Veering to my right, I headed in the direction of Gabriel’s summons. He had informed me about hearing Ariel’s signal. I spotted my long-time companion from a distance; reaching each other, we embraced full of warmth. At the same time, I asked after him.
“I’ve been getting heart-wrenching signals from Ari,” he began. “It’s been giving me such grief. I don’t want to think the worst yet but we should prepare ourselves.”
I understood Gabriel’s grief. For the past five minutes, since being able to pick up the underlings’ voices and heartbeats, I had been receiving earfuls of mixed emotions from them. Emotions of fear, distress and, also, hope. The situation we were in was out of our control, so I remained stoical for Gabriel’s sake.
“The Lord’s in control,” I told my peer.
“What did you see or find?” he asked me.
“Nothing of consequence,” I replied, “until a few minutes ago. I’ve just been able to hear the boys’ voices. I believe we’re now flying over Kandahar.”
Gabriel nodded. “We’ve covered a great distance,” he added. “I believe we’re making good progress. I can just hear Ariel’s pulse. But he seems far away.”
“I praise the Lord He’s guided Ariel to his brother,” I stated. “They have each other. The Lord has said that Ariel will provide him comfort and protection. This gives me hope that our child’s in very good hands. The Lord’s with them both.”
We were flying low over a burial ground, a provincial potter’s field. There, assorted creatures of the night were milling about the sepulchres, lying in wait for someone they might mentally and emotionally torment. These were Satan’s night crawlers that fed on the fear and superstition of the residents who lived nearby and of the labourers who maintained the grounds in the state sinecures.
At the sight of Gabriel and me, the demonic entities hastened to take cover. Some were crawling on all fours as they hurried toward the moss-tarnished monuments that marked the public graves. Others were tunnelling headfirst toward their hideaway within the compact intertwining undergrowths of wild plants. Many were hissing contemptuously at us.
“Look; there goes Meririm,” Gabriel alerted me, pointing at the spirit of the air, “over at the head of that unmarked mausoleum.”
We swooped down on the evil spirit.
“What have you to do with my minions?” the fallen angel, Meririm, demanded. “It’s not the time of their judgment yet.”
“The Lord rebuke you, Meririm,” I pronounced. “And the Lord rebuke your demons. But we’re not here for them. Tell us where your lord, Lucifer, is.”
“You have no authority to demand anything from me, Archangel,” Meririm replied. “Only God compels me.”
“And I am compelling you by the Lord’s authority,” I asserted.
A sobbing cry truncated our conversation. It belonged to an elderly woman. She was crouching beside a freshly laid grave, which was yet to be marked with a headstone. Then, as if longing to accompany whoever it was that was interred beneath it, the old woman began to claw at the dirt. She picked up handfuls of the loose soil and angrily flung the soil at a man standing over her.
Both the woman and the man were septuagenarians but looked two decades older. Their uncovered hands exposed the livid pus-covered boils that were forming mottles of red and purple on the surface of their scabrous skin. The boils might have something to do with their process of prematurely aging.
Both were speaking in one of many dialects that were common to their district. Gabriel and I understood them perfectly.
“Don’t touch me,” the old woman was saying to her companion, pulling back her arm from him. “My boy’s in there and he’s all alone. He’s never been alone before, but he’s all alone. He’s scared and all alone. Can you feel it, man? Can you feel it?”
“He’s gone, Rabia,” the man cried, “maybe he’s at peace now.”
“How is he at peace?” Rabia screamed. “Can you tell me? He’s lying in a stone cold sarcophagus. There’s no warmth. There’s no love. How can he be at peace? He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here.”
She threw back her head, causing her head scarf to tumble to the ground. Her neck was similarly scarred by the boils. But she didn’t seem to care about being exposed – what did vestal modesty mean to a mother overwhelmed by the grief of her only son’s death? She raised her fist to the sky. She waved her fist and pounded the air with it.
“Oh, God, take me,” she screamed angrily. “God, oh God, take my life, too, if You dare. Let me be with my son, if You dare.”
Her screams proceeded in this manner for some time. Out of her lips were her irreverent tirades, mocking God for her afflictions. She was also mocking God for the death of her son. After a few minutes of fruitless bargaining with God to take her son’s place in the grave, she hunched over, defeated, and fell down on her face. Her loud and woeful outbursts of emotions resonating in the air around us.
“See that woman,” Meririm scoffed. “See how she longs for death, how she begs to be consumed by death. See how she curses God. It is so easy for me to give her what she wants. Her entire being is prepared for death. Just a whisper in her ear to encourage her, and she’d willingly let me take her to the place she longs to be.”
Meririm snorted impishly.
I drew out my battle axe and pointed it at the demonic spirit. “Once again, the Lord rebuke you, Meririm. Don’t you dare do anything the Lord your God has not permitted you.”
The woman had started screaming again.
“It’s entirely your fault, Sayyed,” she cussed. This time, she was pounding her fists at the man’s chest. He had already fallen on the dirt beside her. “You killed my son. You killed him. You betrayed him to the leader. I hold you responsible. You’re utterly responsible.”
“I didn’t know,” the old man explained, his face wet with his tears. “I didn’t know. They told me they were only going to put him in jail. They told me they were only going to reform his attitude. I didn’t know they would put Saiful to death for rejecting the leader’s loyalty marker.”
“He did this,” the woman sobbed, “the leader of our New-world Order. He defrauded me of my only son. He did it, but you enabled it. But, there’s nothing we can do. There’s nothing we can do about it – just take a look at our hands. We have the leader’s Mark; we took the vow to be loyal to him, and there’s nothing we can do to avenge the death of our son. This, too, is your fault. You made the decision to accept the Mark. This isn’t a Mark of security, you stupid man. This Mark is a curse, for it marks us for God’s curses. We’re under God’s judgment, do you understand? Look at the boils all over our bodies. Do you still feel the pain of these nasty boils? Night and day, they give me no rest. They laugh at me while they seep of pus. The malodorous pus can never be cleaned up. All of this is your fault, too. You made me take the Mark with you and, now, we’re condemned. The New-world leader promised that we would be given longevity and prosperity if we allowed ourselves to be implanted with his loyalty marker. He swore an oath to increase our life span and standard of living. Instead of long life, we’re plagued with this skin disease, these boils. Instead of prosperity, we’re plagued by poor health. His Mark is responsible for the boils. His Mark has condemned us in the eyes of the God of heaven and earth. We’re both damned under heaven and there’s no turning back. There are no second chances. None. We’re going to die and we’re going to hell, do you understand, old man? We may have escaped the leader’s guillotines, but we cannot escape God’s judgment plagues. And God’s judgment is a thousand times worse. We’re going to die, Sayyed. Do you hear me? We’re both going to die.
“The Christians were right. Remember our neighbours? Remember how they would tell us about Jesus Christ? Remember how you would curse them when they did? Remember also all those Christian converts you betrayed to the court to be prosecuted for leaving our faith? Well, this is why all this is happening to us now. We’re paying for what you did to the Christians. It’s karmic retribution, that’s what it is. We’re paying for not believing them, for cursing them. They were right. The Christians were right all along. They had the truth all along. They had the one and only true God. We don’t. We don’t. We believe a lie. Our god is a lie.”
“Bite your tongue, woman,” the old man chided. “Do you want our god to bring down his wrath on us as well?”
“Our god does not exist, you fool,” the woman scolded back, “or are you still not realizing this? Why do you fear your god? No, do not fear him; instead, fear the God of Israel, the God of the Christians. It is this God that is afflicting us with His judgment of plagues. Does your god come to you when you cry out to him? Does he answer your prayers? Is he now coming to rescue you from the plagues of the God of Israel, the God of the Jews and Christians? Does your god rescue us the same way the God of the Jews and Christians has taken away His faithful, and spared them His hour of judgment? Our god is not the living god. It’s the God of the Jews and Christians that is the true and living God. It is their Messiah Jesus Christ that is the true and living God.
“Oh, just go away, Sayyed, go away and leave me alone. I can’t bear to look at you. If I do, I’d just be reminded of what a failure of a man I’ve married. You failed to protect me. You failed to protect our son. Leave me here to keep my son company. I’m going to die under God’s judgment of plagues, sooner or later, so I might as well die here.”
“Saiful,” the old man sobbed repeatedly. “Oh, Saiful; oh, my beautiful, beautiful son. Saiful, my only child, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
It quickly became apparent to us that the divide between the couple was irreparably determined. The man, Sayyed, was apologizing over and over again. His grief-stricken wife was insensate to his remorse, mouthing reproach and impugning culpability for their son’s death solely at his hands.
I turned from the broken couple. I said to Meririm: “See the destruction Antichrist has caused to households and families. But the time of his judgment is not yet. Now, then, Meririm, I will leave your minions alone, because, indeed, it is also not the time of their judgment. Tell your demons to leave that woman alone as well, for it is not yet the time of her judgment either. The Lord is judging her and her husband, just as He is judging all the earth dwellers who have willingly accepted Antichrist’s Mark. The Lord’s will be done.”
The Fallen One narrowed his eyes and, then, nodded reluctantly. He disappeared from sight. None of his demonic followers resurfaced again from their subterranean hiding places. For now, the invisible forces of darkness were leaving the graveyard visitors to grieve on their own.
Gabriel and I promptly resumed our search for our underlings. While we were high above the clouds, a messenger sent from the Lord materialized in front of us.
“Eight hundred miles west, that way,” the angel Sitael said, pointing the way for us. “You will surely find the angels, Ariel and Mishael.”
 |
| “Eight hundred miles west, that way.” |
We heeded the messenger’s directions, setting course for west southwest. Currents of air whipped around us at a punishing speed.
Gabriel and I would journey for another hour before Ariel’s pulse persuaded us to land on a backwater township. It was a ghost town. As we drew within yards of our underlings, we passed rows of disowned tenement houses, ramshackle spectres of the bank foreclosures of the Global Financial Crisis.
“Behold the white elephants caused by the real estate bubble burst,” Gabriel maintained.
The atmosphere was all at once motivated to complete stillness. I looked at the landscape around me. Nothing stirred or swayed naturally. Not a blade of grass, leaf or wild flower. Not Gabriel’s hair or mine.
Gabriel looked up at the sky, uttering in his temperate voice: “That would be the Lord’s angels withholding the wind from blowing across the earth. It’s another prophetic judgment from the Lord.”
I nodded: “While the wind is being held back, woe betide the nations that rely on it to operate their turbines. We can only guess what that would do to the prices of oil and gas.”
“I hope the boys had been suitably buttressed against the blustery weather earlier,” Gabriel stated. “That was a spiteful wind.”
“They’ve only got what was on their backs last night,” I replied.
“What is this place?” Gabriel asked, arriving at the Devil’s secret hideout.
“Horrid,” I observed, following closely behind him. “The air is thick with the detritus of Lucifer’s sin.”
“And reeks of it,” my colleague nodded.
“Aye,” I nodded.
“There,” he exclaimed not much later, pointing in our underlings’ direction. “There’s Ariel, at the amphitheatre.”
“I didn’t want to move him too much,” Ariel had started explaining from a distance. He was cradling the child on his lap.
I knelt down beside him.
“They broke his bones,” Ariel added. “I didn’t want to cause more damage by moving him. He’s not been able to walk, feel anything in his legs . . . in his feet. I believe there’s been trauma to his spine or neck.”
I caressed the child’s extremely pale cheek. There was no movement from him.
“He’s been unconscious for the last half hour,” Ariel said.
I nodded, putting my hand on the bloody bandage over his eyes.
“They hollowed out his eyes,” Ariel explained.
My heart instantly broke into a million tiny pieces. I got up, feeling a sublime pain in my chest.
Gabriel’s favourite son was all of a sudden raving with lunacy. His face was livid, like the live element of a stove.
“Why would the Lord allow this to happen?” he began to ask Gabriel. Gabriel had collapsed to his knees. “My baby brother can’t see; he can’t walk. They’ve devastated him.”
My heart was in a tumult. I glanced over my shoulder at Gabriel. He was gaping at the child, looking crushed and dumbfounded. He had no answer for Ariel.
Ariel continued: “What was the point of all this? To test his faith? Well, Mish was faithful to the end, but still he had to suffer to this extent. Or was all this to make a point to Lucifer? Right, the Devil has proven once again that all his requests to test the faith of the Lord’s servants are the result of his disdain for the Lord and jealousy of the human race. So what? Isn’t that the same old story?
“Or was all this to make some cryptic point in support of pain and suffering? And what of the Lord’s edict that forbids angels and demons from engaging in any conflict with those of my kind? Was that not written to safeguard us from exactly that which has now befallen Mish? Because the Lord has chosen not to accord us the measure of power that equals that of demons to be able to defend ourselves from them. Why is the Devil permitted to flout the law? Help me make sense of all this. This was not supposed to happen.”
“Take it easy, Ariel,” Gabriel, who was just coming round, persuaded tenderly. “Raving speciously like that isn’t exactly going to help anyone.”
I started now to fear for Ariel’s sanity. I feared for all my angels and, for their sakes, I quickly pulled myself together. I returned to the tormented angel. I clasped his face in my hands.
“You did well,” I told Ariel. “He mightn’t have endured to this point if you hadn’t been here to encourage him, but you can let go of him now. Let me take over. Let me take care of him.”
Ariel was unappeasable – but who could blame him?
“No, you’ll cause more damage if you move him,” he protested. “I thought I made this clear?”
“Let me have him, Ariel,” I urged. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
Ariel relented to my persuasion. “All right,” he said. He uncovered his sibling’s shoulders and exposed the fetters round his neck. He continued: “But only if you first free him of this yoke on his neck and foot. Lucifer confiscated my swords and I wasn’t able to break these chains with only my bare hands. They seem in the control of an unnatural power.”
“It shall be done,” I told him while I drew out my battle axe. Rising above the unconscious child, I brought down my axe on the chains, smiting them with it. Sparks, explosive and blinding, were scattered into the air. Ariel careened his brother’s face in his shirt.
“The Lord is my strength and my shield,” I bellowed at the power within the chains. “The Lord is mighty to help and to save. Come out, whoever you are, for the Lord Jesus Christ rebukes you; come out this instant, and release this child from your burdensome yoke.”
The serpentine spirit, Asmoday, came into view, creeping out of the fetters.
“The Archangel, Michael,” he gibed, flicking his tongue into the air before its forked ends made contact with my nose. “I hadn’t anticipated your coming to the aid of a mortal. This isn’t your usual job description. Haven’t you more crucial tasks to do for the Lord your God, like defending Jerusalem?”
“Once again, the Lord Jesus rebukes you, Asmoday,” I rejoined. On reflex, I swung my axe at the serpent’s protrusile prop. The demonic serpent sliddered out of my reach while he issued a scoffing hiss.
“And I rebuke you,” I added. “It appears your lord, Lucifer, has failed to mention that Mishael is no mere mortal, but is part angel, and one bearing the Lord’s seal of protection. You are in breach of the Lord’s ordinance for you have laid your hands on His servant with intent to cause harm. So now are you ousted and cast to the hollowness of the abyss and there you will remain until the Day of Judgment.”
The evil shape shifter squealed in fear of his judgment, slithering involuntarily into his warren under the ground. Immediately the chains were rent apart, freeing the child’s neck and ankle from their bondage.
I put away my axe. Stooping down beside the child once more, I collected him from his brother, carefully gathering him into my arms. I lightly cuddled his twisted and broken body on my lap.
For a long time afterward, we were stretched out on the Devil’s arid allotments. Gabriel had been silent the entire time, his head buried in his hands. Ariel, who had been weeping earlier, was silent now, his face also wrapped in his hands.
Stunned and numbed, and dazed, wounded and angered; all the worst emotions one could think of prevailed over us all.
“Do something,” Ariel pleaded with me out of the blue. “We have to alleviate his pain at least . . . summon Raphael to heal him. Anything. What are we waiting for?”
I shook my head implacably. “Ariel; Ari, you’re reacting to this exactly like a human being. Now get your act together. This is an order. We have to be patient for I’ve given the Lord my word. I cannot act unless He specifically gives me His orders. The Lord’s will be done.”
He was much calmer after that, but only momentarily. He said in a grim mood: “I pleaded with him not to go too far; I tried to reason with him – with Satan – reminding him that Mish was just a human being, a little one, and defenseless against his demons. But he simply dismissed me. Then again, why should he have listened? He who sanctioned the sacrifice of babies to Molech?”
He proceeded to weep into his hands again.
For Ariel’s sake, because his faith had been frayed, I let my rage overwhelm me. I thought out loud: “Lucifer, you spineless and gutless fiend. You had better not dare show your face around me again. That’s right. You had better run and hide; run and hide, Devil. If I ever find you, I’ll destroy you.”
But I knew these were merely empty threats.
As did Ariel.
“Nice try, but the Devil’s demise will not be by your sword, Michael,” he smiled dolefully.
“No, Ariel,” I replied. “You’re right. For it has been written, from ages ago, that it will be the Lord Himself who will destroy Lucifer when He casts him, once and for all, into the Lake of Fire.”
“Yes,” Ariel nodded, wiping his eyes with his good sleeve. “This takes place after the Lord’s thousand-year reign on earth as King of kings and Lord of lords. The Apostle John describes it in Revelation.”
“Take heart, then, Ariel,” I encouraged him, “and hold on to your faith. For we realize that our trials are but a momentary storm in a teacup. We know that the time will come when the Lord will repay Lucifer. Thus is the Lord’s prophetic Word, which is the bedrock of our hope.”
Ariel nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I almost lost the plot. And I knew better than to suggest that Raphael be summoned to assist us. I do realize that Raphael’s healing powers are only effective as and when the Lord permits.”
“We understand,” Gabriel commiserated compassionately, embracing his underling in his arms. “You were in a state of shock. We all were.”
The Little One’s gentle breathing drew my attention back to him. How peaceful and absent of any pain he seemed. In fact, he hadn’t been feeling any pain for a while. I was handed the knowledge that the Lord’s hand of protection had been upon him all the time.
This notwithstanding, I remained devastated by his injuries.
“Gabriel,” I called out quietly, careful not to awaken the child from his nap. Or coma. I couldn’t be sure which state it was that had encompassed the Little One.
Gabriel came over immediately.
“Go home,” I told him. “Take Ariel with you. Make sure he’s not alone tonight.”
“I’m not leaving without you or the child,” he responded.
“Please just do what I ask, Riel,” I sighed. “Let the child rest here with me for a while longer. I have to think. But I need to be alone to think.”
“All right,” Gabriel politely acquiesced. “I’ll have a helicopter from Xierce dispatched to you, as soon as one is available.”
I shook my head, for no human transportation could match the speed of an angel in flight.
“Time is of the essence,” I replied. “It would take too long for a helicopter to reach us. It only takes one tenth of that time to reach Petra if I could only carry him in my arms and bear us out of here, but the boy mustn’t be moved. Not while there’s uncertainty of the nature and severity of his bodily injuries.”
I added: “Surely the Lord is moving everything possible to conduct our child back to Petra somehow. I must believe this. I must wait on the Lord to reveal His will.”
Gabriel nodded. He started reluctantly to depart with Ariel. But first, he recited a short parting speech for the sleeping child.
“Bring the apple of my eye home alive,” he commanded me afterward. “I expect nothing less from you. God be with you and the child.”
Alone thenceforth with the child, I found myself weeping. I wept for Mishael and for Ariel. I wept for all the angels who must surely know by now what had happened and would be mourning for our beloved one. I was also overcome by a sense of ennui. It was just occurring to me that there was something oddly moribund about this very unnatural place. It made me feel as if I was wading in thick morass. The Lord’s divine will notwithstanding, I knew we couldn’t stay here for much longer: it wouldn’t be much longer before my child succumbed to his injuries.
Only I wasn’t sure how to get us out of here without excessively moving the child and compounding his injuries. And, unless the child could muster enough energy to assume his angelic identity, teleporting us from here was out of the question.
As if in answer to my dilemma, I was given a vision of the Lord crucified as well as the words of Holy Writ.
The chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed.
I had been handed an epiphany. I saw now very clearly what I had neglected to see before: if anyone knew about suffering, it was the Lord. Surely the Lord Jesus, who was scourged and crucified on the cross for the sins of the world, understood it more astutely than anyone else, and must also be grieving more than anyone else. And He, who was the Alpha and the Omega, had given me His word that He had a plan for the child.
The solution out of the quandary we were in had always been at my disposal. It was never up to me to take charge of the situation and come up with the solution; I remembered that the Lord had commanded that I was not to do anything of my own accord but only that which He instructed me. I realized that the Lord had been testing my faith as well, and I had needed all along to make the decision to surrender the child to Him completely in faith.
Clasping my hands together, I prayed: “Lord, I cannot say I understand all of this. I only understand that I have not been entirely faithful to you: I have held back from entrusting the child’s welfare to Your hands. I have relied on my own ability and understanding to save Mishael, failing to realize that You, O Lord, are sovereign over your servant. And I do remember that You have said You know Your plans for your servant, and all Your plans are perfect and right. I commit this child to You. Do what You will with him, O Lord.”
Now you must wait, I heard the order.
A hand reached to my cheek. It was the child, awake.
I let his fingers recognize my facial features. Then, his palm went to my breast to recognize my heartbeats.
“Mika,” he whispered, his fingers on my face again. “I thought it was you I heard. You made it.”
“My darling son. Try not to move,” I advised him.
“Did I do well?” he asked, feeling my tears with his fingers.
“You did very well,” I replied, catching his hand and kissing it. I held down his arms and kept him still. “I’m proud of you.”
The child nodded, a smile of gratification momentarily impressed on his cherubic face. “I love you, Dad,” he whispered.
I stroked his forehead.
He was quiet for a long time after that. Then, he was panicking, as though he had been stirred by a terrible dream.
“Where are we?” he cried, hyperventilating. “Dad . . . where are you? Are we home yet? It’s so dark here. When are we going home?”
I caressed his cheek and hushed him. “We’ll be going home shortly,” I told him. “The Lord has ordered that we wait here just a bit longer. But we’ll get there.”
He sighed.
“Are you in pain?” I asked him. “Tell me where it hurts.”
“Nowhere,” he whispered. “I can’t feel anything except for a mild throbbing pressure around my eye sockets. But I’m so cold. Why am I so cold? I’m supposed to be paralyzed.”
“You’re likely feeling the cold air in your arms and head,” I explained to him. “Your body’s feeble from the blood loss and this may be affecting your core temperature. I’ll put you inside my cloak, all right? It’ll keep you warm.”
I swaddled my son inside my oversized cloak with me. He seemed to draw comfort from my body heat and, after a few minutes, nodded back to sleep. While I cuddled him, I waited on the Lord’s rest, closing my eyes.
Sometime in the night, Gabriel returned to us. Always cognizant of Mishael’s human needs and welfare, he had brought with him analgesics, sustenance and blankets. I opened my eyes at his touch.
“Why are you still here?” I asked him. “Where’s Ariel?”
“I received a word from the Lord to turn back,” Gabriel explained. “Ariel’s returned to base. Don’t be concerned; he’s being looked after.”
“How’s he doing?” I asked.
“Mad . . . shaken. How are you?” he replied, unfurling a blanket.
“Mad, shaken,” I mimicked.
“Take a look at this, won’t you,” Gabriel requested as he was lifting up my cloak.
I observed the child. He started to shift and curl up in a foetal position against my chest, still comfortably wrapped in my arms.
“His legs are moving,” I said, astounded but feeling greatly heartened.
“How’s he able to move with his spine and every bone in his back seemingly shattered?” Gabriel asked, gingerly bundling up the child with the blanket. “You must’ve interceded for a miracle.”
“Perhaps he was never in danger of paralysis,” I opined. “Perhaps the Lord had intervened to numb him from his pain, which the child had speculated was paralysis.”
“And this here,” Gabriel submitted, “is an example of the pitfalls of self-diagnosis.”
We heard the child whimper while we were still speaking. “Between Ari’s maudlin ranting, Mika’s irate cautioning, and Gabriel’s zealous flabbergasting, it’s a wonder anyone can get any sleep,” he grumbled tiredly.
Gabriel planted a tender kiss on his cheek. “Beloved, forgive me for waking you,” he smiled. “I was simply rapt to find you greatly improved.”
The child managed a little smile. Moments later, he was retching. The substance of his vomit was white and thick. Gabriel caught his vomit in time with the blanket that had been tucked under his chin.
“There may be a minor concussion in his head that’s causing the vomiting,” he surmised. He turned to Mish: “It’s all right, Mish, don’t try to resist it. Don’t be frightened; you’re going to be all right.”
The child threw up again. I held his forehead back while he did. I felt the forceful thrust of his body in my hold. When he was done, Gabriel wiped his mouth and chin and, afterward, replaced the soiled blanket with a clean one.
“He’s not going to need that,” I told Gabriel later, nodding at the morphine he was extricating from his belt. “The child’s not in any pain. The Lord has given me His assurance.”
Gabriel discarded the analgesic at my advice. Cradling the child’s head circumspectly, the Commanding General fed him freshly-baked biscuits from Shelumiel and water from a canteen. The water would effectively ease him into his transition out of dehydration. Mish emptied the canteen and, then, appeared roused for some more. Licking his moistened lower lip, he shook the empty canteen, abjectly, next to his ear.
“How are you feeling?” Gabriel asked him.
He nodded: “A lot better. Is there anymore water, Gabriel? I’m only just realizing how parched my throat feels.”
“It’s probably caused by your loss of blood,” the elder opined. “I haven’t brought any more water with me than what was in the canteen; but you’ll have plenty when we get you home.”
Gabriel looked up at me. Prompted by him, I gently kneaded the child’s calves to test him.
“Did you feel that, son?” I asked him.
He nodded.
“Can you get up?” I asked him again.
He nodded again.
I helped him get to his feet. He wobbled and stumbled and, then, shook his head. “I don’t think I can, Dad,” he cried. “My legs . . . they feel so feeble.”
I picked him up. “I got you,” I comforted him, carrying him in my arms. “It’s all right, son. You’re going to be all right.”
Gabriel collected his blanket from the ground and wrapped him in it again.
“Please don’t lose me,” he whispered fearfully, clutching my tunic. “It’s too dark. I won’t be able to find my way home on my own. Not this time.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m not going to lose you, beloved,” I assured him. “Don’t be frightened; I’m here for you. I’m always going to be here for you. We’ll find our way home together.”
I secured him in my arms before turning to Gabriel. “Let’s go home,” I said, readying us for a gruelling flight.
Gabriel and I were in equipoise in the air when a bright light shone on us all. In the blinking of an eye, we found ourselves, not at our garrison in Petra, but at the Lord’s throne of grace. I laid the child on the floor before prostrating myself before the Lord’s Shekinah glory. Gabriel was already lying prone, his forehead touching the floor under him.
The Lord spoke first to me: “Lay My servant, Mishael, before Me.”
Obediently, I picked up the child and laid him on an altar before the Lord God. I returned to Gabriel and prostrated myself once more.
“Mishael,” the Lord said next.
“My Lord, my God,” Mishael answered, his voice small.
“Do you love Me?” the Lord asked him.
“Lord, You know I do,” he replied, “I love the Lord with all of my heart, soul, and mind.”
“Will you always obey My voice and do My will?” the Lord asked next.
“Yes, Lord,” Mish replied.
“Why did you look for Achante Montagna? Did I tell you to do that?” the Lord asked after that.
Mish responded: “No, Lord. But I was worried about her.”
“You listened to the Devil and you became fearful for her,” the Lord Jesus maintained.
Mish nodded: “Yes, Lord. It was a knee jerk reaction. I wasn’t thinking.”
“In other words, you disobeyed. For have you not been taught to do nothing unless I willed it first?” God said to the child.
“Yes, I have,” Mish whispered. “And yes, I have disobeyed. Forgive me, Lord. I was hasty and impulsive, as usual.”
“And so you have learned how the choices you make have consequences,” the Lord God said again. “This time, you have had to suffer greatly because of your disobedience.”
Mish protested boldly: “But, my Lord God, Jesus, I wanted to finish the work You had sent me to begin in Achante.”
“I sent you to tell her about Me so that she would be given a choice. But the Lord your God is He who completes the work of salvation. It is not up to you. Nevertheless, I will increase your strength, power and wisdom because of your faithful stewardship of the tasks I have given you.”
The Lord continued: “I have forgiven you of all your past disobedience and will remember it no more. I absolve you not only because you have been faithful to Me and stood fast on your faith by resisting the Devil’s temptation, but also because I love you. It is also for My own glory that I have saved you and will completely heal you, so that generations after you will hear of My mercy and goodness, and glorify My name.
“Hold fast to your faith, Mishael, for it is this which pleases Me. But learn obedience also from those who love you and are training you to be My servant. For surely the Lord loves an obedient heart. I am now sending you back, for My love and your faith have made you whole.
“Arise, sons of God. I have sent the child back ahead of you. I exhort you both to continue looking after him with your steadfastness and patience, teaching him all that I have taught you and will reveal to you in the days to come. This is My will for you.”
We rose as the Lord instructed. In another blinking of the eye, we found ourselves back at our Headquarters in Petra. I got up from the floor. I quickly looked around for the child. He was lying on top of my desk, gazing on us with his new eyes.
“Well,” Gabriel suggested to me, his arms akimbo, his eyebrows meeting each other in his signature scowl of concern, “one of us should clothe the disoriented one before he catches a cold.”
“I’ve got it,” I answered him, reaching my child at the same time.
The child maintained his gaze on me as I bent over him. I brushed back his tousled bangs. He was docile and reticent, but appeared dazed and wrestling with some difficulty finding his bearings. I was reminded that I, too, had felt awe-struck the first time I was in the Lord’s glory.
“The Lord is great and abounding in mercy,” I worshiped gratefully.
I quietly folded my son into my arms.
“I will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever;
With my mouth I will make known Your faithfulness to all generations.
Mercy shall be built up forever, Your faithfulness You shall establish in the very heavens.
You have a mighty arm; Strong is Your hand, high is Your right hand;
Righteousness and justice are the foundations of Your throne,
Mercy and truth go before Your face.”
The Halfling Kaelan was concluding the first part of the evening’s worship when the ambiance of the angels’ garrison became awash with the opaqueness of twilight’s embrace. I was standing in the middle of my office, my back against the hearth. Tinder and kindling, while still burning, always felt homely and welcoming.
Six hours had gone by since Gabriel and I departed from the Lord’s Shekinah glory. I was presently in the company of the Lord’s angelic warriors. In a display of solidarity for the kindred, heaven’s angels were singing their songs of praise and rejoicing to the Lord for His goodness and mercy toward Mishael. One hymn after another, the hosts of heaven took turns to render their songs a Capella. Qael, full of grace and gratitude, had acted as precentor – in lieu of Gabriel and Uriel – leading in the worship. After that, Uriel, appearing tall and stately, officiated over the rest of the ceremony, beginning with testimonies that the angels improvised as Yah’s Spirit led them. The entire ceremony had been impromptu. Several warriors were leaning forward in their seats, paying close attention to the testimonies.
I caught Gabriel keeping a grim watch over his underlings, Ari and Mishka. Ari’s arm was draped over his sibling’s shoulder. Joining in the celebration late, Mish had slept for about five hours, sleep which he had been in dire need since he’d had some sleep debt to repay. He had been clothed and fed, and he was clear-headed again.
Although he was hidden in shadows, for the chamber we were in was dimly lit, Gabriel’s mood had never seemed less vague: grave because heartbroken about his youngest underling. I knew it was going to take my tender-hearted companion some time to come to terms with everything that had happened to his underling. I considered my colleague’s demeanour with some disquiet, harbouring a growing amount of concern for him: it would be in his nature to sweep his feelings under the rug but, sometime soon, I must have a word with him about them.
There was silence in the room after the testimonies. Answering my mood for self-meditation, I attempted to slip away unseen. I quietly retreated to the porch while all eyes were closed for Uriel’s intercessory prayer. I had needed to be alone for I had been handed discernment from the Lord.
When the Lord exhorted Gabriel and me to look after the child, it was not His parting blessing for us. It was a prophecy.
Mishael’s tests were not over. I was made aware that, in the days ahead, he would be enduring recurring nightmares of his hour of affliction. That, and a sporadic paranoia of being repeatedly made sightless by the extant demons – an unimaginably horrifying and grievous form of mutilation to be inflicted on anyone – would continue to prey on his mental and emotional stability, the former with their residual effects, and, the latter their outgrowing ones. These would surely rattle the foundation of the child’s faith in, and question his love for, the Lord.
I wasn’t certain of the scope of his ability to endure the impending grieving process that must be allowed to take its course for his emotional condition to be restored fully to health; however, I was certain that our child was going to surmount the worst of the crisis and come through victorious in the end.
This was because he had endured so much and was stronger for it. It was also because the Lord was always going to be faithful to him. He had that. And he had my love, as well as the love of all his brothers. He was going to need us more than ever, and we were never going to desert him.
From a big-picture perspective, my prophetic knowledge from the Lord had a happy ending: Mishael was going to be the greatest warrior of his generation, fully tried and tested.
It was with a sense of ambivalence about the future that I left the porch. I lay down on the grass.
Take one problem at a time, I advised myself.
I gazed up at the sky, longing for my home in heaven.
An hour later, the Little One parted from Ariel’s and Gabriel’s embrace to accompany me on the grass. He stretched out beside me and started to ape my behaviour, but in that uniquely endearing manner of his; he was always my very curious and quirky companion. And I had always indulged his human idiosyncrasies – they were innocuous ones for he had been inured to guilelessness from his training in purity.
Gabriel and the rest of the Lord’s angels had respectfully deferred to us, disbanding as the night progressed. I think it was because they recognized my need for some alone time with my pupil. Mishael had been made to endure a lot, not to mention a lot of pain, in the last week, and all I wanted to do now was hold him in my arms.
We never let ourselves forget that although Mish was created a grown-up male with fully mature senses that had the propensity to grasp knowledge much more readily than an ordinary human being, he was still only a babe-in-arms. A child of three years’ experience in, and exposure to, the world, who invariably had a three-year-old’s innocence and naïveté about the world. And an ingenuous attitude toward other people that inadvertently made him vulnerable to risks from those who purposefully meant him harm and destruction. And like all babes, he was dependent on an older person of wisdom and experience to protect him when he was frail and defenseless, instruct him when he was ignorant and uninformed, and nurture him when he was hopeless and fearful. For that was why the Lord had entrusted the Halflings to the care of the elders – to raise them, train them and nurture them, the way any human adult would his child during the latter’s developmental stages.
In an ensuing silence, my child began to look insecure, as if he could sense what was going to be in store for him.
I gently kneaded the top of his head. “Someday, you will also make your home in heaven,” I told him to divert his attention.
I think it worked. He was looking at me and making an effort to smile.
“No more pain, no more tears, no more having to battle the Evil Ones,” he said in a soft voice, recalling his knowledge of the Holy Scriptures.
“No scary demons,” I added for his sake.
His faith visibly flagging, his eyes tearing up slightly, he said: “Heaven sounds absolutely perfect, Dad. I want to believe it.”
Then, he pressed his fists against his eyes, whispering: “I’m sorry. I have to stop breaking down like this. Wicked, wicked tears.”
I gave him my hand: “Come here, my son.”
My son rolled over to me. He snuggled up to my bosom while he gazed up at the stars above us.
“If you need to cry, you just go ahead,” I told him. “There’s no shame in it; none whatsoever. And heaven is perfect. You can absolutely believe it for God has given us His Word. God’s Word does not lie. The Word of God does not lie.
“Remember the words of Scripture: ‘Without wavering, let us hold on to the faith we say we have, for God can be trusted to keep His promise.’”
