Fic: A History of Heaven (Gabriel/Various Angels, PG-13 for this chapter) 41/59
For full notes and other chapters, please see the Masterpost.
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 3,151
Chapter Summary: Azazel’s angels have been wiped out of Heaven, but Gabriel’s been sent to deliver some powerful rings.
CHAPTER 41:
Hello, War
Years passed, as years tended to do. Michael moved swiftly, flashing through Heaven with a list of names ripped from Azazel and Alastair's minds. The identified traitors had been cast down to Earth, their separated grace flung deep into the ocean where no human could reach. There was no way any of the fallen angels could recover their grace and return to Heaven. Wingless and without memories, all of the fallen angels were born to perfectly ordinary humans throughout the world. Gabriel tapped one of his garrisons to keep an eye on them, just in case, but his precautions seemed unnecessary. After five years, none of the fallen had even the slightest recollection of Heaven. Gabriel eventually reassigned his garrison to more pressing matters.
Heaven itself was recovering. Michael was giving his own orders again, but he still hadn’t appointed a new second. He frightened all the younger angels constantly, having apparently given up on unnecessary in-between movements altogether. Raphael was back to leading his choir as well. Gabriel returned to his own choir, though he still gave his brothers a hand when they needed one, as Sammael once had. Right now, he was helping Raphael repopulate the Borderlands with substance, weaving the stuff of Heaven and Earth together to patch over the gaping Void.
“Over, under, over, under,” Raphael called, as Gabriel dipped and rose, dragging solid fill behind him.
“I know how to weave,” Gabriel shot back, twisting around the warp threads they had laid earlier. It wasn’t like they were creating any sort of complex pattern. They just needed to close the nothingness so their younger brothers could pass through this part of the Borderlands without fear of death.
“Then move faster.” Raphael flew along the woven section, sealing the gaps between warp and weft. “At the speed you’re moving, you must forgive me for assuming you need to think about each step.”
Gabriel growled at Raphael and pointedly slowed down his flight even further, just to irritate his brother. There was no rush to their work, other than the desire to get it done so they didn’t have to worry about it any longer. Heaven was at peace. Earth was running smoothly. The Borderlands were quiet. None of the Archangels had any pressing urgencies they needed to deal with.
Gabriel.
Tightness in Gabriel’s head accompanied his name, and Gabriel stopped where he was, hovering as he pressed his hands against his temples, trying to equalize the pressure. Coming! he answered back, and the weight immediately lifted.
“Gabriel?” Raphael had his head cocked to the side, lightly massaging his chest with two fingers where Lucifer had punched open a hole. This was where Gabriel’s grace was still strongest in him, and it was very likely resonating with the presence of God.
“Dad’s calling,” Gabriel explained, tossing his filler to Raphael. “I have to run. If you can’t finish this on your own, knot it up. I’ll come back later.”
Before Raphael could respond, Gabriel spread his wings and shot toward Heaven as fast as he could. When Father summoned, He was not to be kept waiting. Gabriel burst through the eastern quadrant and shot straight toward the Garden, eschewing the Axis Mundi for a shortcut through Raphael’s fields. He always flew through Heaven physically when summoned by God, even though he could reach Him faster by folding his grace through the realm. His brothers’ spirits were lifted when they saw visible proof of God’s presence in their lives. The golden-winged Messenger flying through Heaven was one of the most obvious tells.
The Garden was a garden today, and Metatron was sitting by a little brook, his ever-present tablet and pen in his hands. Gabriel ruffled his golden wings in annoyance at his little brother. God was never without Metatron these days. Gabriel hadn’t been alone with his Father since the war.
Metatron didn’t seem to notice Gabriel’s irritation. Instead, he just beamed up at his older brother, his silver wings spreading open in greeting. “Hello, Gabriel! It’s been awhile!” His fear of Gabriel the last time they met had apparently evaporated. Gabriel wouldn't be surprised if the irritating Cherub hadn't genuinely forgotten. He seemed the sort to have the attention span of a gnat.
“Father summoned me,” Gabriel informed Metatron, lifting his chin slightly. Was Metatron ever summoned by God, or did he just sit here and wait for their Father to decide to bother with him?
“Oh, yes, probably about the lock!”
“Lock?” Gabriel hadn’t heard anything about a lock, and he immediately hated himself for revealing his ignorance to the Cherub.
Metatron’s smile grew wider, and he flipped through his notes. “Yes, yes, Father’s been working on a lock for Lucifer’s cage. He says that someday, Lucifer will be freed, but the cage might be needed again. After the seals are broken, there needs to be a way to close it again. See, here, I wrote a bit about it.”
Gabriel glanced at the paper Metatron hopefully offered up at him. The sigils scrawled across the paper were unfamiliar to him, as strange and alien as Lucifer’s warding had been. Gabriel recognized Lucifer’s name and nothing else. A nudge of fear pulled at Gabriel’s heart, and he purposely turned away from the Cherub. “I would hear it from Father Himself.”
Metatron was writing in a script unknown to Gabriel, the Messenger, who knew all languages, all that once existed, all that existed now, all that would one day exist. Lucifer had done the same. How could there possibly be languages that Gabriel did not know? He could speak with the Kraken under the sea, and the wraiths that swam through the Borderlands. Gabriel could roar with the dragons and whisper with the wind, but he could not read the words his brother had written.
You should not spurn your brother so.
“Father!” Gabriel turned instantly to the presence of the Lord, dropping to his knees and shielding his head with his wings. Beside him, Metatron did the same, tucking his silver wings around him. At least Metatron still knew how to show respect to their Father. “I was summoned by You, for Your orders.”
It was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth, and Gabriel knew his Father knew it. He closed his eyes, his wings tense under his Father’s scrutiny. Surely Father understood that he couldn’t show weakness to a Cherub, of all angels!
This was exactly what Barachiel had been talking about, Gabriel realized. The Archangels were perfect and unrelatable because they did not allow the younger angels to relate to them. Gabriel cringed at the thought, but he felt his Father’s focus lighten.
I have items for you to deliver, Messenger. Metatron.
The Cherub nodded, hastily pushing himself to his feet and reaching into the brook. Gabriel lifted a wing to watch Metatron fumble among the smooth stones, curious despite himself.
Metatron pulled three rings from the brook, offering them to Gabriel with both hands. Gabriel slowly straightened up, accepting the rings from Metatron.
One ring was pure gold, perfectly round and unblemished, yet angry to the touch. The second was silver, engraved with curling designs and set with a black stone that tugged at something within Gabriel, making him feel empty inside. The third ring, also silver, was already tarnished around its green stone. Gabriel could make out the shape of wings on the sides, and his own wings felt heavy, a dull ache infusing his spirit.
“These are… powerful,” Gabriel muttered, pressing his free hand against his forehead. Had the Garden gotten colder, or was it just him? “What…” Words. Words were hard. Why were they hard? “What are…?”
Metatron plunged his hands back in the brook, rubbing them together fiercely under the slow-moving water. God reached forward to touch both angels. As soon as His presence brushed Gabriel, the effects of the rings lifted.
These are the keys to the cage that holds Lucifer. Breaking the seals we set can free your brother, but renders the cage useless. These four rings can reclose it.
“These… four?” Gabriel looked at the three rings in his hand, and he could feel his Father’s amusement as he recounted them.
I have already delivered the first Myself. Death does not take pleasure in interacting with lesser beings.
Gabriel would have bristled with offense at being called lesser if God had named any creature other than Death. That thing gave him the creeps. It existed Outside. The angels weren’t exactly sure what Outside was, but they believed Outside was where God had originated (because surely even He had to have a beginning). Death could come into their universe, but Death was not a creature of their universe. Death was older than Michael and saw even him as tiny and insignificant. Gabriel had seen Death a couple times, but they had never spoken directly. Gabriel preferred it that way. If Death had one fourth of the key to Lucifer’s cage, it wouldn’t open anytime soon.
“Where should I deliver the other three?”
You’ll know them when you find them.
“Helpful,” Gabriel drawled, rolling the smooth gold ring between his fingers before tucking them all into his spirit for safekeeping. “Not even a hint, Father?”
They are on Earth.
“That’s it?”
God vanished instead of answering.
Metatron lowered his wings and picked up his pen again. “He does that a lot. I wish He didn’t.”
“He’s Father,” Gabriel said, defending God even though he was also irritated at his Father’s refusal to ever give a straight answer. “He can do whatever He wants.”
“Yes, but would it kill Him to say good-bye?”
Gabriel gave Metatron a dry look before spreading his wings and flashing out of existence without a good-bye of his own. It was rude, yes, but the little Cherub was irritating. It all evened out in the end.
“On Earth” could mean anywhere, so Gabriel first stopped in to a Celtic village in the north to pick up his vessel. Suros, the man he had worn during the final showdown between Michael and Lucifer, was old now. He sucked on his teeth as Gabriel spoke to him, finally agreeing to allow the angel in if it meant his knees would stop aching. Gabriel slipped into the elderly man easily. The man’s body was already stretched out and broken in. Nothing pinched or squeezed Gabriel’s spirit here.
Gabriel honestly had no idea who he was looking for. He slipped the three rings into a pouch Suros wore, rolling them in his fingers. They gave no indication of which direction their masters might be in. The Archangel shrugged and spread his wings, heading south. Just about everything was south of Suros’ village.
In Rome, Gabriel accepted some lemons from a vendor and nibbled on the sour fruit as he wandered the garden of the Theatre of Pompey. He had blessed the merchant in exchange for the food, and then immediately wiped the man’s mind of their transaction. It was better not to be remembered. The man would have a string of exceptional good luck this week, and would certainly make enough extra money to cover the loss of this fruit.
Gabriel loved to eat. Sweet foods were his favorites, but he loved everything that had a strong taste of any kind. Lemons made his mouth seize involuntarily, and it was such a human reaction that he couldn’t help but revel in it. He popped another segment of lemon into his mouth and sucked the juice out of the fruit before swallowing the remains.
“Try this, grandfather.” A Roman, younger than Suros, offered Gabriel a honey cake. The angel smiled at the man, sucking the last of the lemon juice from his fingers before accepting the treat.
“Thank you,” he said, lifting it to his face to sniff the cake. Smells were another wonderful thing about humanity. Angels didn’t have a sense of smell. They could understand odors existed, but unless they made an effort, they remained oblivious to them. Angels had other senses tied to their grace that made smelling unnecessary. In his human vessel, Gabriel relished the smells that added a new layer of color to the world.
“Are you going to the sport today?” the Roman asked, nibbling his own honey cake. “Decius Brutus has provided gladiators for our entertainment.”
“That was nice of him,” Gabriel commented, finally tasting the treat and grinning at the sticky sweet honey on his tongue. He could easily understand the thrill of the gladiatorial combat that the Romans favored. There was something pure and basic about a fight that little else could compare to. “Perhaps I will. I’m looking for someone. Several someones.”
“Several someones will probably be at the theatre!” the Roman laughed. “I hear Caesar himself might show. He is at the Senate today.”
Gaius Julius Caesar was a name all of the Earth-focused angels knew. The man was the dictator of the Roman Republic, one of the most powerful human civilizations on the planet. He was immensely popular among the citizens of the Republic, except for the already high-powered aristocracy.
He was also, Gabriel realized, approaching the theatre. Gabriel’s companion was staring hungrily at the dictator, his honey cake fully devoured. Gabriel nibbled another piece off of his, looking between the dictator and the Roman beside him. This wasn’t ordinary hero worship shining in the man’s eyes. This was anticipation.
A group of Romans were approaching Caesar, waylaying him before he could enter the Theatre. One was trying to push a petition into his hands. Others crowded around the pair, cutting off escape. Caesar was waving away the petition, but the petitioner abandoned it to grab at Caesar’s clothes. Another man behind the dictator drew a knife. Caesar turned to grab his arm, and suddenly all the men around him were pulling knives from their togas.
Gabriel snapped his fingers. Time stopped.
“That was uncalled for!”
The Roman standing beside Gabriel was glaring at him now, an ugly scowl on his face. “Do you realize what’s about to happen here!? That took ages to set up!”
Gabriel blinked at the man and snapped his fingers again. The man still didn’t freeze. He folded his arms instead. “I take it you’re not human.”
“Apparently, neither are you,” Gabriel answered. An ordinary human would have been locked in place with the rest of time. Even proximity to Gabriel wouldn’t have spared this man from having his life paused. “What are you?” The man didn’t feel unusual, but he certainly wasn’t an angel.
“I’m that,” the man answered, nodding toward the scene on the steps of the Theatre. “I’m conflict. I’m hostility. I’m aggression.”
“Ah.” Gabriel cocked his head to the side, then licked the fingers of his right hand free of honey and slipped them into Suros’ pouch. “I am the Messenger of Heaven.” One of the rings felt warm to Gabriel’s touch. He pulled out the plain gold ring. “I believe this is yours.”
The Roman held out his hand, accepting the ring from Gabriel. He held it up to the sun, squinting at the unblemished circle, then slipped it on his finger. A wicked smile curved across his face as he held up his hand. “Oh yes,” the man declared. “I’m War.”
“War?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow, looking the man over. One could argue, he supposed, that War was an entirely human concept. The angels didn’t war until after humanity had been created, and it had been humanity that triggered Lucifer’s displeasure with Heaven. It made sense for War to appear as a perfectly ordinary human. “Okay then. Nice to meet you. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find others like you?”
“I’ve got three siblings,” War said with a smirk. “Try places in trouble. Places without food. Places without health. Places of death.”
“Death already has his ring,” Gabriel said quickly, “but thanks. That’s… actually more helpful than my Father was.”
“You can let that go to repay me,” War answered, gesturing to the assassination attempt. “Took me ages to get that right!”
“Caesar is a very important man,” Gabriel argued. “If he dies like this-”
“Then the Republic falls into a series of bloody civil wars as everyone tries to fill the power vacuum,” War answered. “It will be glorious.”
Interfering with human politics was generally frowned upon by the angels, but human politics had already been interfered in if War had actually been pulling strings. Gabriel sighed and rolled his neck, shaking out his arms. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Time was fluid. Humans didn’t realize it. They couldn’t see it. Humans were dragged along in Time’s current, moving from point A to point B without any effort, without any chance of returning to point A. Angels were not bound by such arbitrary rules. Angels could swim through time in any direction, though it took more effort to go against the current. In general, they let themselves be pulled along in the flow of Time, but at any point, they could fly into the past, or slip sideways into alternate timelines. Some of the stronger angels, the first-class Seraphim and the Archangels, could fast-forward Time and see into the future.
Gabriel stepped sideways, shifting into a timeline where Caesar wasn’t assassinated here, where War did not interfere in his life. He raced ahead, getting flashes and glimpses of a future that could be. Caesar’s survival did not remove the threat of war from Rome. The Republic pushed into the East, as Caesar fought against Parthia, but unrest was brewing at home. Even without War’s direct influence, Caesar’s “friends” in the Senate wanted him dead. With Caesar away and unavailable, accidental deaths from mysterious circumstances started happening to a lot of his close family and friends. When a young man named Octavian “fell” to his death, Gabriel stopped and hopped sideways again, back to a timeline where Caesar had died. Octavian survived in this timeline, succeeding Caesar and claiming the title of Emperor for himself. The Roman Republic transitioned into the Roman Empire under Octavian’s firm hand, and Gabriel had to admit he was impressed by what he saw. Pax Romana, they called it. If for no other reason than Octavian’s life, Gabriel would stand back as Caesar was assassinated.
Releasing his concentration, Gabriel let Time fling him back to where he had been when this all began, standing beside War outside the Theatre of Pompey. War was waiting, his arms folded, thumb rubbing against the new ring he had been given.
“You zoned out,” he remarked.
Gabriel offered War a thin smile. “I peeked ahead. You may have Caesar and the civil wars. I won’t stop it.”
War grinned, and Gabriel snapped his fingers. Time flowed back around the world, dragging people along with it. Caesar was stabbed, over and over again, but Gabriel was gone.
Next...
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 3,151
Chapter Summary: Azazel’s angels have been wiped out of Heaven, but Gabriel’s been sent to deliver some powerful rings.
CHAPTER 41:
Hello, War
Years passed, as years tended to do. Michael moved swiftly, flashing through Heaven with a list of names ripped from Azazel and Alastair's minds. The identified traitors had been cast down to Earth, their separated grace flung deep into the ocean where no human could reach. There was no way any of the fallen angels could recover their grace and return to Heaven. Wingless and without memories, all of the fallen angels were born to perfectly ordinary humans throughout the world. Gabriel tapped one of his garrisons to keep an eye on them, just in case, but his precautions seemed unnecessary. After five years, none of the fallen had even the slightest recollection of Heaven. Gabriel eventually reassigned his garrison to more pressing matters.
Heaven itself was recovering. Michael was giving his own orders again, but he still hadn’t appointed a new second. He frightened all the younger angels constantly, having apparently given up on unnecessary in-between movements altogether. Raphael was back to leading his choir as well. Gabriel returned to his own choir, though he still gave his brothers a hand when they needed one, as Sammael once had. Right now, he was helping Raphael repopulate the Borderlands with substance, weaving the stuff of Heaven and Earth together to patch over the gaping Void.
“Over, under, over, under,” Raphael called, as Gabriel dipped and rose, dragging solid fill behind him.
“I know how to weave,” Gabriel shot back, twisting around the warp threads they had laid earlier. It wasn’t like they were creating any sort of complex pattern. They just needed to close the nothingness so their younger brothers could pass through this part of the Borderlands without fear of death.
“Then move faster.” Raphael flew along the woven section, sealing the gaps between warp and weft. “At the speed you’re moving, you must forgive me for assuming you need to think about each step.”
Gabriel growled at Raphael and pointedly slowed down his flight even further, just to irritate his brother. There was no rush to their work, other than the desire to get it done so they didn’t have to worry about it any longer. Heaven was at peace. Earth was running smoothly. The Borderlands were quiet. None of the Archangels had any pressing urgencies they needed to deal with.
Gabriel.
Tightness in Gabriel’s head accompanied his name, and Gabriel stopped where he was, hovering as he pressed his hands against his temples, trying to equalize the pressure. Coming! he answered back, and the weight immediately lifted.
“Gabriel?” Raphael had his head cocked to the side, lightly massaging his chest with two fingers where Lucifer had punched open a hole. This was where Gabriel’s grace was still strongest in him, and it was very likely resonating with the presence of God.
“Dad’s calling,” Gabriel explained, tossing his filler to Raphael. “I have to run. If you can’t finish this on your own, knot it up. I’ll come back later.”
Before Raphael could respond, Gabriel spread his wings and shot toward Heaven as fast as he could. When Father summoned, He was not to be kept waiting. Gabriel burst through the eastern quadrant and shot straight toward the Garden, eschewing the Axis Mundi for a shortcut through Raphael’s fields. He always flew through Heaven physically when summoned by God, even though he could reach Him faster by folding his grace through the realm. His brothers’ spirits were lifted when they saw visible proof of God’s presence in their lives. The golden-winged Messenger flying through Heaven was one of the most obvious tells.
The Garden was a garden today, and Metatron was sitting by a little brook, his ever-present tablet and pen in his hands. Gabriel ruffled his golden wings in annoyance at his little brother. God was never without Metatron these days. Gabriel hadn’t been alone with his Father since the war.
Metatron didn’t seem to notice Gabriel’s irritation. Instead, he just beamed up at his older brother, his silver wings spreading open in greeting. “Hello, Gabriel! It’s been awhile!” His fear of Gabriel the last time they met had apparently evaporated. Gabriel wouldn't be surprised if the irritating Cherub hadn't genuinely forgotten. He seemed the sort to have the attention span of a gnat.
“Father summoned me,” Gabriel informed Metatron, lifting his chin slightly. Was Metatron ever summoned by God, or did he just sit here and wait for their Father to decide to bother with him?
“Oh, yes, probably about the lock!”
“Lock?” Gabriel hadn’t heard anything about a lock, and he immediately hated himself for revealing his ignorance to the Cherub.
Metatron’s smile grew wider, and he flipped through his notes. “Yes, yes, Father’s been working on a lock for Lucifer’s cage. He says that someday, Lucifer will be freed, but the cage might be needed again. After the seals are broken, there needs to be a way to close it again. See, here, I wrote a bit about it.”
Gabriel glanced at the paper Metatron hopefully offered up at him. The sigils scrawled across the paper were unfamiliar to him, as strange and alien as Lucifer’s warding had been. Gabriel recognized Lucifer’s name and nothing else. A nudge of fear pulled at Gabriel’s heart, and he purposely turned away from the Cherub. “I would hear it from Father Himself.”
Metatron was writing in a script unknown to Gabriel, the Messenger, who knew all languages, all that once existed, all that existed now, all that would one day exist. Lucifer had done the same. How could there possibly be languages that Gabriel did not know? He could speak with the Kraken under the sea, and the wraiths that swam through the Borderlands. Gabriel could roar with the dragons and whisper with the wind, but he could not read the words his brother had written.
You should not spurn your brother so.
“Father!” Gabriel turned instantly to the presence of the Lord, dropping to his knees and shielding his head with his wings. Beside him, Metatron did the same, tucking his silver wings around him. At least Metatron still knew how to show respect to their Father. “I was summoned by You, for Your orders.”
It was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth, and Gabriel knew his Father knew it. He closed his eyes, his wings tense under his Father’s scrutiny. Surely Father understood that he couldn’t show weakness to a Cherub, of all angels!
This was exactly what Barachiel had been talking about, Gabriel realized. The Archangels were perfect and unrelatable because they did not allow the younger angels to relate to them. Gabriel cringed at the thought, but he felt his Father’s focus lighten.
I have items for you to deliver, Messenger. Metatron.
The Cherub nodded, hastily pushing himself to his feet and reaching into the brook. Gabriel lifted a wing to watch Metatron fumble among the smooth stones, curious despite himself.
Metatron pulled three rings from the brook, offering them to Gabriel with both hands. Gabriel slowly straightened up, accepting the rings from Metatron.
One ring was pure gold, perfectly round and unblemished, yet angry to the touch. The second was silver, engraved with curling designs and set with a black stone that tugged at something within Gabriel, making him feel empty inside. The third ring, also silver, was already tarnished around its green stone. Gabriel could make out the shape of wings on the sides, and his own wings felt heavy, a dull ache infusing his spirit.
“These are… powerful,” Gabriel muttered, pressing his free hand against his forehead. Had the Garden gotten colder, or was it just him? “What…” Words. Words were hard. Why were they hard? “What are…?”
Metatron plunged his hands back in the brook, rubbing them together fiercely under the slow-moving water. God reached forward to touch both angels. As soon as His presence brushed Gabriel, the effects of the rings lifted.
These are the keys to the cage that holds Lucifer. Breaking the seals we set can free your brother, but renders the cage useless. These four rings can reclose it.
“These… four?” Gabriel looked at the three rings in his hand, and he could feel his Father’s amusement as he recounted them.
I have already delivered the first Myself. Death does not take pleasure in interacting with lesser beings.
Gabriel would have bristled with offense at being called lesser if God had named any creature other than Death. That thing gave him the creeps. It existed Outside. The angels weren’t exactly sure what Outside was, but they believed Outside was where God had originated (because surely even He had to have a beginning). Death could come into their universe, but Death was not a creature of their universe. Death was older than Michael and saw even him as tiny and insignificant. Gabriel had seen Death a couple times, but they had never spoken directly. Gabriel preferred it that way. If Death had one fourth of the key to Lucifer’s cage, it wouldn’t open anytime soon.
“Where should I deliver the other three?”
You’ll know them when you find them.
“Helpful,” Gabriel drawled, rolling the smooth gold ring between his fingers before tucking them all into his spirit for safekeeping. “Not even a hint, Father?”
They are on Earth.
“That’s it?”
God vanished instead of answering.
Metatron lowered his wings and picked up his pen again. “He does that a lot. I wish He didn’t.”
“He’s Father,” Gabriel said, defending God even though he was also irritated at his Father’s refusal to ever give a straight answer. “He can do whatever He wants.”
“Yes, but would it kill Him to say good-bye?”
Gabriel gave Metatron a dry look before spreading his wings and flashing out of existence without a good-bye of his own. It was rude, yes, but the little Cherub was irritating. It all evened out in the end.
“On Earth” could mean anywhere, so Gabriel first stopped in to a Celtic village in the north to pick up his vessel. Suros, the man he had worn during the final showdown between Michael and Lucifer, was old now. He sucked on his teeth as Gabriel spoke to him, finally agreeing to allow the angel in if it meant his knees would stop aching. Gabriel slipped into the elderly man easily. The man’s body was already stretched out and broken in. Nothing pinched or squeezed Gabriel’s spirit here.
Gabriel honestly had no idea who he was looking for. He slipped the three rings into a pouch Suros wore, rolling them in his fingers. They gave no indication of which direction their masters might be in. The Archangel shrugged and spread his wings, heading south. Just about everything was south of Suros’ village.
In Rome, Gabriel accepted some lemons from a vendor and nibbled on the sour fruit as he wandered the garden of the Theatre of Pompey. He had blessed the merchant in exchange for the food, and then immediately wiped the man’s mind of their transaction. It was better not to be remembered. The man would have a string of exceptional good luck this week, and would certainly make enough extra money to cover the loss of this fruit.
Gabriel loved to eat. Sweet foods were his favorites, but he loved everything that had a strong taste of any kind. Lemons made his mouth seize involuntarily, and it was such a human reaction that he couldn’t help but revel in it. He popped another segment of lemon into his mouth and sucked the juice out of the fruit before swallowing the remains.
“Try this, grandfather.” A Roman, younger than Suros, offered Gabriel a honey cake. The angel smiled at the man, sucking the last of the lemon juice from his fingers before accepting the treat.
“Thank you,” he said, lifting it to his face to sniff the cake. Smells were another wonderful thing about humanity. Angels didn’t have a sense of smell. They could understand odors existed, but unless they made an effort, they remained oblivious to them. Angels had other senses tied to their grace that made smelling unnecessary. In his human vessel, Gabriel relished the smells that added a new layer of color to the world.
“Are you going to the sport today?” the Roman asked, nibbling his own honey cake. “Decius Brutus has provided gladiators for our entertainment.”
“That was nice of him,” Gabriel commented, finally tasting the treat and grinning at the sticky sweet honey on his tongue. He could easily understand the thrill of the gladiatorial combat that the Romans favored. There was something pure and basic about a fight that little else could compare to. “Perhaps I will. I’m looking for someone. Several someones.”
“Several someones will probably be at the theatre!” the Roman laughed. “I hear Caesar himself might show. He is at the Senate today.”
Gaius Julius Caesar was a name all of the Earth-focused angels knew. The man was the dictator of the Roman Republic, one of the most powerful human civilizations on the planet. He was immensely popular among the citizens of the Republic, except for the already high-powered aristocracy.
He was also, Gabriel realized, approaching the theatre. Gabriel’s companion was staring hungrily at the dictator, his honey cake fully devoured. Gabriel nibbled another piece off of his, looking between the dictator and the Roman beside him. This wasn’t ordinary hero worship shining in the man’s eyes. This was anticipation.
A group of Romans were approaching Caesar, waylaying him before he could enter the Theatre. One was trying to push a petition into his hands. Others crowded around the pair, cutting off escape. Caesar was waving away the petition, but the petitioner abandoned it to grab at Caesar’s clothes. Another man behind the dictator drew a knife. Caesar turned to grab his arm, and suddenly all the men around him were pulling knives from their togas.
Gabriel snapped his fingers. Time stopped.
“That was uncalled for!”
The Roman standing beside Gabriel was glaring at him now, an ugly scowl on his face. “Do you realize what’s about to happen here!? That took ages to set up!”
Gabriel blinked at the man and snapped his fingers again. The man still didn’t freeze. He folded his arms instead. “I take it you’re not human.”
“Apparently, neither are you,” Gabriel answered. An ordinary human would have been locked in place with the rest of time. Even proximity to Gabriel wouldn’t have spared this man from having his life paused. “What are you?” The man didn’t feel unusual, but he certainly wasn’t an angel.
“I’m that,” the man answered, nodding toward the scene on the steps of the Theatre. “I’m conflict. I’m hostility. I’m aggression.”
“Ah.” Gabriel cocked his head to the side, then licked the fingers of his right hand free of honey and slipped them into Suros’ pouch. “I am the Messenger of Heaven.” One of the rings felt warm to Gabriel’s touch. He pulled out the plain gold ring. “I believe this is yours.”
The Roman held out his hand, accepting the ring from Gabriel. He held it up to the sun, squinting at the unblemished circle, then slipped it on his finger. A wicked smile curved across his face as he held up his hand. “Oh yes,” the man declared. “I’m War.”
“War?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow, looking the man over. One could argue, he supposed, that War was an entirely human concept. The angels didn’t war until after humanity had been created, and it had been humanity that triggered Lucifer’s displeasure with Heaven. It made sense for War to appear as a perfectly ordinary human. “Okay then. Nice to meet you. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find others like you?”
“I’ve got three siblings,” War said with a smirk. “Try places in trouble. Places without food. Places without health. Places of death.”
“Death already has his ring,” Gabriel said quickly, “but thanks. That’s… actually more helpful than my Father was.”
“You can let that go to repay me,” War answered, gesturing to the assassination attempt. “Took me ages to get that right!”
“Caesar is a very important man,” Gabriel argued. “If he dies like this-”
“Then the Republic falls into a series of bloody civil wars as everyone tries to fill the power vacuum,” War answered. “It will be glorious.”
Interfering with human politics was generally frowned upon by the angels, but human politics had already been interfered in if War had actually been pulling strings. Gabriel sighed and rolled his neck, shaking out his arms. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Time was fluid. Humans didn’t realize it. They couldn’t see it. Humans were dragged along in Time’s current, moving from point A to point B without any effort, without any chance of returning to point A. Angels were not bound by such arbitrary rules. Angels could swim through time in any direction, though it took more effort to go against the current. In general, they let themselves be pulled along in the flow of Time, but at any point, they could fly into the past, or slip sideways into alternate timelines. Some of the stronger angels, the first-class Seraphim and the Archangels, could fast-forward Time and see into the future.
Gabriel stepped sideways, shifting into a timeline where Caesar wasn’t assassinated here, where War did not interfere in his life. He raced ahead, getting flashes and glimpses of a future that could be. Caesar’s survival did not remove the threat of war from Rome. The Republic pushed into the East, as Caesar fought against Parthia, but unrest was brewing at home. Even without War’s direct influence, Caesar’s “friends” in the Senate wanted him dead. With Caesar away and unavailable, accidental deaths from mysterious circumstances started happening to a lot of his close family and friends. When a young man named Octavian “fell” to his death, Gabriel stopped and hopped sideways again, back to a timeline where Caesar had died. Octavian survived in this timeline, succeeding Caesar and claiming the title of Emperor for himself. The Roman Republic transitioned into the Roman Empire under Octavian’s firm hand, and Gabriel had to admit he was impressed by what he saw. Pax Romana, they called it. If for no other reason than Octavian’s life, Gabriel would stand back as Caesar was assassinated.
Releasing his concentration, Gabriel let Time fling him back to where he had been when this all began, standing beside War outside the Theatre of Pompey. War was waiting, his arms folded, thumb rubbing against the new ring he had been given.
“You zoned out,” he remarked.
Gabriel offered War a thin smile. “I peeked ahead. You may have Caesar and the civil wars. I won’t stop it.”
War grinned, and Gabriel snapped his fingers. Time flowed back around the world, dragging people along with it. Caesar was stabbed, over and over again, but Gabriel was gone.
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