Chapter 13: Prayers and Angels
Joan came awake with a start, her hand grabbing at her sword on pure reflex, the blade already half raised in order to strike out at whatever enemy might be drawing close. It took a moment for her conscious thoughts to catch up with her body, to realize that the dream she’d awakened from was not the reality she now faced.
For a moment confusion ruled the resurrected saint’s mind. How had she ended up in an armchair? Where were the monsters she’d been fighting? Why . . . why was there sun shining through the thin windows? It had still been dark when she sat down, so why . . .
Her eyes widened as realization struck her, and then flicked over to the old windup clock that hung from one wall. It had been as much as six hours since she had chosen to take a moment to rest. In an almost explosive motion, she shot out of the chair and moved to check on Adam.
The cocoon his body had become was where she had left it, But had the cocoon grown somewhat in size? She was fairly sure that it had fitted onto the settee quite comfortably when she’d first put it down there, but now it seemed to be spilling over the side just a bit.
It had been nearly two days since the ritual, and it had not been an easy time for her. Returning to her mortal form had allowed her to heal her wounds, but the energy she’d expended in the fight still needed to be recovered. She’d rested, but she hadn’t allowed herself to sleep. Instead, she had forced herself to remain awake, devouring the leftover food from the kitchen in an attempt to keep up herself awake.
The food had helped. Magic had helped too, but she knew better than to rely on it solely. She had still expended a great deal of power though, so rest had been needed. She’d been able to recover somewhat by sitting in a chair next to Adam’s cocooned form, her sword at the ready, and the first day had gone by relatively easily.
By the start of the second day she had begun to flag, though not physically. As far as her body went, she’d been able to recover almost perfectly, even the bruises of her battle fading and her muscles losing the ache of the strain she’d placed upon them, but her mind was another matter. She’d already been awake for more than forty-eight hours, and that would be taxing for anyone. Under other circumstances, it would have simply been an annoyance for the French saint, but it had been mentally taxing to channel the magic that she had, so she’d found her thoughts growing increasingly fuzzy and distracted as time passed.
Coffee had helped, even though she had no idea how the bitter drink had become so popular. Even if it tasted foul it did provide her with the boost of energy she needed to keep going for another day. But by the end of it, she’d begun to flag once more, and further caffeine had not helped. Perhaps she’d pushed herself too far because the aches of her limbs had partially returned, even though she was fully healed.
She’d felt tired, bone weary, both in body and in mind. But she refused to relent, so she’d forced herself to continue to be on guard, to stand ready in case those that had attacked the ritual returned. Then, when that had become too much, she’d pulled up an armchair and sat down next to the sofa. She hadn’t laid down her sword though and had held it ready, her magical senses reaching out to spot the first hint of a portal appearing or any other sort of arrival.
She wasn’t really sure when she had fallen asleep, but at some point, her single-minded devotion to sensing had fallen into a sort of meditation. In turn that had slipped into a thoughtless stupor, and then finally the dark abyss of slumber.
“Allez soldate, pas de faibless!”
Berating herself for her weakness Joan reached out, making certain that she could sense no changes. Thankfully, the farmstead remained as it had been, untouched save for the lingering remnants of the battle on the night of the ritual. No monsters, no spies, just the normal insects and birds that one would expect in this part of the countryside.
A sigh escaped her lips as some of the tension bled away, but it was a disappointed sigh, one born of her disgust at her weakness. She was meant to be Adam’s guardian! How had she fallen so far short of the expectations of her God?
Her free hand clenched into a fist as she turned to step out of the shed. She wanted to move, wanted to get her blood flowing, wanted to dispel the last remnants of sleep clinging to her thoughts. She also wanted something to eat, but she’d get to that later.
The short patrol around the farmhouse didn’t take very long, but it at least helped burn off some of the nervous energy her adrenaline spike had forced on her. However, even if her body had calmed her thoughts were still unsettled.
The situation was not a good one, that was what it came down to. She had been sent to act as both a teacher and a bodyguard to Adam, but up until now most of her plans had been based around keeping him safe until he was able to manifest his divine powers. Her thought had been that once he had access to his full power it would simply be a matter of training him to use them.
Unfortunately, Adam was now caught in a highly vulnerable state after she had failed to protect him. As things stood Joan was his only line of defence, and she wasn’t sure she was enough on her own.
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Her stomach rumbled, and frustration twisted her lips as she returned to the kitchen. Some part of her wished that the enemies would attack once more, at least that was something that she knew how to deal with. Instead, she ate her food almost mechanically, all her focus was on what to do, and how she could improve the situation.
The basic problem was that she was a fighter, a bodyguard, a teacher, that was what she had trained herself for during her time in Heaven. This was beyond that and now she was lost.
Her short sleep had restored some of her strength, but she still wasn’t sure how long she could keep this up. And on top of that she still had no idea of what to do with Adam.
Taking a drink of orange juice Joan savoured the taste as she went over her options.
Should she flee? Should she take Adam, contact her mortal allies and try to establish a new base? Her allies were wealthy and connected, but they lacked in raw power, would they be able to help? Perhaps it would be best to remain in the farmhouse, to fortify it more?
What should she do?! Was her choice correct?! She didn’t know! She didn’t know! She didn’t . . .
The world froze as she suddenly became aware of her own thoughts. It was a moment of self-realization, as though a part of her just stepped back and she was suddenly looking in at her thoughts from an outside perspective. And what she saw did not please her.
She’d been in a similar situation before, out of her depth, unsure of her choices, desperate to help but uncertain of what to do. It was familiar, it made her think of cities at war and soldiers losing hope. What had she done then, when she’d been so overwhelmed?
Well, that was at least easy to answer, she’d always . . .
Always . . .
. . . always prayed to God.
It was so obvious! When was the last time that she had truly prayed to the Lord? Not a more habitual prayer such as saying grace at a meal, nor oaths or pleas offered in the heat of the moment. When had she offered up words she truly wanted the Lord to hear? What with training Adam, preparing for the ritual, and the many other tasks she’d taken upon herself . . .
Was that it? Had she taken too much upon herself? Had she been arrogant, thinking to accomplish her task alone, without even turning to the Almighty?
No. It had not been pride, she was sure of that. Thinking back upon her actions, upon the decisions she had made and why she had made them the resurrected saint’s eyes widened as she realized why she had begun to isolate herself.
Heaven and hell existed in check and balance to each other, neither able to make a move without making an opening the other could exploit. It was not a completely rigid balance, otherwise, there would have been no action taken by either faction, but it was one that both sides maintained carefully. Joan knew that her resurrection had impacted that balance and had done her best to be worthy of the investment her Lord had made in her.
Was that where she had gone astray? Had she been so determined to take no more of the resources of the High Heavens that she had become reticent in asking for aid when it was needed? Even her prayers . . . had she been trying to avoid disappointing the Almighty by asking for His help?
As the thought occurred to her Joan took a moment to examine herself, how she felt, how she was acting. She was tired, she was running herself ragged, and she was being driven on by her fear of failing both her charge and her God. When had she fallen into the trap of feeling she had to do everything herself? When had she begun to feel she was alone?
She was never alone.
Without further hesitation, the French saint clasped her hands before her, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. To all appearances, it wasn’t much different from when she said grace, but this time she wasn’t merely repeating a ritual out of respect to her God, instead she was directing both her words and her thoughts to Him.
Even though she didn’t need to she spoke out loud, her words barely more than a whisper meant only for her and the focus of her faith.
“Lord, I am . . . uncertain of what I am doing.”
The confession felt almost like a betrayal. How many times had she assuaged her charge’s worries by telling him to have faith in the Almighty? How many times had she assured him that the God of the High Heavens would not have set this task before them if they were unfit for it? The Lord had placed her on this task, so who was she to question if she had been the correct choice? But that was what she found herself doing.
“I wish to keep Adam safe, but I do not know the steps to take. I wish to guard him, but I do not possess the strength to do so alone.”
She paused, trying to align both her thoughts and her feelings into some semblance of order.
“I shall continue. I will not abandon the task assigned to me, not even if my body breaks and there is nothing left of me but dust.”
She paused again; the next words hard to say out loud.
“I . . . I do not know if what I intend to do next is the correct path, but I shall trust my judgement, and trust in your wisdom in having chosen me for this role. I shall do my best, and I shall strive to surpass my best. I pray that shall be enough, but if it is not then I can only hope you give me the strength needed to overcome that as well.
“I shall act as Adam’s guardian,” She continued, trying to put her feelings into words. “And I shall allow none to harm him before he gains his power, to do so they shall need to step over my broken and burnt corpse! But . . .”
Once more she paused, struggling with her next words despite her earlier conclusions.
“I would welcome aid,” She admitted. “I can protect him with all I have, but . . . I do not know how to help him past his current state. If aid is not needed, if all he requires is time, then I shall protect him. I have fears though, I fear that a stronger attack than the one upon his Awakening will be more than I can drive off. Lord, if our enemies will come at us again in greater strength, should he need skills I do not possess, then I trust in your providence and mercy.
“Lord God, watch me on my path, grant me the mercy of your blessings, and please allow me to succeed in my task.”
Those last words felt somewhat formulaic, somewhat at odds with the reality she knew. But at the same time, they contained her true feelings, so they were sincere.
Standing up she had to admit, she felt better. Her thoughts felt less burdened, less unsure.
In fact . . . she felt much better, her lingering tiredness and discomfort simply melting away. And more than that, there was a feeling that she was not on her own, that she would soon have aid in the care of Adam. There was no concrete reason for such an emotion, but she felt it nonetheless.
Her smile grew as her eyes flicked to the cocoon, and then to the sunlight outside.
It would seem that her prayer had meant more than she had thought it would.