The world of rock and sinew was but one star in the endless void, and the Archangel Gabriel flew beyond. He stretched his wings to capture the starlight, flashing through the dark like a comet, and felt the thrum of Chorus Songs against his pinions.
As a sailor navigated by the stars, he flew by the Song.
There was the silver moon of Yesod, its music the slow drumbeat of Foundations on eternal march, and beyond were other spheres. An angel could spend eternity on any of them, learning the nature of worlds spun from Light, and perhaps find contentment far from the bustle of humanity.
Not the life for Gabriel, though.
Not for the one who bore the burden of Archangel.
He would return to Malkuth and the daughter who awaited him as fast as wings could carry him.
He skimmed the notes of Tiferet, center of all roads, and raised his voice in recognition to the Chorus there. Beauty and balance, strength and compassion, the straight road to the Black Gate.
The Song echoed in return, bidding him to stay and drink of the well.
He need only release his hold on coarse burdens, part his lips, and sing…
Instead, Gabriel soared deeper. Or higher. Or farther. Frames of reference tended to lose meaning as one escaped the gravity of the mortal world. Time began to blur at the edges, minutes skipping like lost frames of a movie. The concept of a foot and a mile crumbled; instead, he flew the gap between the child and the man, the years between the loving father and the intemperate drunk, and the blink of the eye between the fresh soldier and the killer.
In this galactic metaphor, he flitted through asteroid fields born in the shattering of planets. By another sight, perhaps these were fields of twisted trees or endless gems strung in a spider’s web. One way or another, though, they were garbage now. Memories, detritus, discarded by souls on their purifying journey to heaven.
Only gold passed through the Gate, after all.
Certain memories trailed after him, attracted to his light. As Archangel, he attempted to hold a distant compassion for all of mankind. As Gabriel Mishkan, though, he now knew the keen, painful love of a father.
New paths and new weaknesses.
He disentangled himself from their orbit by collecting his emotions with a janitor’s care. Tucking away the visions of Alisandra like photos in his pocket. Allowing the fate of elections and nations to fall aside.
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A vision reared before him: a grubby youth in a muddy trench; blood stained across the stock of a misfired rifle; a body beneath the boy’s knees still warm. The boy wore one uniform; the body wore another. None remained who would have known where each flag flew.
Ah, but that was only his own baggage. Easily recognized and tucked away in the back of his mind with so many other sins.
A wandering mind could lead terrible places in the void, and he steered away from recollections of war. Of Eden. Victory and splendor were all well and good, but he sought the compassionate walls of great Eleos.
After some time, perhaps a week or a year, the proper path rose unbidden, and Gabriel caught the current with tipped pinions.
An intemperate drunk has grown old. His adult son was the one to make the first overtures. Alone together in a bar, the father confessed the memories of war that drove him to destroy himself. Admitted that he was rotten as his liver, no fit father for any son.
“Perhaps not,” the son said, “but I’d know you anyways.”
At the end of that memory, Gabriel found Chesed.
He perceived this sphere as a moon colony: a great glass bubble raised from a cratered, barren surface. A landing pad blinked beneath him, awaiting shuttles, and radar dishes rotated to scan for approaching vessels.
“My mother did warn me about reading too much science fiction,” he chuckled, landing with a jaunty hop. “Doubtless she would want me to see the spheres as something a touch more holy. She never did appreciate laser guns and rubber suit aliens.”
Dozens of unlocked shuttles lined the landing pad, each fueled and ready for flight. There were no sentry turrets and no masked soldiers. The airlock required no password, and a set of small LED lights helpfully led the Archangel to the entryway.
A small halogen light greeted visitors with a single word.
Mercy.
This was a prison with no cells and no walls. How could walls hope to hold anyone in this land where a moon colony could be a jungle could be a volcano? A trifling shift in imagination would render the highest walls to dust.
No, the only true prison was the self, and the key that bound this place was contrition.
Freedom would come for those who bowed their heads to greater Powers.
Deep within the colony, klaxons began to blare, and computerized voices rose in concert.
“Warning. Biological threat active.”
“Warning. Unknown life force detected.”
“Warning. We will eat your eyes last.”
Gabriel stopped just before the word of Mercy, pulled his hands from his pockets, and kneeled.
“Will you greet me?” he prayed.
Would the creatures within acknowledge a higher Source if it meant they could sink their manifold teeth into the Archangel?
The klaxons resounded in red fury, rage edged in impotence.
“I pray that one day you will embrace this Light.”
Hundreds of prisoners raised curses against the names of God and Archangel both.
“When you are ready, I will be waiting.”
Now came the threats, explicit in their plans.
“Is that so?” He rose, dusting his knees. “If you find a way to reach my dear Alice, we have larger problems than echoes of Eden.”
Ah, but reaching Eleos was the easy part…
“Now then. Which of you threatens to bring darkness to my home?”
Tucking his hands into his pockets once more, the Archangel entered the airlock.