the woman and her husband. And the pure light of the Creator’s glory became a danger to Adam and Eve. Without the Terrestrial veil, without something to dim the light of the Creator, God’s holiness would eventually destroy them.
And God wept at the tragedy of it.
The Sabres were pulled from the surrounding skies. If left to worship freely, their song could tear through the veil, leaving humanity vulnerable to the unfiltered light of the Creator.
This part of the story always saddened Jake. That the veil separated humankind from their heavenly Father. When he was young, it made him cry. But Canaan would take him on his knee and tell him the end—the part of the story that hasn’t happened yet.
“One day,” he’d say, “a new heaven and a new earth will be established. One day the Sabres will be allowed to worship where they wish, but until the veil is no longer necessary, the Sabres worship only within the safety of the Father’s Throne Room or on the mountaintops, far from creatures who could be damaged by their song.”
It’s a beautiful ending to a tragic story, but it doesn’t explain why they’re here now.
In Stratus.
Canaan told Jake he didn’t know. But as Jake sifts through the pages of Scripture, he’s more certain than ever that their presence has something to do with Brielle’s dreams. And if he can just figure it out, maybe it’ll shed light on the missing ring and the dagger that’s replaced it.
Maybe solving one mystery will lead to solving another.
A yellow rectangle spreads across the field outside, catching his eye. Brielle’s living room light has been flipped on, and the glow spills through the window. At first Jake thinks it’s Brielle, but she never uses the front door. The one leading from the kitchen to the porch is closer to her room.
The door opens, and Keith stumbles into the field wearing what looks like a bathrobe. He trips over something and sprawls face-first into the grass. His booming laugh makes its way across the field, and he pushes awkwardly to his feet. He’s drunk. Something else Jake’s been keeping track of. The first time Brielle noticed his uptick in drinking was Sunday, six days ago. Too many coincidences to ignore.
Jake climbs out the window and drops to the ground. He resists the urge to holler across the yard. Brielle doesn’t need to see her dad like this, blundering around in the middle of the night.
Jake darts across the grass, his feet catching stones and dropped pine needles, but that’s nothing to the devastation he knows Brielle will feel if he doesn’t get her dad back inside. He ducks a series of branches and emerges to see Keith standing, staring into the apple orchard behind his house. Jake draws closer, slowing his footsteps, not wanting to scare the guy. The blood runs fast in his ears now, but he swears he hears music.
Is Keith singing?
The long grass brushes against his shorts, a rustle that seems loud in the silence of the night, but Keith doesn’t turn around. He stands at the edge of the abandoned orchard, the grass dropping away to hardened dirt and weeds. The sound seems to be coming from within the grove.
And it’s familiar.
Not nearly so loud as the worship of the twelve Sabres, but similar.
Jake steps closer. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks again. The trees are gnarled and the weeds growing around them tall and knotted, but there’s no sign the veil is thinning here, no sign it’s torn.
He looks back toward Brielle’s house, wishing for her eyes. Should he wake her?
He swivels toward the orchard once again and finds himself face-to-face with Keith. He’s tempted to take a small step back, but something in Keith’s eyes keeps him close.
“Sir,” Jake says. Keith wobbles, and Jake reaches out a hand to steady him.
“Hands off.” He swats at Jake with a heavy hand, but he’s slow and sloppy and he doesn’t connect.
“Sorry, sir,” Jake says, but he doesn’t release Keith’s arm. He can’t. Keith’s leaned into him now, and Jake supports a hefty portion of the large man’s weight. Keith’s other arm swings around, pointing into the orchard. Jake’s bare feet dig into the grass and his thighs tense, keeping the two of them standing.
“You know what it is?” Keith says. “That music?”
Jake doesn’t answer. He’s too busy holding the man upright. But his hands and arms are damp with nervous sweat, and Keith slips free, stumbling into Jake, who