Chapter 5: Scramble.

Joan of Arc watched as the young man that was now her charge left the room. She then sat back down in the armchair and stared down at the empty cup of tea before her.

So, that was the child of Heaven that the Lord God had charged her to teach and protect. She had been expecting . . . well, if she was completely honest, she had been expecting something along the lines of a living saint. The one she was meant to aid was born of the bloodline of Bath Kol, the Daughter of the Voice. He was meant to be a beacon in the coming chaos, a leader to show the way through the crises that were to come, a warrior and peace bringer both.

She had imagined him as wise, devout, charismatic, someone to draw multitudes to his banner. She had imagined him as a modern apostle, the child of an angel placed upon earth to act as Shepard to the flock of God, to guide them and to protect them. She thought that he would be young, that he would need her to act as his guardian, to protect him from the dark forces of the world that would seek to drag him down, but that she would also learn from him, that she would be as much a student as a protector.

Instead, she had found Adam West, and she was unsure of how she felt. He was not like anything she’d expected. He didn’t seem unsuitable, he just seemed . . . unremarkable.

Well, it was hardly her place to judge. She had been placed upon this task by the Almighty himself; it was not her place to question it. If he had chosen Adam to be his next champion, then there had to be a reason. Perhaps a saint was not what was needed at this time, though the thought didn’t sit well with her. Perhaps an ordinary man was what was needed. She just didn’t know. Though she had been returned to this mortal plane of life, though she had been furnished with the knowledge of how the world had changed during her time in Heaven, she felt uncomfortably out of place.

So much had changed, so much was different. When she had last walked the world swords and armour had been the most common weapons. Things like cannons had still been rare and expensive. Now, people could carry small portable cannons around with ease, and swords and armour were consigned to the pages of history books and stories. In her day France and England had been bitter enemies. Now, they were trading partners, the greatest hostility between them seeming to be over such things as sports competitions or fashion events.

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With a shake of her head, she dismissed such thoughts. She was here by the very grace of God! How could she not have a place in this world? Her memories of her time in Heaven might be obscured, but she remembered her training, days, years, centuries spent being educated in the arts of war by the very angels that had defended the gates of Heaven from the foes of God. No longer was she merely the girl that had carried the banner of her army into battle, now she was a mistress of virtually every weapon she could think of. She was ready for this, ready to protect Adam from any of the threats that might come his way; her faith in her course would remain absolute.

Clasping her hands, she inclined her head in silent prayer as she once again thanked the Lord for finding her worthy of this duty and for giving her a second chance at life. She would follow his words; she would again act in his name and do her duty by her Creator. She made that oath to Him once more, swore it by all the Saints she could name, by each of the Apostles, and by the name of His son.

As she performed her prayer, she felt the power within her respond to her faith. She could feel the small portion of Heaven’s light that she carried within her surge in response to her resolve. She revelled in the feeling but reminded herself that this was not her power, this was not her right. It was a gift that had been given to her so that she might serve here in the mortal realm once more. She must not allow pride or greed to creep into her heart in regard to the power within her.

Unclasping her hands, she raised her head and looked around the room once more. This was a home, but as she had said to her host; it was no fortress. She took no pleasure in dragging her charge from what he knew, but this was not a place she could defend him in. The walls were little more than bricks wood and plaster, little more. The windows were large, bright and very vulnerable. It would be far too easy to either set the house ablaze or simply flatten it. No, having him come to her new abode to train and prepare for his awakening was the most sensible option.

That it meant she could leave this country and return to France was merely a fortunate coincidence.

Really.