Part 10 (1/2)
”Now you're talkin'!” Baird agreed, rubbing his hands together.
Before his apprentice could resume, a deep chuckle rang through the sanctuary. ”A musical taunt for the enemy?” Harken called.
”I'm feeling sa.s.sy,” Baird replied, shoving his hands into his pockets with a sheepish air.
Harken's grin broadened as he took a seat. ”By all means!”
As the third rendition of their duet wove its way into Prissie's heart, she followed Koji down the stairs and into the pew next to Harken. ”Good evening,” she whispered to the shopkeeper.
”It has been,” he returned, patting her shoulder.
After the two Wors.h.i.+pers finished their threefold excerpt of Handel, Kester closed the harpsichord and waited while Baird wandered the platform, singing under his breath. The lights along the sides of the sanctuary started to flick off, leaving only the front of the sanctuary lit, and the redhead raised a hand at the janitor. Russ waved back and went on with his duties, leaving them to their fun.
Baird stopped his meandering, closed his eyes, and lifted his voice. There was no accompaniment this time, and his melody rose right to the ceiling, filling the sanctuary. Kester was soon humming along, and Baird beckoned for his apprentice to join him at center stage.
”What language are they singing in?” Prissie whispered.
Harken's smile was nostalgic. ”Hebrew. Would you like a translation?”
”Yes, please.” She scooted closer to the Messenger.
Harken shared the lyrics in a low voice. ”It is good to sing praises to our G.o.d; for it is pleasant, and praise is beautiful.”
As she watched Baird and Kester, Prissie couldn't have agreed more.
”He counts the number of the stars; He calls them all by name,” Harken continued.
”He does?” she murmured, startled by the notion.
”Indeed,” breathed Koji.
”He gives snow like wool. He scatters the frost like ashes. He casts out His hail like morsels. Who can stand before His cold?”
Prissie glanced toward the windows. It seemed an appropriate song to sing in winter, and as it drew to a close, she said, ”The words were pretty. Did Baird write this one?”
”No,” the shopkeeper replied with a small smile. ”That was the 147th psalm.”
”Oh,” she murmured, embarra.s.sed for not recognizing the pa.s.sage. ”So ... where's Milo?”
”He had some matters to attend to,” Harken replied offhandedly.
”Something dangerous?”
”No more than usual.”
Worried in spite of Harken's calm, she pressed for more. ”Are Taweel and Omri with him?”
”Yes, Prissie.” With a steady gaze, he added, ”Have faith.”
9.
THE.
TREE GARDEN.
Taweel stood at a point where the path split two ways and glanced uncertainly at his companion, whose raiment gleamed dimly in the utter darkness of the tunnel. ”This way,” Milo said, taking the right turning.
”Are you certain?” the Guardian inquired gruffly.
”I've never had a problem finding my way to a recipient,” the Messenger a.s.sured. ”When I am Sent, the way becomes clear.”
”Same here.”
Several minutes later, Milo sighed and pushed his hand through his hair. ”I'd mind the darkness less if I could pa.s.s through it more quickly. Is Omri okay?” At the sound of his name, the little yahavim zipped forward, circling the Messenger twice before returning to his perch on Taweel's shoulder. Chuckling softly, Milo said, ”I'll take that as a yes.”
Nearly an hour pa.s.sed before the narrow tunnel brought them to a precipitous ledge. The path curved off to the right along the edge of the cavernous chamber, leading up to the heavily chained stone square that blocked the entrance to the Deep.
”Finally!” Milo breathed. Spreading his arms wide, he fell face forward into the chasm.
Taweel watched without comment as his companion dropped out of view, and a few heartbeats later, a blaze of blue light exploded past, climbing in exuberant loops toward the roof of the chamber before banking into a tight spiral back down. With a swift flick of his wings, Milo rejoined his teammate. ”Feel better?” Taweel inquired, sounding amused.
”Much.”
Together, they trekked up the wide path to the grinning Protectors flanking the gate. ”Not used to the dark?” inquired one in a friendly way.
”Nope,” Milo admitted honestly. ”The close quarters were making me restless.”
The second cherubim nodded understandingly. ”What brings you to the Deep? Few Messengers are Sent where their voices can reach.”
Raking his finger through long curls, Milo replied, ”One of my teammates has been lost in darkness for a long time. I suppose I wanted to see for myself what he has endured.”
Exchanging a quick glance, the first Protector spoke up. ”Ephron?”
”Yes!”
His companion wiggled his fingers coaxingly in Omri's direction, softly remarking, ”Your hair is the wrong color, but you must be just as brave as the one we seek.”
”You know about Lavi?” Milo asked, glancing excitedly at Taweel.
”Of course,” the guard replied seriously. ”Thanks to Tamaes, I doubt there is a single angel in shouting distance who has not heard about the Observer who was taken ... and the stray yahavim who knows how to find him.”