"Annihilation, Chapter 18" by Jane Lebak

Chapter 18

Remiel lay on her stomach in an Earthly field, sketching in charcoal. The black pencil swept over the rough paper, framing out the young mountains in their sleepiness against the sky. Already she'd rendered the craggy hills gouged out by the rains while being shoved upward by the plates beneath. She began outlining boulders and brush when Saraquael arrived.

"That's striking."

Remiel didn't answer.

Saraquael touched the captive bead ring in her helix. "Michael had told me you'd be staying solid for a while, so you could go back and get a rook to capture a pawn."

Remiel chuckled. "Something. I changed my mind."

"You still can. I'll blind him to how healed-up you are."

She closed her eyes. "Thanks."

"It's no problem."

"Uriel threw me out of Gabriel's room."

Saraquael shrugged. "Uriel won't let me in either."

Remiel continued sketching. "It's maddening. Gabriel looked okay."

As a shudder ripped through Saraquael, Remiel looked up in panic: had Gabriel seemed that bad before? And when Saraquael averted his eyes, it was Remiel's turn to shudder.

"But it'll be okay now," Remiel said. "I didn't kill him."

"It wouldn't have been your fault regardless." Saraquael touched her hair with a wingtip. "He was asking after you. He's concerned that you went down there to get him."

Remiel's eyes stung. She rubbed them with the back of one hand so she didn't get charcoal on her cheeks. "Tell him to take care of himself before he bothers about me."

"Will do. But third-hand. I can tell Michael, who tells Uriel, who tells him."

Remiel's wings lifted a little. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? I wouldn't hurt him."

"I think that's the point," Saraquael stood. "We might hurt him without meaning to. Even Raphael isn't allowed in there any longer."

Remiel shook her head. "You'd think he'd be the one best able to fix it if he did harm him."

"You would," Saraquael said, and vanished. Remiel finished her sketch.

She rubbed the charcoal dust on her hand. "He asked about me."

He loves you, God replied.

"Maybe he was upset by the way he saw me. I'd probably have been upset if I saw myself that way too." She cut herself short, still trying to rub off the black dust on her hands.

Come to me.

She scoured at her hand, then grabbed a fistful of dew-covered grass and rubbed with that, only smearing the black.

"God, it won't come off," she whispered. "What's the matter with me?"

Black-stained fingers. Hands inserted into Gabriel's heart. Come to me. I'd hate seeing me like that too.

Shaky, she tried to wipe the tears away, but the charcoal smeared on her cheeks.

Her wings spread as if for battle. Come.

"Ridiculous," she said, her voice high-pitched. "It's just charcoal. It's nothing else. Just my hands."

She flashed to a stream and plunged in her hands, watching the black swirl away in the white froth. She dunked in her face, smearing away the coal dust and the tear tracks, stinging her pierced ears. She kept scooping up water and startling herself with the chill.

Come to me. Always that nugget of doubt. A good thing or a bad thing. Come to me. Not even Camael was that twisted. Mine. Mine.

Remiel plunged her whole head under the water, wrapping her fingers in her hair and letting the water flood her ears, her mouth. She kept her eyes closed, then wrenched herself out of the water, kneeling on the stream bed with liquid chill coursing between her wings. Her hands were clean.

Sweeping the field with one long glance, she found it different, saw a field from a young Earth when the Lord had separated the light from the darkness. Her eyes dilated with the watching.

A rocking explosion threw her to the ground and unleashed holy light on all Creation—offended light. Remiel—Irin—shook for a moment before she raised her upper body to look around.

Hundreds of her species, bleeding, tired, shocked, scared, horrified by Lucifer's denial of the divine sovereignty and his refusal to worship the Word.

"Father?" She quivered as she had that day. "Father, what's going on?"

They'd fought hard, the angels that had rallied around the one minor Archangel with the broken sword who'd had the courage to prefer pain to apostasy, but then God had intervened directly.

Irin watched Lucifer with the light flushed from his spirit; she watched Michael, uncertain but driven by justice to answer the angels' need for a leader. Irin struggled to her feet, gasping, and lifted her sword, watching the field for her brother Irin. She called to him, and then he met her eyes.

But he was not Irin.

Fear petrified her heart as she met this avatar, a reflection with a dark twist, and groped with her senses to find God, to know if she were the one who had failed Him. She probed to find that twist inside herself, terrified but determined to learn. She locked eyes with the other Irin, longing to meet him, wanting him to join her, needing him to be complete. He grinned, pleased with his independence, gesturing that she should come with him now. She loved her brother so much that she almost did.

But she loved her Father more. She needed Him more. He called her Shêli, "my own."

But her brother was herself, and if his destiny lay in Hell, then so must hers.

No sound or movement remained in Irin, whose whole person trained on the other Irin while the bustle of angels recovering from God's strike roared around her. She watched, because Irin means Watcher, and he watched her in return.

"I loved you," said Irin. "Come and be mine."

"I love God," said Irin. "Stay and be His."

She ran to him, clutching him tightly and clenching her eyes. His pulse raced beneath her ear, and she heard in it the echoes of her own, but in a rhythm that rapidly differentiated.

"Please," she said, wrapping her fingers in his wings. "Please, you're me. Don't leave me. Stay with God for me."

"We've chosen."

"I'll go in your place," said Irin. "If one of us has to satisfy Justice, then let it be me. I'll do it for you." She wrapped herself against him, her hair so much longer and blonder than it would be in the future when she chopped it short and shot her body full of holes. "I'll burn for you if you want it, but I can't leave you alone forever."

Irin had locked his eyes with hers, holding her with his will as if he could damn her despite herself, and Irin clutched her brother's arms with the equally futile urge to fasten him to God's heart even though he was rebelling. In that moment she knew: no force, no argument, no tears could keep him. He could return her every appeal simply because if it had occurred to her then it had occurred to him simultaneously. She knew she was right, and she also knew that he knew he was right. Weakened, she dropped to her knees, but he had done the same, and they hugged, she knowing every moment with more certainty that never again in all time would she hold him against her heart.

The twins let go at the same moment and fled to their lords, she to her Father and he to his master.

She saw herself drop like molten rock from Heaven, Satan plummeting in a lightning streak at the forefront of the fallen.

She doubled over.

Piercing the silence were screams, her own, only her own.

Hands on her back, touching her wings, her arms, concerned and strong, whichever angels stood closest. "It's one of the Irin." "One of them fell." "Which one?" "I don't know—they're the same."

"Which one?" Irin asked, the words swallowed in her own incomprehensible sobs. "Was it me? Did I fail?"

From the smell of orchids in the wings nearest her, she realized Uriel rocked her gently. Tenderly despite the Throne's own tears, Uriel comforted her. And Uriel loved God.

"Remiel," God had named her, "come to me."

The Irin standing in a field populated by figments only she could see raised her head and looked into a Vision unchanged since that day. She watched the Vision until she decided she must not be the one who fell. She remained Remiel.

Remiel, come to me, rang through her head.

Remiel didn't register that the battle scene faded to leave her alone in a field with a ruined sketch. She stared, stiff-legged, into the glory of the sun, her wings straight back. Her gold eyes reflected the distant leaping flames, and she grinned broadly.

"I can touch heartstrings too," she whispered to her fiery reflection.

Come to me.

Oh, I'm coming for you.

She passed through the Guards with no difficulty at all; she imagined no Guard would ever hold her again. "Gabriel," she called, her voice more serpentine than angelic, "Gabriel, come watch."

She shook the water from her hair, then finished materializing in a room with a very startled Camael.

Gabriel awoke to Remiel's voice, and he felt the added resonance he shouldn't have of an angel immediately post-winnowing, raw and wild. She wasn't sane—the fact that her voice had penetrated the Guard would have told him that anyhow. She knew how to annihilate, and her brother was trapped.

Gabriel realized in shock—he was alone. Alone in a Guarded room. He couldn't call for help.

He reached for God, wordlessly begging for strength.

Gabriel pushed himself upright, endured a momentary panic, then held the wall for support.

Remiel had her fingers in his heart, trying to drag him out of the room. Gabriel released himself and felt her grip him, hoping her insanity would enable her to pull a sane angel through a Guard the same way she could force herself.

Look at me, God said, and Gabriel changed his focus to the Vision.

He felt himself change again, a different place. Where was he? No—God—he could see God so it was all right. He was somewhere. He was…here. Windows. A simple room. Cold. It was frigid.

Remiel had Camael pinned to the wall, her will binding his hands and feet, her blade at his throat. She didn't even turn to Gabriel once she had him inside.

Camael struggled, and Remiel said, "I was in the room when Satan destroyed a friend of mine, and I learned. I'm as smart as you are, Watcher."

Gabriel leaped for her, knocking her a step away from Camael, but she spread her wings and kept her balance even as Gabriel utterly lost track of where he was. He collected himself in time to see her eyes showering with sparks. Grabbing her sword blade with one hand and the hilt with the other, she blasted her power at Gabriel. "Just watch! I'm doing this for both of us!"

Gabriel hit the far wall and crumpled.

"Stop her!" Camael was screaming.

Gabriel tried to call for Michael and couldn't make the words form.

He pushed back to his feet, keeping in mind what he needed to do without caring where he was, then sent as much protest to Remiel as he could. In that moment, both Irin looked right at him.

Camael went white. He tried to recoil into the wall.

Remiel said, "I'm ending it now," and she unleashed all her fury at Camael.

Gabriel mustered whatever power he could and blasted Remiel, who deflected it with one hand. She had so much energy that she didn't even bother taking her eyes off Camael as she did it. Then, as Gabriel watched, she reached into Camael's heart and pulled. The room rattled. Camael's spine arched, and he screamed.

Unable to rise from the floor, Gabriel erupted with protest.

Jesus appeared on the other side of her and said, "Remiel, stop!"

She dropped where she stood, and Jesus caught her over one arm.

Camael was breathing heavily, head slung down, but glaring at him all the same. Jesus glared back at him, and in another moment Camael too had crumpled.

Jesus turned to Gabriel, who hadn't risen from the corner. "Rapha'li," he called, "to me."

Raphael appeared, took in the whole scene, and rushed to Gabriel, the healing glow already marshaled. He flooded the Cherub, who flinched at the touch. "Michael! Uriel! I need you immediately!" He turned to Jesus. "Lower the Guard so I can get them inside!"

Gabriel raised his arms to anchor himself against Raphael.

"What's going on?" Raphael was shouting at Jesus. "What is he doing here? I can tell she was throwing power like crazy a minute ago!"

Michael and Uriel were there then, and Gabriel felt Uriel trying to lift him away from Raphael. He tightened his grip, but Michael disentangled him. Gabriel kept his eyes tightly closed, only listening.

"Rapha'li, take care of him."

"And what about her? She's utterly spattered with parts of him!"

Seraphic fire, all those sweet Seraph vibrations. Gabriel opened—

"Gabriel, no!"

Suddenly all the Seraph fire was gone, leaving Gabriel grasping for nothing.

"Thank you." That was Uriel's voice.

"Not a problem." Jesus's voice. "Rapha'li, you help him. Trust me to take care of her."

A lurching, and Gabriel felt himself moved, but the room still felt the same, felt freezing. Don't look. Where was he? Raphael… Remiel…

"How much damage did she do?"

"I can't tell. He's not sounding out." Raphael's touch suffused him. "He's out of tune inside, and he's hemorrhaging energy. The healing won't stick."

Gabriel tried to reach for him, lost track of where he was in the world, and desperately sought for the Vision.

God remained. God was strong.

More words, now just sounds and vague impressions of concern, and Gabriel drifted away. Why were they so sad and scared? He was with them, so he must be safe. They were strong. God was strong. He ought to help them with whatever it was, but so dark, so warm, so easy to let go and let the tides carry him.

Thoughts like a spotlight forced into his mind, riveting him. "Stay with us," a voice said, and another, "Think—you've got to focus," and a third, "You're going to have to do it again."

Gabriel tried to block the light, tried to retreat from the sound.

A fourth voice, the one Gabriel loved, said, "Stay with them, Gabri'li." Then, "Reach for me."

Gabriel marshaled all himself and extended himself, and in that moment torn by the tides and enshrouded in fog, he felt prayers and wills locking him in place. "We don't have a choice," said one of them—Uriel. "I have to go back in right now."

Jane Lebak wrote her first book at age three, in magenta crayon, on green-bar computer paper. Her writing has improved since 1975, but the passion remains.

Jane's first accepted novel was signed by Thomas Nelson in 1993 when she was 20 years old, enrolled in the English and Religious Studies programs at Cornell University. The Guardian, a fantasy about angels, was published under the name Jane Hamilton the next year when she was enrolled in an MA writing program at SUNY Brockport. It sold 23,000 copies plus 5,000 copies of a Crossings Book Club edition, before being declared out of print.

Jane got married in 1995 and delayed her publication goals to begin her family, but she never stopped writing. She has had short fiction published in Catfantastic IV, Dragons, Knights and Angels, The Sword Review, and Liguorian Magazine, among others, and nonfiction published in Chicken Soup For The Cat Lover's Soul, Holding Hands With God, Byline, Celebrate Life Magazine, Mothering Magazine, and several more. Numerous humor pieces have appeared in The Wittenburg Door and in The Compleat Mother. Although Thomas Nelson insisted she change her maiden name, she now publishes under her married name.

For more information visit < www.mindflights.com >. The above items appear as part of Volume 1, 2008, Issue 1.

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Seven Archangels: Annihilation

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