The Redeemer (6 page)

“I don’t know how old He is. How long has that strange star hung over Jerusalem? A year? A year and a half?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s how old he is. Find him and kill him.”

“But, sire, think about what you’re saying. There must be ten thousand baby boys between here and Bethlehem. How can we possibly know which one he is?”

“Kill them all,” Baal whispered to Herod.

“Kill them all,” Herod said to the captain.

“Kill them all?” The captain looked horrified.

“Destroy every male child under two years of age.”

“But, my king, surely…”

“Are you refusing an order?” Herod’s eyes turned narrow and cold.

“No, sir, of course not.”

“Then let it be written; let it be done.”

The soldier saluted and left quickly.

So did I.

C
HAPTER 6

I
HOPED
I
COULD
fly in under the second heaven radar and slip quietly to my perch without attracting any attention, which for me isn’t hard since I’m rarely noticed anyway. I needed some time to process all the pieces. Once I settled in, I tried to organize my thoughts by writing down all the questions.

What are the Jews expecting in the way of a Messiah? What are the necessary qualifications?

“He has to be a politician,” I said to myself, “because one of their prophets said the government would rest on His shoulders.”

What else?

“He will probably be in the military, because other prophets said He would free the Jews from their oppressors. I don’t see anything less than a military action getting that done.”

Genealogy has to be a factor.

“Right, he has to be the son, albeit a great-grandson many generations removed, of David.”

What about being supernatural—the Son of God in the flesh?

“It might be a nice add-on feature, but the idea that the Messiah has to be the actual Son of God, begotten of God, if you will, is not a prerequisite as far as the Jews are concerned. Son of David? A must-have. Son of God? Not necessary.”

That’s where my reasoning process broke down. The idea was preposterous: Adonai had become a human being. Satan would never believe it. I wondered how I should tell him.

“Sir, good news, I found Adonai. He turned into a baby human. He was the one the angels were singing about.”

I could barely take it in myself; I would never convince Satan. I needed a better story. I walked over to the rim and looked out, thinking the star might inspire me.

It’s gone! Oh, no. Satan is bound to ask where it went.

“You see, sir,” I practiced, “the light isn’t there anymore because Jesus isn’t there. The whole family moved to Egypt. Did I mention Baal’s plan failed?”

How was I going to give Satan such a peculiar report?

The guards said he was expecting me and promptly ushered me into Satan’s throne room. He was standing at the window looking toward the earth as if in deep thought. I waited several minutes for him to acknowledge me, but he didn’t.

“Sir …?”

“
Aaagh
,” he screamed, teetering toward the window, hooves flailing. He caught himself, and I pretended not to notice. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Noted. So sorry, my fault entirely.”

He sat down on his throne and motioned me to come forward.

“Talk.”

“Yes, sir. Well, let’s see; where do I begin? Oh, I know. I found the baby.” I paused, but he didn’t react. “And I found Adonai.” His eyebrows lifted.

“And?” He said as he thumped the arm of his throne with his claw hand, telling me to get on with it. I took a deep breath.

“The baby is Adonai.”

I took a step back and waited for him to pummel me with a barrage of insults about how ridiculously naïve I was and how the humans are always fooling me and on and on as he was prone to do. Instead, he said nothing. Maybe he hadn’t understood me.

“Sir, my voice has been a bit raspy lately; were you able to understand what I said? I tend to mumble.”

“The baby is Adonai.”

“Yes, Your Evilness.”

He rose from his throne and went back to the window and looked out. He stood there a long time saying nothing. Finally he stopped and motioned me closer.

This is it. He thinks I’m lying. He’s going to throw me out the window. I’ll float aimlessly over the abyss for the rest of my existence. I’ll beg; maybe he’ll send me to Hades instead.

“Sir, I apologize for every way I’ve ever disappointed you and…”

He put his claw hand over my mouth and shushed me. I was pretty sure I’d never known Satan to shush anyone before. Usually he jerks their tongues out if he doesn’t like what’s being said.

“I want to talk to God.” He removed his hand.

“God? Almighty?”

He nodded.

“Yahweh? I AM? Elohim?” I knew I was babbling. He moved his hand to shush me again.

“I want to talk to God. Arrange it.”

“Me, sir?” I mumbled.

“Aren’t you the one who’s always bragging how you heard God say this or that? Don’t think I don’t know that you try to talk to God yourself. The others have seen you do it. Why do you think they’re always laughing at you?”

“But, sir, while it’s true that I’ve heard God speak from time to time, I never meant to imply that He was speaking to me. He was always talking to the anointed of the day, and I was just listening in. And, well, maybe now and again I’ve tried to point out a few things to God—for your benefit, believe me—about how unfair He is. He’s never given the slightest indication that He heard—”

He shushed me again.

“I want to talk to God. Don’t come back until you have it set up. Now get out.”

I’m sure I looked dazed as I exited his chambers.

What am I going to do now? Of all the impossible assignments he’s ever given me, this is the worst.

I made my way back to my perch and tried to figure something out. I hadn’t been completely forthcoming with Satan about God never talking to me directly. There was that one time right after David died when I begged God to let me go to Hades to wait with the people on the colorful side.

Ever since Satan forced me to go down there with him and I saw for myself that Hades was divided into two parts, separated by a river, I’d never been the same. On one side were all the faithful Jews who had ever died. Those people were waiting for someone to come for them—their Messiah— and I wanted to wait with them. I didn’t know who the Messiah would be, but if He had any sense of fairness at all, I thought I could persuade Him how my exile had been a mistake.

On the other side of the river were the gray people. They were the ones who awaited judgment.

When I begged God to tell me how I could get to Hades on my own, He did. When I found out it involved having to die first, I passed out immediately, and by the time I woke up, God was gone, and I had no proof that He’d ever been there at all. But if it had happened and I wasn’t hallucinating, if ever there was the teeniest chance that He might listen to me again and maybe even speak to me, the last thing I wanted to do was waste it on a request from Satan. Yet I knew I couldn’t refuse a direct order; Satan would destroy me.

“Oh, woe is me,” I complained. “Just as I was beginning to make headway, God paid an itsy bit of attention to me, the Messiah is born and turns out to be Adonai in disguise. My last possible chance to escape Satan has come, and now I have to throw it all away by appearing to be an advocate for Satan to talk to God. Now God will never believe I wasn’t part of the rebellion.”

I had no choice. I pulled myself together and walked to the edge of the abyss where Gabriel had appeared, and I called out to God.

“God, first I want You to know this is not my idea. I am here under orders; otherwise I would never bother You with such a request. So, here it is: if You can find a minute in your calendar, would you consider talking to Satan? And by all means, feel free to decline.”

Silence. I tapped my hoof on the hard granite. More silence. I waited. Nothing. After waiting a justifiably long enough period of time, I decided to leave.

“OK, I’ll take that as a no, and let’s forget this ever happened.” I turned to head back to Satan’s lair.

“Yes.” It sounded like a low roar.

No, no, I didn’t hear anything! It was thunder. I know I didn’t hear yes.

But I did.

I ran away as fast as I could. I tripped and tried running on all fours before I remembered I could fly. I flapped as fast as I knew how until I found myself on the stone steps outside Satan’s quarters. I was breathless. It’s not because I was excited to tell Satan I’d arranged his meeting with God; it was because I was in a panic at what this might mean. Satan had no diplomatic skills whatsoever; he might anger God to the point that He would destroy all of the second heaven. I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t had a chance to enter my plea for restoration in the court of heaven. If the end came now, I would be swept up with all the real rebels, just like what happened before when we were all cast down to the earth.

I hoped the guards might deny me entry since I was gasping for breath and grunting instead of speaking. Maybe I could buy myself some time until I could think of what to do.

“Is he”—gasp—“in?”

“What’s the matter with your throat?”

“Cancer.”

“Are you contagious?”

I shrugged.

“Wait here.”

The guard disappeared. I had barely sat down on the hard steps to rest when he returned.

“He said you’re a hypochondriac and to bring you in right now.”

I tried to follow the guard through the door, but my anxiety caused a cramp in my leg. I crumpled to the floor. When I tried to stand up, I couldn’t straighten out my leg.

“Are you coming?” The guard wasn’t the least bit sympathetic.

“Just give me a minute. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I took a deep breath.

“Minute’s up.” He picked me up by my neck and then tossed me into Satan’s throne room. I lay there on the cold floor with my eyes closed, trying to come up with a plan. After a few minutes, Satan came near and sniffed me.

“Are you dead?”

“Uh, no, sir.” I struggled to stand. “You know demons can’t die— not of natural causes anyway.”

“Then I was right about cancer.”

“As always, sir. I’m quite alive as you can see; there’s something healing about being in your presence.”

“Did you arrange the meeting with God?”

“I tried. I called out to Him and asked if He would meet with you.” My leg was still wobbly, so I looked around for a place to sit down.

“Did He agree?”

“I, uh, I’m not entirely sure.” I found a footstool and sat down.

“Stand up. I didn’t give you permission to sit.”

“Yes, sir.” I stood and held on to a pillar for support.

“Did He agree or not?” Satan thumped me.

“I believe He might have.”

“Take me there.”

“Where?”

“To the meeting, imbecile. I’m tired of your stalling.”

He knocked my arm away from the pillar I was leaning on, almost causing me to fall down, but I caught myself. No one offered to help me as I hobbled out of the palace toward the rim of the second heaven with Satan right behind me. Soon we were at the edge of the abyss. Satan wasn’t afraid of heights, but I was. I tried to inch back a step or two, but he grabbed me by the wing.

“Stand still.”

“I’ve got this terrible cramp…”

“I don’t care.”

We were there just a few minutes, but Satan, having no patience at all, acted like it had been hours. Annoyed at being kept waiting, he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“It’s your head if you’ve lied to me and He doesn’t come.”

There was no point in reminding him that I hadn’t promised anything. Just then something shifted in the atmosphere. The air was still as it always was, but it was suddenly heavy, so much so that I was having a hard time standing erect. Satan felt the weightiness as well, but would never admit it as he leaned on a rock for support.

“Is He here?”

“Hard to say, sir. Sometimes He’s around but doesn’t always talk.”

More waiting. I was becoming anxious to get things moving. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold up under the heaviness.

“If I might suggest, O prince of darkness, go ahead and speak your mind. If He’s here, He will hear you.”

It was a safe suggestion, since I knew God could hear every sound, no matter how slight, from anywhere in creation if He wanted to.

“God,” Satan began, “don’t think I don’t know what You’ve done. Well, it isn’t going to work. You’re going to lose. I’m here to give You a chance to back off, change Your mind. Call Him back to the third heaven now, and I’ll let it pass this time.”

I was getting nervous. I wasn’t sure how God would respond to an ultimatum.

“Master,” I gave Satan a little tap on his arm, “why don’t I slip out and give you two some privacy.”

“No.”

“Then can I sit down?”

“I hate it when you whine.”

I hobbled over to a jagged rock and sat down behind it, hoping Satan had nothing more to say. He became agitated when God didn’t respond. He snorted and stomped his hoof, then started talking again. I ducked down and closed my eyes.