Jezebel

Part One: 9

"How bad is it?" Agate asked immediately Olivine appeared in their midst. He was seated on the grass, his back against a tree trunk as he sharpened his sword with a round glowing stone. The silver weapon sizzled as the small rock glided across its sharp edges.

"Set in stone." Olivine pushed her hood back and took in her surroundings with a glance. Green as far as the eyes could see. It was a grass plane off the coast of the Euphrates river, far away from Israel and a good spot to hold their much-needed meeting.

"I sensed this. Let me see." Garnet nodded at the scroll in Olivine's hand. The message it contained was straightforward but some part of it was veiled, only Agate would be able to read it, seeing that he was a lead warring angel.

After passing the scroll to Garnet, Olivine sat and stared at her hands. As she flexed her fingers and observed the strip of leather that coiled around her palms to her elbows, her mind worked around the information the scroll held. Signa had spoken the truth, a horde was coming--terrible things were coming. And the people were blissfully unaware, in fact, their nonchalance was the reason the kingdom was on the brink of making a straight dive to darkness.

When Garnet read the content of the scroll, he grunted and tossed it to Agate. The brooding angel caught it smartly then began reading. At a point, he glanced in Olivine's direction. She could have sworn she saw sorrow flash in his eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Agate stood and rolled the paper back in place. The scroll vanishing with a wink of light. "Olivine..." He beckoned to her and allowed an actual smile to touch his lips. "You'd be heading to Jerusalem. Hope your friend-making skills aren't rusty?"

***

"I cannot do it." Jireh gulped. He stared at the imposing structure of the temple as he warred with himself. Why was he terrified?

"You can and you will." Issachar retorted as he turned to his loaded wagon. Before they reached the capital of Judah, Issachar had stopped at the timber port at the shores of Jordan to buy the 'finest cuts' of acacia wood. He had spent quite a sum; the sculpting business treated him well.

When they camped the night before, Issachar had discussed with Jireh on how he should come to his workshop and learn a little. He said he needed a real livelihood since his previous one tried to kill him. Issachar had laughed out loud. Jireh welcomed the idea of a new job but not the joke.

"Stop it, I'm not laughing," Jireh said with mild irritation that night.

"Sorry twig." Issachar bumped his shoulder, a light chuckle making his eyes shine.

"Don't call me that either."

A low hum was all Issachar managed as he prodded the flames with a stick. When he spoke, his voice was sober and heavy. "I counted twenty-eight--twenty-eight people dying in the same horrifying manner. Once I was close to storming one of those stupid worship places and dragging you out. Can you imagine that?" His laughter was dry and dead. "When father told us you had survived, Hannah cried. She said she had been praying for you." A heavy sigh made his shoulders sag. "You could have died. Do you understand how lucky you are?"

"I understand, believe me, I do." Jireh sighed too as he stared into the flames. The night of his near-death experience was still a blur, sketchy memories of him walking as though he knew exactly where he was headed. Had fear clouded his mind? Did he fight?

"I'm glad you didn't die," Issachar said, his eyes still fixed on the flame.

Jireh remembered feeling touched by his heartfelt words.

"I can't be a Nazirite." Jireh pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and shook off the memory of the previous night. The cool morning breeze pushed his hair over his eyes--hair that he would swear never to cut until the time his vow was over.