Part 3 (1/2)
WHISPERS.
She's utterly clueless,” Marcus grumbled. ”And childish.”
Harken's deep chuckle rolled through the empty shop. ”The faith of a child is precious in the sight of G.o.d.”
The Protector shook his head incredulously. ”This one has the faith of Thomas.”
With a widening smile, the Messenger countered, ”Then let her see, let her touch, and let her faith be strengthened.”
Prissie knew she must be dreaming, for she often dreamed of the hayloft in the barn. It was a recurring nightmare grounded in a frightening fall during her early childhood. Her fear of heights lingered, and she automatically checked to see how close to the edge she was standing. But several things had changed from the usual pattern. For one, it was wintertime, although she wasn't cold, even with bare feet. Also, it was nighttime. This dream had always taken place on a spring day, with sunlight streaming through cracks and between rafters. Turning to check the window near the peak of the roof, Prissie spied another major difference. She wasn't alone.
Padgett's raiment shone softly in the darkness as he worked his way across bales of straw on his hands and knees. He was barefoot too, and his long, black hair dragged on the ground as he shuffled along. For the life of her, Prissie couldn't figure out what he was doing, but the longer she watched, the more frightened she grew. His expression was solemn as he reached out to cup something that wasn't there, then pressed his hands firmly in midair. When he murmured something softly to no one, she finally whispered, ”Padgett?”
”Prissie,” he answered, sparing her a glance. ”What brings you here?”
She blinked in confusion and dared to speak a little louder. ”Shouldn't I be asking you that? This is our barn.”
”I know, and I'm grateful for the haven it's become,” he calmly replied. s.h.i.+fting further along the row of bales, he distractedly asked, ”How much can you see?”
”Only you. What are you doing?”
”Ministering to those in need.”
So that was it. Someone else was here, someone she couldn't see. If that person needed a Caretaker's attention, it could only mean one thing. ”Someone's hurt?”
”Yes.”
Hugging herself, she squinted hard into the dimness, but it was no use. ”Why can't I see what's happening?” she complained.
He turned inquiringly. ”Do you wish to see?”
”I ... I think so.”
Padgett nodded once. ”Then open your eyes.”
Suddenly, Prissie was surrounded by angels, and the combined light of their raiment banished the shadows. Unfurled wings lent splashes of color, but most of the wounded warriors bore distinctive tattoos on their arms and shoulders. Low groans, m.u.f.fled voices, the sc.r.a.pe of boots, and the metallic clank of weapons filled the loft. The angels leaned against the walls or sat on the straw, but many were simply strewn across the floor.
With a soft noise of dismay, Prissie cautiously approached the nearest, appalled by the nasty wound showing just above his breastplate. As she knelt by his side, she realized that while he was bleeding, the blood wasn't red, and the gash glowed, as if angels were even brighter inside than out. That hardly mattered, though, for the angel's face was creased by pain. ”Wh-what can I do?” she stammered. ”Neil knows about first aid, but he's asleep. Maybe it would be better if he was here? Or Koji! I know he would help, if you asked him to come.”
Padgett crouched beside her and turned her face so she could only see him. ”Don't be afraid,” he soothed. ”I'll tend to them. That's why I was Sent here.”
”Please?” she asked, teary-eyed in her dismay. ”There are so many of them, and only one you!”
He cupped her cheek and almost-smiled. ”When the Spirit compels, it is the same as Sending. G.o.d accepts your offering, child of compa.s.sion.” He placed a roll of bandages in her hand. ”Stay close.”
The gauzy material Padgett used to bind wounds reminded Prissie of raiment, for it seemed to be woven from threads of light. As he worked, she peered in fascination at each of his patients, admiring the endless variety in coloration and trying to memorize each face. By the st.i.tching along their collars, she gathered that most of the warriors were cherubim. Just like Jedrick, they were big, powerful angels with fierce countenances and stern expressions. No one seemed inclined to converse with her, but without fail, those who met her gaze greeted her with a soft, ”Fear not.” Their rea.s.surances were touching, and before they were half done, Prissie's heart brimmed with an odd mix of awe and grat.i.tude.
Just then, a tall angel with turquoise wings trod heavily across the wooden floor, half carrying an injured comrade. This Protector did a double-take when he noticed Prissie. ”What is the meaning of this, Caretaker?”
”She is dreaming.”
Helping his friend to the floor, the archer studied her face. ”Will she remember?”
”I don't think so.”
Prissie's gaze snapped to Padgett's face. ”I'll forget all this?”
”Do you often remember your dreams?” he inquired.
”Only bits and pieces,” she slowly admitted. ”But this isn't a dream dream. This is really happening, isn't it?”
”Yes, Prissie,” Padgett a.s.sured. ”This is real.”
”What if I don't want to forget?” she whispered, giving the inquisitive Protector a pleading look.
With a shake of his head that sent his long, wheat-colored ponytail swaying, the tall angel answered, ”Such things are in the hands of G.o.d.” Standing, he straightened the quiver of arrows strapped to his back. ”I must rejoin my Flight.”
”I'll tend to your teammate,” Padgett promised.
The other angel nodded curtly and turned to go, but he paused to address Prissie. ”Even if this memory fades, do not fear,” he solemnly urged. ”We shall remain. Indeed, we have always been nearby.” Then, to her utter astonishment, he strode through an archway cut into the side of the barn, spread his wings, and took to the sky.
Pointing to the opening, Prissie exclaimed, ”There's a hole?”
Padgett didn't even look up. ”I opened a way, and I will close it when my task is complete.”
She didn't want to get too close to the edge, but Prissie sidled a little closer so she could look through, and what she saw boggled her mind. The skies were filled with varicolored stars and the brilliant flash of angels' wings. It might have been beautiful if it hadn't been a battle.
The ranks of heavenly hosts clashed noisily with an enemy that was hard to make out in the darkness, but their shadowy forms were the stuff of nightmares. Broken wings creaked, foul voices bayed, and weapons slashed brutally. Prissie gripped the wall's edge and whimpered.
An angel standing guard at the entrance glanced her way, and when his silver eyes met her gaze, they widened. He quickly placed himself between her and the scenes of violence, dropping to one knee and lifting iridescent white wings to block her view of the battle beyond. ”h.e.l.lo, Prissie,” he said, his deep voice gentle.
”You know me?”
”I do,” he confirmed. ”Do not be afraid, little daughter.”
In complete contrast with his eyes and wings, the enormous angel's skin was black as jet. His hair stood out in a series of corkscrews around his head, and the hilts of two swords showed above his broad shoulders. Even though he had lowered himself to speak with her, he was nearly as tall as she, yet she wasn't frightened. He almost seemed ... familiar. Catching sight of the st.i.tching on the edge of his collar, Prissie asked, ”You're a Guardian? Does that mean you know Tamaes and Taweel?”
A slow smile spread across the angel's face. ”We serve together in the Hedge.”
”Hedge?”
”A gathering of Guardians,” he explained. ”We are hadarim, a hedge of protection set in place by G.o.d.”
”Does that mean ...?”
Padgett called to her then, and the silver-eyed warrior sighed. ”That answer will come in the fullness of time. Go on, now.”
She quickly returned to the Caretaker's side, and time seemed to stretch; perhaps it stood still. All through the night, she watched the comings and goings of supernatural strangers. These were the Faithful. Heaven was their home, the Lord was their love, and her protection was part of their duty. A few others paused to greet her and allay her fears, and the more she met, the more she cared. She wanted to do something, and a growing sense of urgency built in her heart. But what could she do? Feeling increasingly helpless, Prissie asked, ”Is it always like this?”