Rebecca Lim: Exile

Someone cups the side of Lela’s face and I imagine it is Azraeil come for us. He picks Lela’s body up off the cold, linoleum-tiled floor, cradling it tenderly against his broad chest. And I feel a warming pain in my extremities, in my left hand, as if it comes not from me but from his touch.

‘Mercy,’ he says into Lela’s blind eyes.

But I am not blind; I am not deaf. I may be trapped within Lela’s body but I know that voice. It is not Azraeil, after all. But Sulaiman.

I say his name, my lips moving soundlessly, and in the saying realise that I know him. Not just Sulaiman inside, no. Lela’s eyes may have failed, but not mine. When he holds me to him, I see him and know him and remember that we were friends once, years ago.

He is one of the Eight. And his name is Gabriel.

Some know him as Cebrail, as Jibril, as Gavriel, as Jibrail. He is known by many names, the herald of mysteries, the light and the mirror. He has been hiding the brilliance, the pure energy, of his being within another. All this time, he was here. In plain sight.

Though he can take any form he wishes at any time, I realise now. For he is a shape shifter of extraordinary talent, able to make of himself anything under heaven. As Uriel is, as Luc is, too.

As I was, I comprehend suddenly. And am no longer. I feel a stab of intense sadness at the thought.

‘Te gnovi,’ I gargle audibly through the blood in my mouth. ‘I know you.’

His touch is like living fire. It’s almost enough to revive the dying. Almost. But Lela is marked for death and even Gabriel cannot resurrect the dead. It is not within the compass of his powers.

He was my friend, once. Like a brother. My protector and my champion. And I loved him dearly. The only ones more dear to me were Luc and . . . Raph, I remember with a start.

Instantly, Raph is standing in my mind’s eye. The physician, the healer. Tall, pale, broad-shouldered, like something out of a classical painting. Sable eyes, obsidian hair, every single strand straight, even and perfectly the same, wortherittle too long for fashion. A strong face that is all angles and planes, with a straight nose, a mouth made for laughter and compassion. Skin of a pale ochre colour, like desert sand, the burnished surface of an alien star. White raiment so blinding that its outline is indistinct. Like a living statue, a being of pure fire, youthful in aspect, yet ageless.

And then time seems to stand still. And everything with it. Save for Gabriel and me.

‘I warned you,’ Gabriel says. ‘I warned you, but you would not listen, and now you see what transpires when human emotions are allowed full rein. Jealousy, violence, rage, death. Why will you not stay your hand as we have counselled you repeatedly? Why must you always act? With heart foremost and not mind?

‘Your beloved, Luc, is a liar,’ he continues as I look upon his countenance with longing and regret. ‘Nothing he does, or directs you to do, is intended to be straightforward — you have drawn that human boy here for nothing but the purpose of sorrow. Agony, fear, complexity, misery, pain and corruption, these are Luc’s preferences in all dealings, and his bedfellows. You would do well to heed me now, as you never did in the past. Now, more than ever, Luc seeks you, and you may not let yourself be found. Everything hinges on it. You have not been — how do these humans put it? — keeping your head down. Do nothing, Mercy. Just survive. That is the best we can hope to offer you.’

‘What if I wish to do more than nothing?’ I cry. ‘Do more than merely . . . survive? How could you think that I’d be content to “live” like this? I want out. Now. I’ve had enough. Life is about choice, remember?’

‘It isn’t possible.’ Gabriel’s voice is regretful. ‘If absolute freedom were restored to you, the outcome could not be guaranteed. And it must be; everything hangs on it. I cannot say more on the subject. The less knowledge you have, the better. You were always . . . dangerous, unpredictable. As much as your paramour was and ever has been. And you’ve only grown more so. You’re not supposed to be sentient. You’re not supposed to have overcome all the obstacles we have placed in your way. That wasn’t part of the plan.’

‘I . . . don’t . . . understand,’ I rasp.

Gabriel’s smile is rueful. ‘You’re not supposed to. It’s a . . . miracle that we’re even having this conversation. I didn’t think I’d ever hear your voice again, in any lifetime, Mercy. Oh, and I hear you — it is undeniably you, despite that human shell you’ve been forced to assume. Uriel was right: beyond all understanding, despite all our safeguards, you’re back.’

‘I’m not back,’ I snap, sudden anger choking my voice. ‘I’m like Frankenstein’s monster; a golem set at the city gates, howling at the sky. Shambling, mindless, half alive.’

Gabriel’s tone grows unexpectedly gentle. ‘So much more than a mere golem, Mercy. Think of Lela, Jennifer, Lauren, Lucy, Susannah and Ezra before them — what great change you wrought in each life. You’ve shown compassion even for Justine, who has never been shown compassion by anyone, even herself.’

‘I liked Lela’s life,’ I mutter. ‘It was so simple. Why couldn’t you have just let me stay, grow old . . .’

Go with Ryan, I finish, for my ears alone.

Gabriel’s voice is harsh. ‘Raphael is the architect of this plan; raise your complaints with him. I argued against it from the start. To go from absolute, unmitigated freedom to . . . to . . .’ His arms tighten about me. ‘I would rather have been put to the sword than endure what you have. In all seriousness, it was not possible for you to remain in one place for too long. We had to move you; have had to keep moving you. Could not leave you as Ezra, as Becky, as Yael, Menna, Saraswati, any of that legion we have been forced to use — all good, blameless lives. Knowing what you’re like, what you’re capable of, Luc would still have found you. The only other option was to have you bring Luc in on your own, and either let us deal with him or have you slay him yourself. You were fully justified in doing so, but you considered it the ultimate betrayal.’

Slay him? Slay Luc? Ultimate betrayal? What did Luc do to justify death at my hands? I love him, would never wish him harm. There is that ache again, inside, when I think of us, in our place, the whole world wished away, the whole world we two, and we two alone.

‘Even after everything Luc’s done to you,’ Gabriel continues, ‘you were too . . . wounded, too numb, to understand which was the best course, let alone raise your hand against him. It took a millennium just for us to find you, then another for you to properly heal.’

Gabriel and Uriel might believe me to be ‘back’, but there’s still a blank, dark sea at the core of my memory that refuses to yield up its secrets.

‘Though you’ve proved you’re good at betrayal,’ Gabriel adds without bitterness or explanation. ‘No, on balance, this has probably been a more than fitting punishment. Free will comes at a price. You’ve been forced to learn over and over again what it means to have none, which must be especially . . . testing in your case.’

A stinging anger rises in me that we are debating questions of philosophy while Lela Neill lies dying.

‘You’re wrong,’ I say. ‘Uriel, too. Humans exercise free will every moment of their waking lives. How do you think Ranald died? He chose to kill himself, which has to be the ultimate expression of one’s free will — the freedom to destroy oneself.’

Gabriel laughs mirthlessly. ‘Uriel did mention your views hadn’t changed, had only . . . radicalised. People like Ranald are expendable, fodder — easily constrained, easily derailed. Any of our order, any of Luc’s, from highest to lowest, may command them. They are spoilage and excess, weakness and vice, irredeemable, unrepentant, low, worthless. Eventually, that which defines them devours them. If there is any free will there — and I don’t believe it for a second; they were never made in from n>our image — it is the will to have one’s will enslaved. To cede control. That is hardly what I would term free.’ He almost spits. ‘Love life? Revere it? They are no better than wild animals.’