I was on patrol with Ero’an last night. Like the rest of us, Ero’an shows the weariness of the long weeks past, but fatigue has not diminished his kindness. He complimented me for my work in the scouting missions and with Joanna. “I read what you wrote about rescuing her—a gripping story,” he told me. “And it struck me how very much good you did for the boy as well. He will always remember the joy of saving a life, and that will lead him into the light in his own life as well.”
“That is my hope,” I said. “But it was little enough of my own doing.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Ero’an mused. “You have an uncanny talent for drawing humans into your own work, for working alongside them rather than through them. One only has to look to your fire woman to know it, as she has helped you many times.”
I am always happy to praise Freya. “I’ve been blessed in my relationship with her. She sees to the heart of things, even without knowing exactly what it is she is looking at.”
Ero’an nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder if you would be able to look into something for me? Someone I noticed on my last patrol who may benefit from your unique assistance.”
“I’d be delighted.”
He smiled and led the way down into the evening. The light was just gathering itself on the horizon for one last burst of gold before settling into sunset. Ero’an and I swept through a quieting city to find a group of boys gathered at the end of a street. Like Patrick and his friends, they were on bicycles, but there was a sharpness in their talk and their movements that had not been found in Joanna’s hero.
“Ugh, I’m so bored,” one of them complained. “Can we find something to do, please?”
“Let’s go throw rocks at Mr. Brimley’s car again,” another suggested.
“Nah, I heard from my brother that he has insurance now. We could knock over some mailboxes.”
“That’s dumb. Anyway, nobody’s going to be around to see it, they’re all still inside.”
There were two boys who did not engage in the talk. One was sitting still astride his bicycle, eyes fixed on the end of the street with a predatory gleam. The other was a boy who hung back from the group, and where in the others was a spirit of resentment and anger, this one was uncertain and uneasy. I could see that this was the one Ero’an had meant.
“His name is Mitchell,” he told me, looking down at the boy with a sad fondness. “I think his friends’ tendency toward mischief and violence is beginning to wear on him.”
I could see that—indeed, it looked much like the weariness I and my siblings have been carrying. But where we are tired from resisting an active and persistent evil, Mitchell had not resisted, only let darkness wash over him. He was tired just to look at the forces against him, and who could blame him? When you are young and think you can look forward only to a long life of fighting against evil, it is hard not to despair.
I bent down to speak to him, but before I could say a word, the other quiet boy sat up straight, his head turning as if he were scenting the wind. From the way the rest of the group were suddenly silenced, this was their leader. He certainly had the most narrow and angry soul among them.
“There’s something for us to do,” he said, and like a pack of wolves, the boys turned to follow his gaze down the street. Another boy had just come around the corner, about the same age as Mitchell’s group, his head hanging low, his shoulders hunched. Even from this distance, I could see the maturity around him.
The boys began to hoot with laughter, and their victim looked up, tensing. He took one look at the group and sprang into a run, scrambling down a slope towards gleaming water. The leader of the group took off after them, with the rest right behind. Mitchell thought for a moment about just going home, but it was easier just to follow. Ero’an and I did the same.
They caught up with their prey when he was just short of the waterline—a small stream running away from town. Maybe the running boy had thought to go with it, to find his escape downstream, but it didn’t matter now. His backpack was snatched away from him, and the momentum of his attacker dragged him to the ground, skidding painfully across gravel. The group formed a rough circle around him, in which Mitchell was a reluctant outlier.
“Hey, Joshie,” said the first boy casually. “How was work?”
Josh pushed himself up on his damaged palms. “What do you want, Devin?” he asked.
I was surprised and pleased to see that there was no weariness in his face as he looked at his tormentor. In the face of cruelty, this youth was defiant and dismissive.
“Do you see how brave he is?” I asked Mitchell, who did see.
Devin saw it too, and it made him angry. Only an angel would have known, though. “Oh, nothing,” he answered, “I’m just looking for something to do.”
Josh got to his feet, blood at his knees and elbow as well as on his hands. “You know, I hear a lot of people are getting into pilates these days,” he said. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”
One of the other boys laughed at this, though he stopped quickly under the mild gaze of his leader. Devin turned back to his victim. “Is that what you’re into, Josh? Is that your favorite hobby?”
“I don’t have time for hobbies, Devin, any more than I have time for this. Can I have my bag back? My mom is waiting for me.”
“Oh, Mommy’s waiting,” Devin said in vicious delight, and his shadows cackled. “Well, that teaches us, doesn’t it?”
Mitchell didn’t laugh, though, maybe seeing in Josh something that he wanted himself—a sense of responsibility, of taking care of other people.
“You could have that, you know,” I said to him, filling him with warmth. “You could start right now.”
In his resistance to that thought, I could see traces of a long history between himself and Devin, a friendship that had been in existence all their lives. It was beginning to sour, but still Mitchell valued it, and he hoped that Devin did, too.
“Be honest with yourself,” I asked him. “Does that look like someone who knows the importance of friendship?”
Devin sprang off his bike, hanging Josh’s pack from the seat. “Poor Joshie works so hard,” he said, his envy and anger making the words into curses. “So good and so smart and so responsible. Everybody loves Joshie.” He advanced on Josh, jutting out his chin.
Josh sighed. “Look, can we just get this over with, then?” he asked, holding out his hands.
“You saying you want to fight me?” Devin laughed. “I’ll take you apart.”
“Yeah you will!”
“Get him, Dev!”
“This is gonna be good.”
I made certain that Mitchell noted how Devin fed on the cheers, growing straighter and taller. Josh saw it without my help, his lip curled with faint scorn. I stood between them, feeding courage to both, but my gaze stayed on Mitchell. “Just speak the truth,” I said to him.
And he did. As Devin balled his hands into fists, Mitchell said in a flat voice, “Devin, this is dumb.”
The others stopped, surprised by this voice of resistance. Devin, too, was taken aback—he’d taken for granted that Mitchell was behind him. “What’s your problem?” he asked harshly.
“I don’t have a problem,” Mitchell said, leaning on his handlebars. “I just think this is stupid. Come on, let’s go do something else.”
“You go if you want, who the fuck cares,” Devin snapped. “You got somewhere better to be?”
Mitchell’s mouth tightened, his resolution strengthening. “Yeah, I do,” he said, turning his bike. “Anywhere but here. Later, losers.” Rather than ruin his exit by laboring back up the hill, he turned and went whizzing down the path by the stream.
As he went, though, there was an instant in which he caught Josh’s gaze, an instant that both of them will remember all their lives, I think. They might never talk to one another again, but they both know that in this moment they were allies, and that is no small thing.
Then Mitchell was gone, and Devin was left stiff with anger, his followers subdued. I fed Josh another rush of courage, and he jumped around Devin and hopped onto his bike. “Thanks for the ride,” he said. “You can come get it from my house tomorrow.” And he, too, went riding off, ignoring Devin’s spluttering anger.
When I turned to Ero’an, he was smiling. “You see?” he said. “You have a gift, Asa’el, in encouraging humans to help one another. You have changed their lives, and yet they will never once guess that anyone but themselves did it.”
I am grateful for Ero’an’s praise, of course, but I wonder now if that is for the best. It is good to know oneself capable of changing one’s own fate, but must self-confidence always be bought with solitude? I think it is possible to be sure of oneself and yet also sure that others will stand against the enemy, too. I hope that I can give both to my charges.