Courage is sometimes a heavy feeling. It is the knowledge that there is that in the world that is worthy of fear, and yet the knowledge that one has the power to face what is fearsome. It is not joy, or at least only a part of joy—comfort, perhaps. If it can be comfort to know that battle is ahead, and that one is expected to take on a greater part of the battle than ever before.
I am sorry—I have not yet explained what has happened. These last few days have made me philosophical.
It occurred to me not long after my last post that I may indeed not be the only one made vulnerable by my enemies’ knowledge of me. After all, anyone who knows the smallest bit about me knows my love for Freya. And she was the one who suffered most from the Resentment’s torture of Alysse. I’ve come to believe that poor Alysse was simply used as a weapon to attack my fire woman, whom I thought safe under my wings.
Orison and Eburnean both tried to reassure me that this was not likely—that a Violence cannot command Resentments, and that there is a difference between an enemy knowing my name and their knowing anything else about me. But their words were in vain. I went down then and there to stand guard over Freya, and if not for their direct order to return, I would be there still.
Just at dawn this morning, Eburnean took my place. “I want you to feel certain that all is well here,” they told me. “You will not want your attention divided for this.”
What could I do? I took one last look at Freya—or rather, at the tufts of her hair that were visible above her pillow—and returned to heaven, where a rather formidable group was waiting for me.
“Asa’el, join us,” Salathiel told me. At her right hand stood Orison, and at her left was Simmah. Ero’an and Anathalie were also looking on, both of them solemn.
I stepped forward to greet them. “Elder, how may I serve?” I asked.
She smiled at me, but I could see worry in her face. “It is how we may serve you that concerns me. Orison has told me what happened with the Resentment, which is ill news indeed. It is one more confirmation of a possibility that Simmah brought to our attention when you became a Guardian.”
I glanced at Simmah, startled. I had known that he had interest in me, but not that he had already seen something of my future so early on.
“I hoped that I was wrong,” Simmah said, “as I am sometimes. But in this instance it seems I am not. The enemy has knowledge of you, Asa’el, and more worryingly, of Freya.”
My fear returned in a great rush. When I could speak, I said, “Please, Elder, let me go back to her.”
Salathiel studied me. “Even without the ability to see or to fight your foes, you would protect her?”
“I must protect her,” I answered her. “Or at least, she must be protected. She is such a light—” I could not go on. Could they not see the beauty and worth of my fire woman?
Salathiel came closer and rested her hand on my chest. “Calm your heart, young brother,” she said. “You will be the one to defend her, for no one else could do better. We wish only to arm you so that you may meet the enemy with strength.” She motioned Anathalie forward. Now I could see something in Anathalie’s hands, something that looked like a round knot of darkness.
“Brother,” Salathiel said, stepping back and curving three of her wings around Anathalie, “will you accept the burden of the Lower Eye?”
I was staggered. To become a Cherub so soon, with less than a year of being a Guardian at all? I looked at Orison, who had a rueful smile on his face. “You are certain?” I asked, with an abruptness that was almost rude.
“We are,” Salathiel replied. “In caution after Simmah’s warnings, we have hastened your training, and you have responded with greater strength and skill than any of us hoped. We have been very proud of you, and we know that you will do well.” Her slight smile faded. “Be certain, though, Asa’el. This is a power granted by the King himself, and it cannot be given back. It will change forever the way that you see the world, and the weight of despair may rest heavier on you when you see so much of the dark truth.”
I gazed at the darkness in Anathalie’s hand. I will not say that I was not afraid, but the greater feeling was excitement. To take on greater responsibility in the war—to be able to fight for myself, and not just to depend on my seniors! To be able to stand with them in battle. To have full power to protect Freya and all others who might fall under my wings.
“Elder,” I said, with shaking voice, “it will be my greatest honor to take the Eye.”
She smiled. “Then it is yours, brother,” she said, and she lifted the darkness from Anathalie’s hand and placed it on my brow.
It hurt. Oh, my friends, it hurt as nothing has ever hurt me before—not the terror and agony of Grace giving birth, not the sick grief of losing Shannon, not the slow horror of thinking I might lose Freya. Not even the touch of the Fallen hurt as this did, although there was something of that gripping ice in it. I did not scream as the Eye sank into my soul, but oh, how I wanted to. I felt that the weight of it would drag me down, that I would fall, fall so far through the clouds and into the earth and down into the fire.
And then a small, sweet voice spoke in my ear. It spoke my name, and though the pain was not gone, I had no more attention to spare for it.
You are my own, Asa’el, and I am well pleased.
I came back to myself on my knees, drained and awed and weeping. My Father had spoken to me, to me alone, for the second time in my life. I opened my eyes—all of them—and gazed down at a weapon that lay before me, gleaming and new and perfect for me.
It was a longbow, almost as long as my own wingspan. The string was made from a song, secured to either end with bright laughter. The curve of the bow itself was shaped from flame, its strength taken not from wild hunger, but from the gift of warmth on a cold night and the comfort of light in the darkness. As I took it into my hands, I saw that it was precisely the colors of Freya’s aura. There was also a quiver made of smoke and confidence, and sharp arrows of truth and heat. All made, I saw in a moment, just for my own hand.
“Father,” I breathed, holding the weapon he had made just for me, just that moment. “Oh, Father, thank you.”
When I could, I lifted my gaze from the weapon to find the others kneeling as well, paying homage to the new creation as I had. They, too, lifted their heads, and I gasped, horror gripping me.
I understand, of course, how it was that I never saw the scars that my companions bear, but in that moment I was amazed that I could have been so blind. On Anathalie they were deepest, ripping across her face and twisting one of her hands, but every one of my seniors bore the marks of their many battles with the enemy. I looked from one to the other, clasping my bow close to me.
Salathiel smiled ruefully at me, splitting a scar that ran from one lip to another. “I did try to warn you, did I not?”
“You did,” I answered, trying to stifle the thunder of my heart.
She rose, as did the others, and Ero’an helped me to my feet. “And does it make you regret, Asa’el?”
He too bore his scars, some as deep in his soul as Anathalie’s, and I wondered that he could carry them so lightly. “No,” I said after a moment. “It is better to see the truth. I thank you all for this gift. I thank you for giving me what I need to keep my loved ones safe.”
“This is only the beginning, Asa’el,” Simmah told me. He alone was unmarked by darkness, and yet I saw terrible knowledge in his eyes now, knowledge that had hurt him just as the weapons of the Fallen might have. “You have much work to do. Your training will be fiercer now, and more will be expected of you.”
I waited then for the fear to return, but it didn’t come. I knew that I had much work ahead of me, but I felt ready to face the threat.
“Teach me,” I said to them all. “I will do whatever I need to do.”
And I shall. As a Cherub of my Father’s forces, I will fight with pride, until I can fight no longer, or until I no longer need to fight.