper body and head sagged.
His disheveled hair fenced in his bowed face, but he didn’t need to see who or what surrounded him. He pictured it already: the calloused thirst of blood-crazed eyes; the grinning hunger of slave drivers, murderers, and traffickers; and many burly hands practiced in the art of beating and maiming. He’d seen it all before, and yet... this time... Alameth hid a smile. For this time, there’d be no other victim than himself. This time, he wouldn’t bear anyone’s suffering but his own. Elazar’s vengeance will be satisfied, and he’ll protect a brother in the most honorable way any angel could ask for.
“Lord,” Alameth prayed in silence. “Thank you for this privilege to follow the example of Your Son for Jediah’s sake. Impart to me Your peace, El Shaddai, and deliver the same to my brothers as You always have for Your rescued people—those You’ve blessed to bear Your Mark and Your name.”
A pungent vapor smothered the dank cave and broke Alameth’s concentration. Yakum’s presence lengthened the shadows. “Welcome, Captain,” Yakum said. “We’re sorry your old friend, Elazar, isn’t here. But fret not. We’ll hand you over... eventually.”
Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of so much as a retort, Alameth kept his mouth shut. Long fingers seized his jaw. Yakum almost snapped his neck as he forced his chin up. He demanded something from him, but Alameth, determined not to listen, ignored every word no matter how sharp they rang in his ear.
Don’t talk. Don’t react. Don’t talk. Don’t react.
Yakum shook Alameth by the tunic, jostling his aching limbs, but Alameth bit his tongue to keep from moaning.
Don’t talk. Don’t react. Don’t talk. Don’t react.
Confusion crossed Yakum’s face. Then he bore into Alameth with an all-consuming rage. He threw Alameth down. The hit rattled Alameth’s head, and a new sprain stung his shoulder. Yakum screamed something at his guards, but the angel could only catch scant pieces of speech. Alameth’s ears twitched to the sound of unsheathed knifes. Hundreds of red eyes, like an enclave of spiders, descended upon him.
***
Jediah raced the noonday shadows that stretched to the west, leaving the train station miles behind. The tracks led to a sea of close-knit mountains with silver rivers that coiled the spaces between them. Their rounded peaks were girthed in mist, but the only thing clothed in mist on Jediah’s mind was Alameth, his brother, and whatever unspeakable things Elazar might do once he exposed him. Yakum might be fooled, but Elazar? Alameth’s ruse didn’t stand a chance.
Reaching the first train stop, he led Laszio, Eran, and Akela into the upper rafters of an outdoor loading pavilion. His eyes darted around and latched onto every useless thing that happened to be colored blue. “Does anyone see Nechum?” he asked.
“One sec.” In two flashes, Akela left and returned. “No sign of Nechum, but I found this.” He held a silver pin attached to a torn blue cloth.
Jediah’s heart sank. It was a piece of Nechum’s shawl.
Laszio took the clue from Akela and cupped it in his hands. “You don’t suppose Yakum caught Nechum too, do you?”
Akela rocked on his heels and said, “Well, if they did, they did a pretty poor job hiding his crumb trail.” He opened a second hand, revealing a second piece.
***
The ripped remains of Nechum’s shawl were spread farther and farther apart the further the angels went, and Jediah saved every frayed rag. Never had he felt less worthy to lead. If his wingmen’s injuries and Alameth’s sacrifice weren’t enough, now even Nechum suffered the loss of his cherished shawl—because of him. They didn’t deserve this. None of them.
The successive parcels became smaller and smaller until threadbare strips were left—signs of Nechum’s last ditch effort.
“Captain,” Akela called. He plucked a blue piece no thicker than a string from a bramble. “It’s the last one. I can’t find anymore.”
“Then maybe he’s here,” Jediah reasoned.
“He is,” Nechum answered. He dropped from a tree, dressed in only his tunic and loose capris. He seemed smaller without his shawl, like part of his dignity had been stripped from him.
Too overjoyed for formalities, Akela wrapped Nechum in a hug.
The two hadn’t separated yet when Laszio rushed to meet them. “Nechum, you’re not gonna believe this, but Alameth—”
“Took our captain’s place,” Nechum finished. Pulling away from Akela, his eyes dipped down. “I finally figured it out after they dragged him off the train.”
“Couldn’t you break him out?” Eran asked.
Nechum shook his head. “I couldn’t get past the barrier.” He pointed toward the closest mountain.
Jediah took careful steps, sword in hand, and peeked through a gap between the leaves. No sentry. No guard. No lookout. But a red dome, a ministry demon’s shield, covered the entire mountain from its peak to its foundations.
Jediah quaked. The possibility of Elazar’s presence made him want to retreat, but his care for Alameth spurned him to push past all that. His original mission to capture Yakum also compelled him. Up till then, the reason he left the Abyss in the first place slipped away from him. Too many distractions crowded him. Elazar. Chloe. His guilt. His brothers. The tightening strain of it all corroded what level-headedness he had left.
Jediah rubbed his temples in his attempts to focus. He couldn’t help anyone by splitting his attention in so many directions. Yakum didn’t just threaten him and his brothers. He threatened all mankind. Ridding the earth of him benefitted everyone, and honoring God in obedience mattered more than his own personal agendas. If he followed God’s will for him, Jediah reasoned, it would deliver Alameth. It would help Chloe. He and his brothers could then return to the status quo, and their current troubles would be over.
Spurred by the oaths of service he swore to his Lord, Jediah found the gumption to push his terror of Elazar aside. There was no room for it. He’d pierce the dark; cut all emotional ties if he must, but he wouldn’t fail his Creator. Not again.
Examining the dome, Jediah noticed its lack of transparency. It was reinforced, multilayered by several shields from several demons. Frustration gnawed at him. If one shield wasn’t invincible enough, two or three were impossible. “You’re sure Yakum and Alameth are in there?” he asked Nechum.
Nechum’s tired eyes stayed on the dome.
Eran’s fingers tapped his belt. “Can we go under it?” he asked.
“No,” Nechum said. “I’ve tried.”
With an expression uncharacteristically solemn, Akela stared at the barrier as if sizing the whole thing up. His cobalt eyes acquired a slight white tint, almost ultraviolet, anxious yet filled with hope. Then, without a word, he threw off his satchel and stretched out his wings.
“Akela?” Jediah gripped his arm. “Akela, what are you doing?”
“Don’t worry, Captain.” A kind smile bloomed across Akela’s face despite the tremor in his voice. It seemed what he was saying he also meant for himself. “I’ll be back.”
He gave no one the chance to respond.
***
Akela rocketed out of the hemisphere. The sky changed from blue to indigo, then indigo to black. Stars stretched into lines. The moon shrank to a period. Red dusted Mars; stormy Jupiter; ringed Saturn; and all other manner of celestial bodies morphed into one cosmic tapestry as he passed, and soon the entire solar system became just another glowing speck in the universe.
Beyond the galaxy’s edge, Akela zipped into a nebulous cloud splashed in watercolor rainbows. He stopped and spun around. For a moment, he floated in the vacuum with his thoughts, his prayers, and the stars for company. As he stared back at the Milky Way, he set aside his cheery disposition. His idea was nuts. Logic couldn’t justify it, but Akela found that fact gave him more hope than anything. God’s great miracles were seldom logical.
“My Lord and King,” Akela said. “I, your servant, have come to this Red Sea—the place where options run dry. Take myself into Your hand... and let what happens come to pass because of You and only You. May it be so. Amen.”
He sucked in a breath. He waved his slim wings in gentle increments and gathered his nerves. “Okay. All or nothing.”
New strength enlivened his system. The Holy fires of God’s Shekinah glory took over. His golden uniform burst into beaming white, and his crystal wings ignited into a pair of burning comets. Akela flew in a grand loop. Then in a deafening clap, he launched at a velocity so high it stung his cheeks. Massive energy blasts boomed behind in his wake. Stars streaked brilliant reds, whites, yellows, and blues.
Akela grunted. He still wasn’t fast enough. “Come on!” he hollered. “Drive me on, Lord! Drive me on!”
His wings buzzed louder, so loud it scared even himself.
The Milky Way’s spirals enlarged. Its jeweled expanse encompassed his vision.
Akela gritted his teeth as a burning sensation ate his wingtips, then spread to the rest of him. His being began dissolving into electric particles, but he hunkered down, threw caution to the wind, and pushed harder. He stretched his hands out ahead of him, forming a spear. A resounding pow blasted his inner ears, and the extra thrust straightened his curls down to their ends.
***
Neck bent back, Jediah cast glances to the others. Something in him feared what was coming.
“Somebody knows what Akela’s doing, right?” Laszio asked.
Nechum wrung his hands. “I have a hunch, but I don’t like to think about it.”
“Wait!” Laszio pointed at a falling star. “Is that him?”
Eran’s eyes widened. “Tell me he’s not.”
Jediah jolted. “He is. Everybody duck!”
A golden comet pierced the atmosphere and bombed the barrier.
Ka-pow!
The shockwave rocked the spiritual atmosphere and reverberated many long seconds afterwards.
Jediah raised his head, as did the others, one by one. A yellow cloud descended and coated them in fine dust. He blinked through it to see the single puncture hole that smashed through the shield’s surface. The cracks multiplied. The weakened dome caved inward like a lilting tent, then collapsed in a heap of fading red glass.
Stunned, Jediah remained stuck in place. He opened a palm to catch the golden rain. It collected softly in his cupped hand, and he rubbed a thumb over the sparkling, evaporating grains. A mournful sheer veiled him.
Akela wasn’t returning any time soon.