Head in the clouds. Feet on the ground. Heart in the story. Christa Kinde is a cheerful homebody whose imagination takes her new places with every passing day. Making her home between misty mornings and brimming bookshelves in Southern California, she’s been writing for more than a decade, but the Threshold Series is her first foray into fiction. Learn about Christa’s books, Bible studies, short stories, weekdaily serials, and more at ChristaKinde.com.

You can find Part 1, HERE.
You can find Part 2, HERE.
You can find Part 3, HERE.
You can find Part 4, HERE.
You can find Part 5, HERE.
You can find Part 6, HERE.
You can find Part 7, HERE.
You can find Part 8, HERE.

Silence was strange. Koji felt as if God had picked him up and set him at a distance from the others. He saw Shimron’s grief like a shadow in his eyes, and Ofir’s wings twitched with uneasiness. He heard Cherith’s gravity, and an unexpected gentleness was underlying Jedrick’s comments. But Koji had lost an invisible connection.

The sensation brought to mind a speckled feather he’d found on the ground in Watchdog’s chicken coop. Once part of a hen, the feather had lost its place. He’d touched its delicate edge, admiring its design. It was still a feather. But the fallen feather’s usefulness had ended. Is that what it means to Fall? To see, to hear, to remember . . . but to be alone?

You are not alone. Neither is he.

“Koji?” Shimron touched his shoulder. “Can you answer?”

He pressed fingertips to his sealed lips in a silent plea for understanding.

Cherith spoke on his behalf. “Be patient, Shimron. Koji’s next words do not belong to us. They are set apart for another.”

“Ah. So be it.” Without pushing for more, Shimron used his sleeve to dry Koji’s tears. “In my experience, newfoundlings have boundless curiosity and a gift for giggling. Yet you understand sadness.”

Koji dipped his head. Hadn’t he witnessed Ravel’s, taking it into himself so he could write the twice-pierced Guardian’s record? And God’s sorrow for the lost sang softly through his mind, stirring a lament in his own soul.

“Is that why you could tell I was sad?” Shimron asked.

Reaching up, Koji touched Shimron’s cheek and offered a small nod. Sorrow didn’t need to be written in tears to be legible. Is seeing the same as understanding? Koji wished he could ask. A First One might know.

“Other than the Guardians, few in heaven have been pierced by sadness. Yet here you are, and I have found you.”

Koji pinched his left earlobe. Am I pierced, even though I do not have an earring? Why do hadarim and adahim have different traditions if our feelings are the same? Does piercing hurt more than sadness?

Shimron looked to Cherith. “I would like to meet Koji’s Guardian friend. The one known as Watchdog.”

The Caretaker inclined his head. “A way will be made.”

Shimron didn’t shy away from the grizzled beggar who waited in the darkening alley. Stepping lightly across crumbling asphalt, the barefoot angel greeted Watchdog with a lengthy embrace. “Your faithfulness has touched my life through Koji. Thank you.”

Watchdog shook his shaggy head. “Let the thanks go to God.”

Koji slipped to the big Guardian’s side and patted the trailing end of the new scarf looped around his shoulders. Did the old woman knit it? Does Ravel like wearing something as red as his wings? Is this hospitality toward angels? Unable to ask, Koji stored up his questions for later.

“Ever since I learned that you and Koji have been spending time together, I have wanted to meet you. You see, there are several Grafts in my Flight,” Shimron said.

Koji’s eyes widened. Although Shimron’s stitching revealed the names of his teammates, this was news.

“Several?” Watchdog beckoned for them to join him on the porch steps. “In all my years at this post, I never met another Graft.”

“Until now.” Shimron touched his chest. “There was a time when I mingled with mankind.”

Shimron did? Few angels lived as men, yet Koji sat between two of them. His awe increased with every skip of his heart.

Watchdog leaned forward. “Then you understand.”

“Better than most, but not entirely. You see, my friend knew my true nature.”

“Friend,” the Guardian echoed. “You revealed yourself?”

Shimron shook his head. “There was no need. That man was a prophet; his eyes and ears were opened by God.”

Koji’s questions piled up. Is it possible for angels and humans to become friends? How did Shimron meet this prophet? Were they friends right away, or was the man frightened? Do all Grafts grow beards? Try as he might to picture the First One with hair on his chin, Koji’s imagination fell short.

Shimron backed up closer to the story’s beginning. “When Time was much newer, I was Sent from my tower to the opanim. I had no need of weapons, but heaven’s armorers created this.” He withdrew a curving inkhorn from beneath his sash and showed it to Ravel. “From that moment to this, it has never run dry.”

Although rumors had reached Koji’s ears, this was the boy’s first glimpse of the ornate silver flask that fit neatly into Shimron’s palm. The mark of a traveler. God provided for his journey. A new idea came to Koji. If he is part of a Flight, has his journey not yet ended?

Ravel turned it over in his hands. “A useful gift for an archivist.”

Taking back the opanim’s gift, Shimron uncapped the inkhorn and glanced around. “Koji, bring me a feather?”

The boy trotted over to the chicken coop and soon returned with the requested item. Shimron produced a small book with blank pages, and Koji watched in silent wonderment as the other Observer deftly turned the seemingly purposeless cast-off feather into a quill.

A dip. A tap. A dab. As the makeshift pen scratched across paper, Shimron said, “Like Koji, I came into the created world expecting to stand apart and watch the hand of God at work in the lives of humanity.”

Koji edged closer as Shimron captured an impression with a few lines then nurtured the spare sketch into an illustration.

The First One continued. “I was pleased to be wrong. And humbled to realize that I, too, was under the hand of God. He had a part for me to play in the life of a man whose faith was flagging.”

As Shimron’s story unfolded, Koji’s heart beat faster. Can I truly become his apprentice? How long would it take me to learn everything he knows? Any of the middlings in the tower would have rejoiced to sit here and watch Shimron work. Koji wished he could share this moment with Darda, Prosper, and the others. But another desire wrestled past the generous impulse. Mine. I want to be the one to learn from Shimron.

The sudden surge of ambition unsettled Koji. Is it wrong to want something so badly?He caught the trailing end of Shimron’s sleeve, which was heavy with embroidery. Stitch my name here. Choose me for his apprentice. Let my answer be yes. But God’s hand was still over his mouth, and Koji remembered why. Hunching his shoulders, he tugged at his left earlobe.

Watchdog noticed. In a twinkling, the shabby beggar vanished, and Ravel’s unfurled wing settled protectively around Koji’s shoulders. His friend couldn’t shield him from the pain of sorrow, but Koji found comfort in his sympathy. Ravel understood. Better than most.

When they returned to the tower, Shimron gazed across golden meadows. “Amazing.”

Koji nodded, for the view was indeed beautiful.

“I meant you.”

Dark eyes blinked. I am a source of amazement?

Shimron’s glance held a smile. “You befriended a Graft. Your first record is fraught with his sorrow yet remains sweet. You have learned much in a short time, thanks to your middling mentors, yet you possess depths that cannot be taught. You tempt me to believe that God made you just for me, yet He keeps me in suspense as to your answer.” Setting a hand atop Koji’s head, he mused. “Do you suppose it is wrong to want something so badly?”

Startled to hear his own question spoken aloud, Koji flung his arms around Shimron.

“Ah.” The ancient angel’s embrace was as gentle as his voice. “I am reassured. The gifts from God’s hand are always good. Yet one thing you lack.”

Koji’s head popped up, and he searched Shimron’s smiling face.

“Your many mentors sing your praises in every area save one. Penmanship.”

Flushing, Koji nodded. I am still clumsy.

“Your next lesson is with Prosper, is it not?”

Oh.

“None can deny his mastery over pen and ink. Let his skill guide you.” When Shimron tried to step back, Koji clung, but the First One spoke with quiet authority. “Prosper will be waiting. Go to him while you can.”

Next Month: Angel on High ends with Part Ten: “Lost and Found.”