Hestel

I have gone to Danit, to Kuya, to Jariel, even to Zezette herself.  None of them have been able or willing to answer any of my questions.

I have checked in on Freya and George both, and to be safe, all of my other charges.  Nothing has changed with any of them, except perhaps that George drives quite a bit more carefully now.  Of course, none of them have any answers.

I have tried to be patient.  I have tried to put it behind me.  But I cannot.  And so today I sought out Orison.

He was easier to find than I expected—only a short while after I went looking for him, he sent a message to tell me where he could be found.  When I joined him he was standing in a bare, blasted landscape at night, his wings spread, his eyes sweeping the land.

“Forgive me for not coming to you, brother,” he said, inclining his head in my direction even as he continued his watch.  “But this is a war zone, and there is much mischief that can happen here.  I could not leave my post.”

“I would not ask you to, of course,” I replied.  “If I intrude, I can wait—”

A wry smile touched Orison’s lips.  “You have waited long enough, I think, for your answers.”

I was deeply relieved to hear him say it.  “Then tell me, please,” I said, and there was an edge of desperation on my voice.  “What happened that night?”

“It was an attack by one of the Fallen,” he answered.

To have my suspicions confirmed was no comfort.  “I thought so.  I could see nothing, but the car should not have slid as much as it did, and I felt…”  How to describe what I felt—that vicious, despairing hatred?

Orison nodded as if he understood precisely what I could not put into words—and it is likely that he did.  “It was a Violence,” he explained.  “A petty enemy, but numerous and cunning.  I believe the target of this one’s attack was the old man—he is a dedicated servant of our Father, and such light attracts the shadow.”  At this Orison did look at me.  “Is he well?  I know that sometimes a great shock can be as harmful as a great injury.”

I did not ask how Orison had known I would check in on the old man.  “He is.”  Indeed, Frank Davidson and his wife Heidi have been made very thoughtful by the incident, and it seems even to have strengthened their faith.  I told all this to Orison, who smiled more widely now.

“Far more often than they would like, the Fallen find themselves doing the will of who was once their Father,” he said.

I was sensible enough to realize that I would find this very comforting in time, but at the moment I had more questions.  “Did you kill it?”

“You need not fear it again,” was all Orison would answer to that.

I hesitated to ask the next question.  “Did I have real reason to fear it at all?”

Orison sighed, sad and tired.  “Given the chance, the Fallen will attack angels, yes.  I came to help you because I feared that it would do so, and without the ability to see it, you would have been at a disadvantage.”

“Why did you not come sooner?” I demanded.  “If you knew of the danger, why did you not protect the man?”

“Because I was not needed.  You had matters well under your wings.”

I was startled at this.  Orison took another look around the landscape, then turned to me, radiating pride.  “You acted swiftly, even though you were uncertain as to what was truly happening.  More importantly, you acted with precision, choosing the effective action in less than an instant.  And you stood between Frank and danger by instinct, even after you felt the danger to yourself.  A Guardian who has been carefully trained and prepared for what dangers they might face could not have done better.”

I did not know what to say.  Finally I asked, “Do Guardians often have to fight the Fallen?”

“Far more often than we would like,” he replied, and there was sorrow in his tone.

I can imagine that to be true, for many reasons.

There was silence for a long moment.  For a war zone, it was a very quiet place.  But—perhaps it was my own nervousness that made it so, but I did not like the taste of that quiet.  It seemed to be waiting for something to happen, and not something good.

“You have one more question, I think,” Orison said.

“Yes, though I am not certain that you can answer it,” I said.  “It seemed to me—perhaps I imagined it, but I thought that Freya, my charge, also sensed the presence of the Fallen.  Is that possible?”

Orison did not answer for a moment.  “For a human, usually not,” he said.  “Some, however, are particularly sensitive to heavenly influences.  I am not at all surprised that Freya is one of those.”

“But why?” I asked, frustrated.  “What is it about her that makes her different?”

Now Orison looked at me in surprise.  “Have your seniors not told you her history?”

“What history?” I asked him.

His brows lowered.  “How could they not tell you?” he asked the air.  “How can you protect her if you do not know everything that is behind her?”

I was gratified by his anger.  “Will you tell me?”

He hesitated only a moment.  “Yes, I will tell you.  Of course—if anyone should know, it is you.”

And he told me.

When Orison had finished, I thanked him and left him to his watch.  I went directly to Freya, who was making herself a cup of hot chocolate before bed.

I looked at her, looking tired and content, wearing pink slippers and fuzzy pants with stars on them and a man’s sweater.  I looked at her red hair, falling in a mess around her face, as vivid as her aura.  I looked at her eyes, currently puffy with sleepiness, and yet able to see so much more than other humans can—and not just in the way of heavenly beings, but in the way of people who need help and support and comfort.

Angels do not usually connect their human charges with the angels they were before incarnation.  To be born on the Earth changes a soul often beyond recognition, and for most of them, only a Reader could keep track of who they once were.

For very old or very powerful angels, it is different.  When they decide to be incarnated, it causes a stir, and angels will often watch as they are born and as they grow to see how they develop and how they meet the tests that come to them on Earth.

Freya was one such angel.  She was a Persuasion who had achieved rank as a Seraph, which is remarkable.  I thought before today that only Sentries, Orders, and the occasional Singer were granted the Upper Eye.  But the angel who would become Freya had such deep love for the humans, and such a passion for teaching them kindness and friendship, that after many decades of good works, she was called into the Father’s presence to be rewarded.

Her name was Hestel.

When she decided at last to be incarnated, many of our kind were deeply excited to see what she would do.  Throughout history, many powerful angels have come into the world to change it entirely, to bring previously unknown peace and love to the human race.  Expectations were high.

But it has been a few decades, and Freya, though she is remarkable, has not met those expectations.  She has made no sign of changing the world, of altering the culture, of averting hatred or violence anywhere.

This is why Danit hesitated to assign a Cupid to Freya.  It is why she did not want to tell me why Freya is so sensitive.  They were afraid that I would share in my siblings’ disappointment in her.

Which is ludicrous.  To me, this story does not diminish her, but rather raises her still higher in my estimation.  I am not the least surprised that she was extraordinary before she lived.

I put my wings around her, washing her in all the love I have ever felt for her.  “You have time,” I whispered.  “You will have many years to make the world suit you, as I know you can.  And even if you do nothing but spread love in your small part of the world for the rest of your days…who can say that is not enough?”

Freya wiped her eyes, thinking that they were just watering.  I knew better.

“Whatever you do,” I promised her, feeling my own eyes sting with tears, “I will be with you.  I will protect you, and love you, and help you as much as I can.  For you deserve it if anyone does.  My sister, my friend—I will be with you.”