by Katrina Cope
“That is true to a point, but you also help by reducing those numbers, along with the other archangels and angels that fight by our side.” The healing angel places a hand on my shoulder. “You're not to blame. I am sure of it. I have never seen anybody fight with such passion to protect him.”
I hold my tongue, but I don't believe him. I must train harder. I can't let this happen again. We are here to protect the humans, and to do so successfully, I must defend Michael.
- Chapter Three -
I wait at the edge of the cloud platform of the angel headquarters. My heart thumps rapidly, and worry spins around in my mind. Moving my feet hip-width apart, I face the sky, with my hands clasped behind my back underneath my white wings. Not only am I supposed to protect Michael, but he is also my best friend. Over the years, I have watched him lead with passion, and it fills me with pride to be part of his circle. He has done so much good for the earth and the humans.
Pivoting, I peer over my shoulder, past the arch of my white wings. Michael's still form lies on the bed of clouds, and his eyes remain closed. My wings flick with annoyance and frustration, and I return my gaze to the sky and pace along the cloud platform. With each silent step, my feet disappear into a slight layer of cloud. I know it hasn't been long, but Michael has never become unconscious before. It disturbs me immensely. Turning away, I pace in the other direction.
“Zacharias.”
I halt and pray I didn't imagine what I just heard. Bracing myself, I enclose my heart in a protective layer before I look back. The protection melts when I see Michael sitting up on the cloud bed. His sapphire eyes fill with amusement as he looks at me.
“Why, Zacharias, you look so serious. That's an unusual look. My brother, where has your humor gone?”
He mocks me, and I smile—not only from the relief of seeing him open his eyes but also from the fact his mind is back, and his wit has returned.
“If you keep up those sorts of comments I might knock you out myself,” I say before grinning and embracing him in a brotherly hug. “It's good to see you back. You had me worried.” When I release him and pull back, I look at him, dropping my smile. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have turned my back on you.”
“Don't be ridiculous. You never turned your back on me. You were busy, and there were only a few left. Somehow, they snuck up on me and touched me. It is a lesson I have learned for next time.” He studies my serious face. “You're a good soldier, and I am more than capable of looking after myself.”
“Sure. I can tell by the results.” I say, sarcasm filling my voice.
He nudges me on the arm with a fist. “We all make mistakes. That was a big one on my part.”
“And that's why I was there. I am here to make sure you don't do that. You are the Archangel Michael.” I emphasize his name, giving it the importance it deserves.
“You don't need to tell me who I am.” His cheeks push out as his eyes dance with levity.
I cross my arms. “You may mock me, but you are the leader of the archangels and all angels, the protector of humankind and angels. This cannot happen to you. And it is my duty to make sure this doesn't happen to you. Besides, I might miss you as a friend.”
“Might miss me? It's nice to know I mean so much to you.” His voice fills with jest, and I can see by his face that he’s kidding.
I chuckle.
He stands, and from his movements, I can see his strength is returning. “I have a mission for you.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“We are not going anywhere. This is a mission just for you.”
My face must show I’m hurt, because he says, “No, this has nothing to do with the last battle. You served well. I was going to pass this mission on to you before that, anyway.”
“What happens if you encounter something like we just ran into? You need someone by your side.”
“Then I will call you. I'm sure you'll be here by my side within an instant.”
I don't argue. I know this is true. In addition to the ability to speak to each other through our minds and call each other from millions of miles away, we can teleport to each other's side in an instant. “All right. What would you like me to do?”
“A young girl has been through much trauma and lives on a farm in France. The humans still can’t communicate unless they travel to see others face-to-face, and they must do everything by hand. The family needs help. I need you to go to them and make your way into their life, staying close enough that you can keep a good eye on the girl. They don't live near a town, so this could be tricky, but don't give up. She needs our protection.”
“How did you hear of this girl?”
“I have my ways. She is unusual, this sparked my interest, and I feel something kind of like a warning. It's hard to explain.” He places a palm on the golden breastplate over his stomach. “Will you go?”
“If it is your will, of course, I will go.”
“Thank you, my brother.” Michael places a hand on my shoulder. “I think this young girl has the potential to do great things. She needs guidance in the right direction, and I need someone to oversee that.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Just make sure you call me before you go anywhere dangerous.”
He chuckles. “Yes, yes. Of course I will. You know that I am more than capable of fighting, as well.”
“Ah, huh.” I raise the other eyebrow at him.
He embraces me in a brotherly hug. “Take care. And I will see you soon.” After pulling away, he holds his hands together then moves them apart slightly and twirls them in a circular motion. Inside his cupped hands, a little white bean forms. Carefully, between his forefinger and his thumb, he picks it up and passes it to me. “Now swallow this. It will take you to the place where you need to go and show you the young lady you need to protect. It'll warm immensely from the inside when you get close to where she is, and you can find her through that feeling.”
I place the bean inside my mouth then swallow, and warmth fills my stomach. I can feel the child's essence. There is definitely something there, and something is different about her. I nod at Archangel Michael, push off from the clouded platform, spread my wings, and take to the sky. I feel peace enveloping me as I flap them and push into the beautiful blueness of the sky. A fresh breeze softly pushes against my face, and I tilt my head down and aim for the ground. The breeze’s intensity increases as I cut through the air.
The feeling as I dive is exhilarating and simultaneously relaxing. It makes me feel free and peaceful. I never want to lose this feeling. I love my wings. I fly over the land and follow the sensation in my stomach. The bean grows slightly warmer with each adjustment I make toward the correct place.
I observe the lush green pastures below, enjoying the view of the different villages as I fly over them, following the pull of her essence. The villages disappear, and I follow the pull over a vast forest, eventually spotting a small farm below.
- Chapter Four -
I make myself invisible then circle the property a few times to assess the area. It isn't in a farm community—it’s more isolated, miles from another town or even from another house. There are no signs of immediate danger that would come to any young girl, yet I know she is there because her warmth in my stomach is pulling me to the farm. I fly down, land in the middle of the farm, and look around. My moccasins eliminate any footprints along the hard ground. The earth is fertile and full of life—it’s perfect for a farm.
I approach the house through the middle of a field planted with wheat until I pass a small group of penned animals. The cluck of chickens surrounds me as I walked toward the house. A cow moos, sticks its head out of the pen, and runs its long tongue along its soft nose as it watches me pass. My invisibility is useless against animals. Angels may be invisible to humans, but animals can still see them.
Two oxen graze in a field not far from the cow. As I walk closer to the house, a stench fills my nose. Searching for the origin of the smell, I look to the other side and
see a pig wallowing in mud. It seems content with its soft pink skin covered in a thick muddy crust.
I reach the house, and I'm about to clasp the handle of the door when a young girl charges out the back door. She carries a bucket under one arm, and food scraps and grain topple over the edges. With a lighthearted step, she makes her way toward the chickens. She looks to be about ten. Her long blond hair falls down her back, and her clean pastel-blue pinafore drops to her toes. Her pale cheeks flush with a slight rosy color from the coolness of the autumn air. She hums happily as she skips her way toward the chickens. She unhinges the gate and passes through the vegetable garden, which is surrounded by the pens. The chickens roam free, digging and scratching around. She drops the bucket and scoops down to pick up a chicken.
“Hello, Mademoiselle.” She scoops the fowl into her arms and strokes its brown feathers. “How has your day been today?” She hugs the chicken tightly, and it clucks. It doesn’t struggle or peck at her, which suggests it is handled regularly.
“I have some of your favorites today.” The girl reaches a hand into the bucket, scoops up a handful of food, and holds it out for the chicken. The chicken pecks at the grains and the vegetables while its feet hang limply underneath. She kisses the chicken lightly on its neck and places it on the ground, tossing the handful of food in front of it.
“I hope you chickens have been good today. We need lots of eggs. I'm hungry.”
Some of the chickens have already gathered around her bucket. Many chickens come racing from the gardens. She shoos them away from the bucket then picks it up and throws the contents over the ground, spreading the food out for them to eat.
“Here you go. Eat up.” Squatting, she pets a couple on the back.
Several chickens exit the little chicken coop that sits off to the side. This area is fenced off, with just enough room for the chickens to push through a small hole. She scoops up the bucket and heads toward the coop, where she unlatches the gate on the side. Another chicken runs out of the henhouse and into the yard to eat. The girl ducks into the secured area, which is sheltered against the weather. I watch as she squats then crawls through the hole to scoop up eggs from different areas and nests. A soft hum resonates across the air as she gathers each egg.
A banging sound travels from my left, and I search for the source. Not far from the house is a patch of land. The ground is singed, blackened as though burned, and rubble lies around the edges. In the middle, a man bangs a rock against something, trying to secure it into place. He places the stone down then starts digging holes for posts and lining up logs, tying them together with rope after setting the logs one on top of the other. The process is slow and cumbersome, and I can see that it is too much work for just one man. He struggles with the weight of the beams.
As I watch him labor, I take in his appearance.
His hair is dark, and his face, which is soft and kind, is set in determination. The man is wearing a short green cotehardie and a brown chaperon. He is lean and fit, probably from years of manual work. I don't know who he is. He doesn't look as if he could be the young girl's father—he looks nothing like her. He seems to be in his thirties, yet the weathered look of his skin and the wrinkles around his eyes make him look a little older. I sympathize with him as I watch him struggle, and I wonder how he intends to build what looks like a potential building by himself. He needs help.
The young girl bursts from the henhouse and latches the gate behind her. Her bucket is half full of eggs, which looks to be a reasonable reserve for the day. The chickens work well for their food—they’re unquestionably happy and well looked after. The girl continues to hum as she makes her way to the house, petting Mademoiselle as she passes through.
“Ava!”
The girl’s humming stops, and she pauses for a moment.
“Ava!” the man calls again.
“Yes, Papa,” the young girl replies. I try to blink away my disbelief. That’s her papa? Perhaps she looks more like her mother.
“Can you please get Mama for me?” the man calls to her.
“Yes, Papa.”
With a light step, she heads toward the house. She looks as though she wants to skip but knows she can’t, or she’ll break the eggs. A hum carries through the air as she heads to the door, happy and carefree.
I'm still unsure why I'm needed here, but Michael is never wrong when it comes to protecting humans.
When the girl disappears behind the door, I move to follow her but halt when the door opens again. A woman wipes food off her hands and onto her long apron and bustles through the door. Her features are slightly plump but not too heavy. She makes her way toward the man. I study her, looking for any signs of the young girl in the mother. I can't see any similarity. When I think about it, it isn’t unusual for humans. Sometimes, they don’t look like their parents. I follow them, curious about the interaction between them.
“What is it, Piers?” she asks as she nears.
“I need help with this log. I can't balance it and tie it as well.” He points to the log, and the frustration shows in his features.
She goes down to the far end of the log and embraces it, and they lift it together. She holds her end in place as he ties his end together.
“You need to find a hand. It's not going to be built before the winter. And I will not be able to finish all my chores and preserve the food if I keep having to help you.” She moves her hands into a more comfortable position while supporting the log.
“I know. I know. But you know we have to protect her. And it would be hard to find someone who wants to live all the way out here.” He looks at his wife. “Don't worry. We’ll get it done. We’re hard workers, and we always get it done. If we need to, we can get Ava to help us.”
“She's too young.”
“She is, but she's also a willing helper,” he says.
“Yes. She is willing to help. But often, she slows me down. Her youth and inexperience can be more of a deterrent than a help.”
“Don't worry. We’ll get it to work.” He finishes tying his end then goes to hers and starts to tie it together.
Once it’s tied, they move onto the next log, lifting it together. They repeat this many times until the wall becomes higher. The mother groans under the weight, clearly struggling with the physical exertion. Even so, she refrains from whining. The task is slow. Eventually, they lift one to shoulder height, and her end slips from her hands then drops to the ground.
“Darn it, Piers!” she exclaims. “I'm tired and have so much work to do of my own. Can't you work on the lower levels for now?”
He looks at her with frustration evident on his face, but I can tell that it isn’t directed at her. He’s frustrated over time constraints.
“I'll help you again later,” she promises, spotting his disappointment.
“Sure, dear. You do your stuff and rest your arms. I'll continue with the lower level.”
As she disappears into the house, I watch the man go back to work, struggling with doing everything himself. I'm tempted to help in my invisible form, but I don't. This would unnerve him. I know what I have to do.
- Chapter Five -
I watch the man struggle for the next hour, lifting each beam with great effort and struggling to balance it over the top of the other beams while he ties the ropes. He isn't winning. When he manages to balance one on the others, the other end topples down. He is lucky to have the lower beams tied together within an hour.
Winter is a month away. I know that if he doesn't get this done shortly and the weather decides to change suddenly, he’ll be stuck. The family won’t have any storage.
The afternoon sun stains the skyline, and nighttime quickly approaches. I can feel it in the breeze. The air is getting colder and crisper, with more coolness to come as winter sets in. I can see my opportunity to blend in with the family.
I push up into the air and fly down the road. Using the trees as protection, I tuck my wings away, change into clothes of the era, ditch m
y angelic gown and gold breastplate, then make myself visible. I then walk the few hundred yards down the road toward the little house. I can't feel any eyes on me, so they must not know that I am approaching. I knock on the door and not long afterward hear scuffling on the inside.
Yelling comes from the house. “Ava, no! I will get it!”
The door flies back, and before me stands the little girl. I can't help but smile. Clearly, she doesn't do what she is told. This trait is often annoying to adults, yet it also shows a spirited little girl, someone with a significant chance to survive against whatever it is that is threatening her. With her hand still clasping the door, she stares at me with wide green eyes. They’re the most striking color I have seen, pure green and piercing.
“Hello.” She studies me, her eyes darting to every unusual feature.
“Hello.” I'm about to ask for her mother when I see the lady standing in the door behind her.
“Can I help you?” the mother asks, her eyes curious as she studies my form. When I changed into the human, I made sure the clothes I changed into were ragged, but not too much. I didn't want to look like a derelict, only a well-traveled person. Holes and dirt cover parts of them.
“I was looking for board and lodgings in exchange for labor. Winter is coming, and I don't have a home. I've traveled far from where I used to live.” I linger just outside of her personal-space barrier.
Her hazel eyes flick around my form, taking in all the spots and markings on my clothes. Her eyes scan my arms and my shoulders until they finally meet my eyes. She studies my arms again, and I make sure I flex them discreetly, showing off the muscles from the years of training. She steps outside, and Ava follows her.
“Come.” She walks around the side of the house, and I follow. “My husband is a stubborn man, but he needs help. Don't get your hopes up.” She travels around the side of the house toward the barn the man is building. I can hear his struggles even from this far away. He is determined to get it done, knowing his family's livelihood—and maybe their lives—depends on it. As we round the corner of wall that he has already built, his eyes land on me. Suspicion clouds them instantly.