I joined Ero’an for a patrol last night. This is the third time this week that I have been assigned with him, which is both an honor and a pleasure. I think that it is intentional that I should join Ero’an’s patrol, as we seem to have much in common. Among all the Guardians I have met, his spirit is most like mine.
Yesterday was the first time that we went out just the two of us. I told him that I was honored to have his company, and he only smiled. “You have something to ask me, do you not? I wanted to give you the chance.”
I was shocked. “How did you know?”
He laughed. We were winging our way through a snowstorm, gliding in the spaces between the heavy flakes. “When one fights as I do, Asa’el, one must be able to see things clearly, and not just what is right in front of you, but what might come in the future.” He turned to me. “Go on, then. It is something to do with one of your charges, is it not? Miranda?”
He has been watching me more closely than I knew. Still, I assumed nothing, and I told him all the details of Miranda’s case. Then I told him my plan to make use of Alex to undermine Mr. Hill and his wicked doings. “I am not entirely certain how precisely I may do it yet,” I admitted, “and so I hoped that you may have some advice.”
Ero’an turned in the air so that he was gliding on his back. He held out his hand, and a few snowflakes fell into it. “Salathiel was right to think that we would do well together,” he said. “Your methods are precisely like my own. This is just how I would handle this situation.”
I was reassured by this, for Taralom has been telling me that I am mad.
His wings folded then, and he dropped down to the earth. I followed, surprised, and we found ourselves in a small, snow-bound neighborhood, where no lights shone from the windows, though we could sense wakeful people inside the houses.
Ero’an led us to the back of one of the houses, where footprints scrambled across the back yard and down the stone steps to the basement. The door was open, and someone was digging through the boxes, his aura full of urgency and hope, lit only by a flashlight in his fist.
“He does not know that there is anyone in the house,” Ero’an murmured to me. “And when he learns this—”
Footsteps overhead made all of us go still. The man looked up at the ceiling, his heart leaping. Reaching into his coat, he drew out a long knife.
“No,” Ero’an said, very gently. And where I might have gotten angry or tried to force him back, he simply reached into the man’s memory and drew forth images of his mother’s face.
The thief hesitated, and then he put the knife back. He snatched something out of the box nearest to him, and then he turned and ran. Ero’an did nothing to stop him, simply followed.
As we went after the man, Ero’an said to me, “In simplest terms, there are only two ways for us to fight the Enemy—using his weapons, and using our own. It is easier to use the Enemy’s weapons, for they are the ones designed for fighting. Fear, anger, guilt, hate—even very young Guardians find themselves reaching instinctively for these, for it is the nature of such weapons to be used.
“Many of us take it farther, and learn the powers of the Fallen as well as their habits,” he went on. “Anathalie is the best example of this. She has spent many long and painful years studying our fallen siblings to learn their ways. It has cost her much.”
It was then that I understood. “So you take the other path.”
Ero’an smiled. We were following the thief down the street, where he was trying another back door. This house was also occupied, but its owners were fast asleep two floors above, and so the intrusion was not noticed. “It has its disadvantages,” Ero’an said. “There is more waiting and watching involved, and I must choose my battles carefully. It involves more ingenuity to do this, and it takes more time to find a plan that will work. And often it makes me vulnerable in ways that my sister would not be. But I feel that this is where my strength lies, and I am pleased with the results.”
The thief had found an empty box and filled it with several things from the basement, as well as the vase he’d snatched from the other house. He considered venturing upstairs, but a brief reminder of his close call in the other house decided him, and he went out again, closing the door behind him.
“Self-restraint and caution,” Ero’an said to me. “Conscience and humility and patience and charity. All of these things can be used to turn enemies from their path. And someday you will find that they are even more effective against the Fallen than they are against humans.”
This was surprising to me in two different ways. Of course I would never have thought that the bright weapons, as I have come to think of them, would have any effect against the Fallen. But I was also startled by the surety that Ero’an has that I will someday advance to a position as a Cherub, fighting the Fallen directly.
We continued to follow the thief, who brought his box of stolen goods back to a rusted car, one of its doors a different color than the others. Then he went on to a third house, and perhaps emboldened by his escape in the previous two houses, he broke a window on the first floor and made his way inside.
“My advice,” Ero’an said as we followed, “is to learn what you can about your target. If you know your enemy, you can know how to reach them. For example, this man’s name is Jay, and he has run out on his wife and young son, and he hoped to earn enough money in the drug trade to be able to go back to them with pride, but he has gotten himself into debt instead. He acts out of desperation and shame, and everything he does only digs himself deeper into shadow.”
I was impressed—I had seen none of these details, only the feeling that drove the man.
As we watched him studying the flatscreen television and trying to decide if he could get it off the wall and out the window, Ero’an went on, “You learned recently, I think, that those who seek harm often bring harm to themselves, but the reverse is often true.”
A flash of light made Jay yelp and drop to the ground. The man in the doorway also shouted—he was wearing only boxers, and there was a baseball bat in his hand as well as the flashlight.
Jay bolted for the window, but the owner of the house thought he was going for the stairs and jumped in the way, his heart faltering as he thought of his wife and daughter up the stairs. Jay drew out his knife.
One man fleeing from his family, another trying to protect it.
And in fact, this was the thought that Ero’an sent, swift as a knife itself, into Jay’s mind. At the same time, he sent a ripple of energy up to the floor above, waking the baby, who voiced a sharp cry of protest.
These combined made Jay freeze, just for an instant, and Ero’an moved behind the other man, strengthening his heart and speeding his arm. He knocked the knife out of Jay’s hand, and Jay turned and bolted to the door, shoving back the deadbolt and pushing his way out.
“Let him go,” Ero’an murmured to the shaken homeowner. “Go see to your family.”
He did so as soon as he had closed the door again, taking the stairs two at a time, and Ero’an turned to me. “You have to be careful, because commonality does not always bring compassion. Indeed, some people are made angry and resentful to see people who embody what they see as their weaknesses. But if there remains some goodness and hope in their hearts, then that can be a very good place to start.”
He gave me some more advice on how I might start with Alex, advice that I look forward to putting into practice. It was an enlightening evening, and one that brings relief to a worry that I had not acknowledged in myself. I know that I can fight, but the head-on forms of battle have not come easily to me, and I have often wished that there might be another way. To spend time with Ero’an, who is a proven warrior and yet uses such gentle methods, was eye-opening. I know that I have a long way to go before I can fight as he does, but it gives me hope that someday I might be able to.