Chapter 6: New Dwellings and New Knowledge
“Adam! Adam, it is time to be up! You shall catch a chill if you keep sleeping there.”
It wasn’t like waking up. Instead, this felt like I was having to claw my way out of a darkness that was reluctant to let me go. The world came back to me, and it wasn’t a world I was familiar with. Disorientation hit me as I tried to remember where I was, and how I got there.
“Huh?”
My mouth felt all dry and gritty, my left arm was aching while my right one was completely asleep. Also, the right side of my face felt cold and unresponsive, and as I blearily rubbed at it with my left hand, I realized that some sort of pattern had been imprinted into the flesh of my cheek.
I sat up, but I still felt more than a bit unsteady. Everything seemed blurry, and I tried to clear both my mind and my vision by giving my head a shake.
Bad idea, I realized that almost immediately as the world started to lose cohesion and I started to lose my balance.
“No! No, you have to be a bit more careful, Adam. You have been asleep for most of the way here. Just take a moment and gather your wits.”
Oh yeah, that was . . . Joan, right? Yes. Yes, I could feel things coming back together as I remembered what had happened. Joan had come to my house, I agreed to go with her, and then . . .
My vision cleared as I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again. Yes, there she was, still in her armour and with a slightly concerned look on her face. Looking down I saw that I was still sitting on the small patch of concrete, but now it wasn’t held in the bubble of light, rather it was resting on grass. I’d been laying down on it, small wonder that I felt so stiff and sore.
Ah, things were starting to come together. I’d passed out. Just the memory of those heights was enough to make me shudder.
“See, the cold is already getting to you! Come on in, and I shall get the fire going. That should warm you up. I think I have also got some bread and food ready; it should not take long to get some decent fare ready to eat.”
My sluggish brain finally managed to get all its cylinders firing because that was when I finally worked out what the resurrected heroine was talking about. She thought that I’d fallen asleep on our trip . . . here. Where was here anyway? And how long had I been out?
A quick glance down at my watch told me that it hadn’t been long; just over half an hour. Was that really all it had taken? Joan had said she was taking me somewhere in France, but really? It had only taken her half an hour? That meant we’d been going faster than any plane I’d been on!
Even as that thought ran about in my head, I took a moment to look around. The chunk of concrete I was sitting on was laying on some grass because I was currently in a field, quite a large field. Off in the distance, I could see hedges. Not the small ones that you saw around houses in suburban areas, these were the huge ones that old-style farms used to have. These were the sorts that were meant to keep out raiders mounted on horseback. There was also a small wood nearby. I couldn’t see how big it was, not from this angle. But if the height and thickness of the trees I could see were anything to go by, then it was an old one.
Not too far away, I could see a building of some sort, but most of the details were obscured by the hedge that ran alongside it, as well as a couple of trees that grew fairly close to it. Behind it there was another structure, maybe some sort of barn or storehouse, the first building made it hard to see.
Aside from that, I couldn’t see any other signs of buildings or houses. There was a road leading to the farmhouse, but even that was hard to see, the asphalt largely concealed by the long grass that grew alongside it. In many ways, the sight before me was quite picturesque.
“Where . . . where are we?”
I asked as I got on to my feet. For a moment my legs were unsteady, and I began to topple, but Joan was there immediately, supporting me until my limbs steadied. Once I was recovered, she stepped back and gestured around her.
“Voilà, I told you that the Lord saw fit to provide me with resources when I first returned to this world. This was among them. One of the first acts of His angels when they revealed themselves was to quietly speak to some of those who were both pious and wealthy. They were instructed to prepare for my own return and to have both resources and assistants ready. They were able to purchase much of the land about this area, and to provide what I needed to have this dwelling renovated.”
The pride in her voice was clear. This, the work that she put in, was something that had been important to her, something that she felt good about.
“Are we on a farm or something?”
“Oui, this used to be a farmstead, but it was abandoned sometime after the Second World War. It spent decades unused due to inheritance laws, but the matter was eventually settled. However, since it was in severe disrepair and isolated, the new owners were unable to do anything with it. After the return of the Divine Paths, it was purchased by the faithful and prepared for us.”
All that sort of creeped me out. This had been set in motion months ago, right after the Black Sun that had marked the return of the myths and legends. Even back then they had known about me, about what was going to happen. Back then I’d been panicking and reading on the internet about how to survive the collapse of civilization, and while I’d been doing that, completely unaware of . . . all of this, preparations were already being made for me.
I could practically feel the burden of those expectations growing and settling on me.
“The isolation will work in our favour, as it will greatly lower the chances of some unfortunate person wandering by and seeing what they should not. We shall be able to make our preparations in peace, and conduct the ritual without the worry of interference.”
As we got closer, I got a clearer view of the house. Perhaps ‘house’, was the wrong word to describe it. What I saw, were modern additions built onto stonework and structures that probably went back a few centuries.
The building was big, bigger than I had initially thought. It was mostly on one floor and was a rather sprawling affair. If I had quickly describe it I would have gone with ‘old’ and ‘solid’. The walls were made of roughly chiselled stone and the sort of old mortar that seemed to harden into more stone. Even the roof tiles looked more like crudely shaped slabs rather than actual building materials.
It kind of made me think of one of those old churches that you see in certain parts of Europe, old sites that had been preserved for their historical significance. There was a weight, a solidity to it that you just wouldn’t expect in modern buildings.
A modern house is meant to provide shelter, privacy, comfort, and not much else. From a purely defensive point of view, most houses are pretty easy to break into, with large windows to let in light. Joan had been right about my home not being a secure place.
This place looked to be from a time when the residents would have needed to defend themselves. If robbers or bandits came, the occupants would have to see to their own protection. Thick solid walls, narrow windows, doors of wood bound in iron that looked like they could stand up to a fairly determined battering ram. It was pretty impressive.
On top of that, I could see the additions of some more modern touches. I could see concrete reinforcement to certain areas and clearly modern locks on the doors. The windows, narrow as they already were, had that glass that has wire inside it that makes it tough to break. I could also see some small red lights that were blinking at regular intervals, though what they were I could only guess at. Some sort of security system perhaps, cameras or motion detectors? I couldn’t see Joan using things like that, not if she’d forgotten to get a washing machine, but she had said others had been involved.
It all came together to almost give the feeling of a fortress. I could certainly see this place holding off a good number of mortal attackers. It also had the advantage of isolation, but I wasn’t sure how it would hold up to something like a hostile god.
Joan had said gods were coming after me, and not just gods, demons too. Everyone knew just how powerful the gods were, there were a number of recordings on the internet that were undeniable proof that it was nigh impossible for mortals to stand up to the legends.
One of the most famous videos was a somewhat shaky one taken on a mobile phone, and the tale of what had happened was told in equally shaky words by the owner. It was from southern Brazil, and had been at a coca field and lab run by one of the drug cartels. Before the Black Sun large chunks of the Amazon rainforest that had been cleared in order to make way for coca farms. When the rainforest had begun to spring back due to the will of returned gods it had been clear that the farms would only have a few days before they would be lost them to the returning jungle.
The response had been simple, brutal, and perhaps not as well thought out as it should have been. Since bulldozers and chainsaws didn’t seem up to the task of holding back the returning jungle, the cartel decided to get rid of it by setting the whole thing on fire. The flames had indeed consumed the returning jungle, and then gone on to devastate miles more as it spread, but the owners of the coca farm couldn’t have cared less.
They had cared later though, when night fell.
The field and processing lab had been illuminated by floodlights, so that workers could work even in the middle of the night, so recording had been possible. The factory was attacked by a goddess, and she did not come alone. The video was taken from a third floor window, and caught how the compound had been overrun by jaguars the size of horses, more than a dozen of them. They had been accompanied by a woman, her clothes simple wraps, her hair decorated with feathers, and her beauty inhuman. She had only been armed with a spear, but she moved with uncanny speed and seemed to melt in and out of the shadows.
The farm and lab had not been undefended, and the cartel members had been well armed. Handguns, machine guns, sniper rifles, grenades, even a pair of flame throwers, all had been brought out as they attempted to kill the attackers. They then tried to drive them off. When nothing worked, they threw all they had into a desperate attempt to just survive. Nothing had any sort of impact, nothing fazed her. Bullets were as effective as raindrops, fire was simply ignored, explosives were as much of a threat as a light breeze. Out of all those at the compound only a few were spared. The rest ended up as food for the jaguars.
By the time the sun rose the burnt jungle had recovered and the farm and lab were reclaimed by the rampant growth. The video maker had taken interviews with the shaken survivors and told his own description of the events. He had then uploaded the whole thing to as many sites and forums as he could before disappearing. That was the last anyone had heard of him.
The video had become one of the most watched in the world, and had served to highlight the kind of power that the gods could wield in the face of modern weapons. That had been a god going up against a compound full of criminals ready to take on the law, and they’d been all but wiped out. How would this place fare if a god came after it?
Joan . . . I’d seen her become an angel, I’d seen her wield the powers of Heaven, but was she going to be enough? Could she take on a god?
I wanted to think that I’d agreed to this because . . . what? Because I was a hero in disguise? Come on, that morning the riskiest thing I’d ever done in my life was travel to places like Morocco or Thailand, and even then, I’d stuck to tourist spots. What was happening, all of it, going with Joan, resolving to awaken whatever divine blood I might have, it was driven by fear, I had to be honest. Fear of what might happen to my friends, fear of what might happen to my family, fear of what might happen to me! Was it strange that the greatest act of courage I’d ever undertaken in my life was mainly motivated by fear?
Oh gods, you know what? At that point I’d had enough, I wasn’t going to think myself into a knot, right now I just didn’t have the energy for it.
“So . . . now what?”
“Allors, let us get inside so we can deposit your luggage and get set up in your room. Then we can discuss where we will be going from here.” Joan suggested as she unlocked the large front door to the farmstead.
I confess that I was expecting stone floors and bare walls that had only recently been renovated. I’d expected austere furniture, or at least a mismatch of modern and antique.
Instead I found plush carpets, lovely furniture, good lighting, the works. Pictures of saints and angels were quite prevalent, but there were also pictures of castles and knights. All in all, it was a pleasant surprise.
I followed Joan up the stairs, treading on thick solid steps, each carved from a single thick plank. Once we got to the landing, she pointed me towards a door.
“That room has been prepared for you; I hope that you will find it comfortable. I shall leave you to make yourself comfortable. Please come down when you are ready.”
The room was easily twice the size of my room back home, though not as brightly lit. The windows here were like in the rest of the house, tall and narrow to avoid being entry points. To one side there was a thick wood and metal door led out onto a sizeable balcony. A wooden bed that had to be at least queen sized with its headboard against the middle of one wall took up the middle of the room. There was a nice big desk, a tall chest of draws and a closet built into one wall with big mirrored sliding doors. The floor was wooden, though there was a big woven rug in the middle of the floor. All in all, it was awesome, the sort of room that you dream of getting in those fancy mountain lodge getaways.
Shoving my suitcase to the side I let myself flop onto the bed, laying on my side as I contemplated my reflection in the closet doors.
What the Hell was I doing here? The question bubbled up inside me, and for a moment I was genuinely unsure of what the answer should be. I’d come here because Joan had asked me to, and in the face of what she’d informed me of, and her absolute conviction and charisma I hadn’t really seen any sensible course but to agree with her. She’d shown me her power, showed that she wasn’t just someone trying to scam me or recruit me into some crazy cult. She’d turned into an angel right there in front of me, a real ‘wings and halo’ angel that had picked me up and flown me across the sky!
I might not be the most religious guy in the world, but when a dead saint comes back from the dead at God’s own command and tells you to come with her then I think that doing what she says is an understandable reaction. I’ll admit, the fact that she’s hot and had a sexy accent might have figured into my decision-making process as well, if I was being honest.
Like any sensible person I tried to follow how things were going in the new world that was emerging. I knew there was little I could do to affect it, but I was eager to know what was happening. On top of that, I’d always liked comics and fantasy. Now the real thing was happening around me, so of course I’d watched the drama unfold. I was keeping tabs on which demigods had risen to prominence, which caused trouble, which gods had become celebrities, which of them were driving away mortals and claiming solitude for themselves. I liked to follow the idle speculations of others online, I liked to check out the photos and artworks that people loaded up.
And I knew just how dangerous the powers of the supernatural could be. For all that the status quo had somehow managed to stay roughly intact, the dead toll of the transition was mounting, and there was no way to know if the officially accepted figure could be trusted.
What was I doing? How much control did I really have here? It was the first moment I’d had to just stop and think since Joan had shown up at my door, and it was all starting to pile up on me.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm myself. It wasn’t like I was completely helpless. I still had my legs, my wits and my credit cards. If worst came to worst, I could make it back to Britain. That thought calmed me, made the knot in my stomach relax somewhat. And oddly, it was knowing that I could leave that let me be sure I didn’t want to.
I was here, I’d chosen to trust Joan, and I was going to see this through. Getting off the bed I took a look around the room, my new room.
If I was going to bite the bullet then the first thing I could do was stake a claim on the room, make it mine. Without any further hesitation I began to unpack the clothes I had brought with me, the simple act being something of a commitment to my current course of action.
Once it was all done and I’d taken a moment to refresh myself I realized I no longer had any excuse not to go downstairs. I was going to have to go and share a table with JOAN OF ARC! How was I meant to deal with that? Up until this point I’d been able to keep moving forwards mainly because I was just rolling with the each turn of events, gaining a sort of momentum as I barrelled along and tried to keep my head above water. But now things had slowed down, now I had a chance to think.
How was I meant to talk to her? Should I address her by a title? Should I take care not to talk to her about the past? Or would that be considered an insult on my part? Could I talk to her about religious matters? Would she hold my being an Englishman against me?
How was I meant to treat her? Like a priest, a nun, a warrior? Definitely with respect, if for no other reason than that she clearly had enough power to easily reduce me to a smear on the ground if she so chose!
“Adam!”
Startled I looked up from the desk I’d been staring at, my eyes tracking over to the open door that I could hear the resurrected soul through.
“Yes?”
“I have prepared some food, and I would think that you have more questions to ask me. Will you join me for a meal? It will give us a chance to speak.”
At her suggestion I felt my stomach rumble. It had been early afternoon when Joan called, and even though I’d had a late breakfast it had been a pretty light one. I’d been munching on some snacks and thinking about lunch when the saint had shown up on my doorstep.
For hours my body had been running hard on a combination of shock, stress, and terror, enough to drown out any hunger pangs. All in all, it had been an eventful afternoon to say the least, and I was sure I’d burnt through quite a bit of my energy reserves. Food sounded good, very good. I could worry about everything later. For the moment I abandoned it all in favour of the more primal need to fill my belly.
So, I joined Joan at the table that had been set up in her dining room, a large area just off the kitchen. Once, I imagined, there had been a much larger table there, one that could have seated a large family with ease. Perhaps there’d even been several benches, the room was certainly big enough for it. Now, though, there was a smaller table in the middle, one more suited to about half a dozen people. It seemed slightly out of place, give how large a space was, but it was conveniently close enough to the large hatch that connected to the kitchen.
Of course, all of that was only peripheral to me, my attention was focused on the impressive spread that had been laid out on the table. Various roasted vegetables, at least two different salads, some fruits, and, as centrepiece, some sort of joint that glistened with some sweet-smelling glaze. The mixture of scents wafted to me, and I’ll admit that I might have begun to drool slightly, because it was a soft chuckle from my host that drew my attention away from the food.
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“It is good to see that I have succeeded in preparing a satisfactory repast. Now, shall we be seated?”
Perhaps it would have been more polite to look at her, but rivetted as my gaze was to the food, all I could do was nod my head and make my way to a chair. Still, if her second chuckle was anything to go by, then she was more amused than offended. In short order I was sitting down and had begun to pile a rather . . . gluttonous amount of food onto my plate. Seriously, the thing looked like one of those pictures you see in cooking magazines. The glistening fat on the crispy potatoes, the carrots all but dripping with melted butter, slices of meat beaded with droplets of moisture as they gently steamed, all of them piled up into small mounds on my plate that looked so beautiful that for a moment I was reluctant to eat it.
I was about to dig in when Joan suddenly spoke up, freezing me in the midst of spearing a potato with my fork.
“Adam, hold!” When I glanced up, she continued. “Before we partake of our meal it is only correct that we thank le bon Dieu for the food we have been given.”
For a moment I was unsure of what she meant. It was only when I saw her clasp her hands, close her eyes, and her lips move in silent words that I realized what she meant. Grace, she wanted me to say grace.
Honestly, grace wasn’t something my family did much. Sure, we said it on special or important meals, like Christmas or Easter, but even then, it was more as a formality, or a mark of respect, rather than genuine piety. Aside from that I think the only occasion when I’d ever said grace with any sort of regularity had been back when I was twelve years old and attending a summer camp. Back then we’d said grace before eating, the camp being one with strong Christian ties.
But . . . now that I thought about it, maybe it was time to get a bit more into the habit, given that I had a young woman sitting across the table from me who could apparently turn into an angel at will. God was no longer a distant and nebulous concept, He was something far more tangible in my life, and growing more so as events unfolded.
I closed my eyes, but my mind went blank on me. In the end all I could do was think; ‘thank you for the food and thank you for Joan’ in my head. Though, to be fair, I was sincere in my thanks.
After that the first part of the meal was eaten in silence. I’m not sure why Joan chose to remain quiet, but for my part it was because I was busy stuffing my face as politely as I could. Still, I had questions, loads of them. After all, the resurrected soul had told me that she’d been in heaven, that she’d met god, that she’d met angels, how could I not have questions?
I paused for a moment, trying to pare them down to the more practical, the ones relevant to my situation. Sure, knowing just how heaven and hell worked was something that I wanted to know, but there were other things that were more urgent.
I finished off my mouthful, noting that I’d managed to eat most of the food on my plate. That surprised me, I’d known I was hungry, but I hadn’t expected to go through the food quite so quickly. I took a gulp of water to clear my throat, then looked up at Joan.
“Umm, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to get so focused on the food.”
She looked up at me, her blue eyes meeting my own, not a trace of irritation or condemnation to be seen in them.
“Think nothing of it. Today has been an eventful one for you, and the days to come will require much from you. Taking the chance to replenish yourself after such upheaval, as well as preparing yourself for what is to come is only sensible.”
Well, that didn’t sound in the least bit ominous. And as an added bonus, I had learnt that I could indeed use sarcasm within the privacy of my own skull.
“So . . . do you mind if I ask you about some stuff? Cause I’ve got to tell you, I’ve got a whole bunch of question!”
“There is no harm in asking question. However, be mindful, some knowledge I am forbidden to share, other secrets were never mine to begin with.”
That made sense. Some gods had elected to satisfy the curiosity of some mortals bold enough to ask them questions, but lots had been kept from mortals, things we were meant to learn rather than just be told, or that it was thought we wouldn’t understand. So, rather than trying to go for anything to grandiose, I asked something that had been buzzing around in my head since our talk back at my home.
“So . . . when exactly are we going to go through with this ritual you mentioned?”
I was struck by how this was a continuation of our discussion back at my place. Now, though, we were sat in her place, and it was me that was the guest. Joan set down her fork and looked at me across the table.
“The ritual itself is not overlong or complicated, but it must be held under specific conditions.”
“What kind of conditions?”
“It must be held at twilight, when a full moon is taking the sky. It must be held on unspoiled lands, far from the cities that mortals have constructed, in a place where the pulse of the earth is strong beneath our feet. There will also need to be a fire that burns a very specific fuel. We will have the feathers from Lady Bath Kol, and they will be the key to awakening your bloodline, and they are the most esoteric component of the ritual, the rest can be conducted with the resources available in this area.”
I nodded at that, my mind going over what little I had seen of the area and it seemed to tick all the right boxes. The ritual she described seemed almost too simple for what it promised. I had been expecting to have to sit in some sort of mystic circle carved into holy ground while surrounded with the bones of long dead saints, drink holy water from some sort of sanctified cup, all while a dozen priests recited a several hours long rite in ancient Latin, while spreading incense all around. Or something along those lines.
I pulled my thoughts away from considerations as to how warped my sensibilities might have become due to modern pop culture and tried to focus on something a bit more pertinent. This had to be done on the night of the full moon, when was that? I used to have a watch that had these little displays that showed the phases of the moon and even how the tides were doing. Back then I’d wondered why I’d ever need to know what kind of face the moon would be showing, but it would have been handy to have now.
“So, when is the next full moon?”
“It will be here in just over a week and a half. I had planned to wait until it was only a day or two off before meeting with you, but the hostile elements that are trying to find you were getting too close for me to take any chances.”
I nodded in acknowledgement and took another sip of my drink as I tried to get my next question straight in my head.
“So . . . what are we going to do until then?”
Joan looked at me with a slightly worrying smile on her face as her eyes raked over me. For a moment it almost looked as though she was checking me out, then I saw the way her gaze was focusing on my bare arms and hands. You know that saying about someone looking at you like a piece of meat? Well, I kind of got it, though in this case it was more like someone looking over a bull they were getting ready to take to the slaughterhouse. Very reassuring, let me tell you.
“We have some time to work with, so it would be best if we began your training immediately. Once you have your powers, we can start teaching you how to use them, until then the only thing we can work on will be your basic skills.” She paused for a moment. “Sword work, that is what we shall concentrate upon to begin with. Doing so should increase your core skills and get you into better physical shape. Once the divine blood in you has been Awakened what powers you gain shall influence where we go from there.”
“Sword? You’re going to teach me how to use a sword?”
That sounded like the wish fulfilment of uncountable childhood fantasies of mine. I’d watched films like Star Wars, Pirates of the Caribbean, and the Lord of the Rings, then I’d gone into the garden, found a stick of a suitable length and spent happy hours fighting everything my imagination could cook up, anything from orcish ninjas to space pirate storm troopers. When I’d gotten older, I’d tried stuff like fencing and kendo, but hadn’t been able to muster the enthusiasm for them that I would have liked. Oh, they had been good sports, but nowhere near as exciting as the pitched battles that my boyhood daydreams had come up with. I suppose it was undisciplined of me, but in the end, I’d given up on them.
But . . . hang on. I wasn’t going to be learning the sword to look awesome while flourishing it around like a Hollywood star; I was going to learn how to use it to keep myself alive when someone else was going to be trying very hard to kill me. That thought sobered some of my rising excitement.
“It’s a good use of our time, and as I said, it will get you into better physical shape for when you gain your divine heritage. Many of those with a divine bloodline have their physical attributes enhanced when they Awaken to their powers but being in good form beforehand can help.”
I just nodded, then took another sip of the hot drink.
“So . . . do you have any ideas of what I’ll be able to do afterwards, once I’ve got my powers?”
It was a question that had been bugging me. The abilities gained by demigods pretty much ran the entire gambit of human imagination, and even had a few entirely new concepts pop up. One might have invulnerable skin and the power to command ravens, another might be able to stop time for any object they were touching while another could command musical instruments to rise up and play on their own.. What might I be looking forward to?
“Well, we do know that you are both a Legacy of Bath Kol, and the direct child of another denizen of the Heavens,” Joan said. “Though I was not told your parentage we can assume it to be of considerable strength, given the future that you are meant to face. Given that you carry the blood of angels I imagine that it shall be their powers that you shall inherit.”
“Like what?” I asked, curiosity growing.
“Had you been the son of Bath Kol herself then you would have gained powers such as a voice that could command even the elements, one that could sing notes able to break steel or shatter stone. Were it Lord Michael that was your parent you would be granted excellence in combat to a supernatural degree and dominion over heavenly fire. Being the child of Metatron would grant the gift of prophecy, as well as a voice of power to go with it. I think that you can be assured of increased physical abilities, and most likely some sort of command over light or air, those are the principle elements that serve the children of God. Possibly wings as well, if He so wishes.”
That was enough to spark my imagination. Outside of my home she had become an angel, so . . . did that mean she was an angel? Well, if I wanted to know there was no reason not to ask.
“Are you an angel?”
She shook her head.
“No, though I have had the privilege of experiencing Heaven my soul remains human, as is the flesh that I have been returned to.”
“But before, outside my house . . .”
“That was one of the gifts that I was granted by the Lord. I can assume the form of an angel, but it is only for a short time. My soul could not handle the pressure of the power of an angelic form for longer than that, and I would begin to burn away.”
I hesitated for a moment, then asked another question.
“What’s it like, being and angel?”
“I wish I could tell you, but all I can do is take on the form and the power of one. Angels are more than that; they are perfect purpose and purity personified in a way that we mortals can never quite match. Angels do not have souls in the same way we do, their spirits and minds are structured differently. They are still similar enough to us so that we can interact, and they are similar enough to us that they can fall from Grace. But ultimately they are different.”
She paused for a moment, and then smiled.
“Still, even possessing but a portion of their essence is . . . comforting. There is a certainty and a purity of intention that many mortals struggle to attain in their lives but rarely do. It is both magnificent and somewhat frightening. Still, it brings back echoes of my time in the Heavens.”
Well, if ever there was an opening for me to ask my next question then that was it. This had been burning me ever since I came to believe Joan really was whom she claimed to be, but up until now there hadn’t been an appropriate time to ask.
“Ummm . . . Joan, what’s Heaven like?”
That was a question that everyone had asked themselves when angels had been confirmed to be real. Even those that didn’t consider themselves religious had asked it. Humans have been trying to imagine it for millennia and have come up with various ways to describe what they thought it could be. They’d said that it was the best day of your life going on forever, that it was liberation from all that was impure in mortality and the true freedom of the spirit, or that it was simply being as close to God as you could be.
When, on the rare occasions they chose to converse, an angel was asked what the afterlife was like they tended to be closed lipped about it, saying that there weren’t the words in the mortal languages to properly describe it. Well, with any luck Joan would be able to give me some sort of idea, right?
“Truthfully, I cannot remember most of it, there are only fragments, like dreams that are almost forgotten but that then come back.”
What?! My scattered thoughts came tumbling out before I had any chance to censor them.
“. . . What?! You forgot? How you just forget something like that?!”
Fortunately, the resurrected saint was not offended; instead she smiled at me, an oddly wistful smile.
“Adam, I did not forget because it was unimportant, the memories of my time at His side were taken from me by Him when He sent me back to the mortal world.”
I just stared at her. God himself had stripped the memories from her? Why? Joan was recorded as being one of the most pious and godly women in recorded history, why would god steal her memories like that?
“Adam, the Lord would not take them from me due to any sort of maliciousness, it was done in order to protect me.”
My disbelief must have shown upon my face because she continued.
“Life upon the mortal plane is hard. We must eat, we must drink, we must rest, we must void our bodies waste. Our lives are filled with hundreds of little hardships, as well as many greater ones. Every moment we are dying, our bodies breaking down little by little. Every day we consume the resources about us in order to live and are consumed in turn by the tiny lives about us. We sicken, we heal, we break, and we heal, on and on in an endless cycle. Such is the way of life, the lot we earned when we were driven from Eden.
“I do not remember much of my time in Heaven because if I did it would be a living hell to return to this life. I do not remember it clearly, but there is something. I was complete; I was myself in a way that I can no longer fully understand. I was a soul incarnate without flesh or body. I . . . I think I was as close to being perfect as a mortal like myself could ever be.”
Her face was lightly mournful now, her eyes fixed upon the table between us.
“I also knew so much; I can remember that. All I had to do was want the answer to a question and I would know the answer, the Lord sharing his knowledge freely. And there was the freedom of endless time, of being able to take as long as you wished to perfect any skill or craft you set your heart upon.
“I remember being able to learn how to fight, not through divine power imparting the skill upon me, but by learning as I would as a mortal. I learnt as angels did, to wield weapons and armour as though I had flesh. I did not learn because I had to, instead I learnt because I wanted to; so that I might be able to serve the Lord God as best I could, should he ever have need of me again.”
She held up her free hand, the fingers clenching into a fist as she looked at it.
“I do not remember the answers I received to my question; I cannot even remember many of the questions that I asked. I remember my lessons in combat though; even if I cannot remember the form I wore when I learnt them. It doesn’t matter though, I remember how to fight, and I remember how to use the gifts that He has granted me for this task.”
She smiled again and reached out to pour us each a cup of tea as my mind processed what she’d just told me. It made a certain amount of sense, if Heaven was great then it only stood to reason that coming back to the mortal realm would be hard.
Still, her words also brought up another question, one that had been nagging at me just as long as the other one.
“Joan, you said that it was God that set you on this mission?”
“Yes!” She declared, without a moment’s hesitation. “The Lord chose me for this task and clad me in power and mortal flesh so that I might serve him once more.”
“So . . . ah,” The question caught in my throat a bit, but I had to know, it was something so simple, but it meant so much. “What’s God like?”
Her smile returned, brighter even than before.
“Mon Dieu, I only have impressions of Him, but what little I can remember I treasure.” Her eyes grew distant as she gazed at some far-off point that only she could see. “God . . . I don’t remember much, but I remember a sense of size, of something so colossal that it defies understanding. You know, I call Him ‘He’ due to my upbringing in my mortal life, but it is not accurate. ‘He’, ‘She’, ‘It’, ‘They’, there are no words in your, mine, or any mortal language to properly describe the Almighty. The concept of gender is meaningless to Him, as is any sort of mortal or immortal limitation. He is simply too vast for such things to contain Him. He is too vast for the universe to contain Him.
“But at the same time, He was . . . there with me, always aware that I was there despite the difference in size. Even as a mortal soul shorn of all imperfection, I was so tiny compared to him, less than a flea would have been before an elephant, before a whale. No, it was even more than that; if I was a flea then He would have been the sun itself, at the very least. Yet even like that, with such a massive gap between us, he was aware of me, he spoke to me, he loved me.”
She set down the cup, now empty, and met my eyes directly.
“That is what I remember most. He was so vast, so powerful, almighty in every way you can imagine, but he was not frightening. He was able to speak to so many, even as He sat on His throne He was speaking to hundreds of thousands of angels, spirits and souls at once, but when he spoke to you, you did not feel as just one of many, you felt as though he were speaking to you alone. Also, he is . . . warm.”
Again, she paused, her eyes holding mine.
“You look upon Him, and you know that he holds the power to make or break worlds, to bring forth angels from nothing, or erase the mightiest god with a thought, but when He speaks to you it is as though it is your loving parents addressing you, it is a caring teacher, that speaks, it is a respected leader. He is so much, but He shows you His kindness and regard when He speaks to you, and you know can trust in him completely.”
She shook her head, breaking the look we’d been exchanging.
“I am not describing it well; it is not really something that words can encapsulate. I speak truthfully when I say I cannot even remember all of it. What I do remember is that my Lord was all I could have hoped for and more.”
Her certainty was breath-taking, and it was then that it really hit me. This really was Joan of Arc, one of the greatest French saints, and one of the strongest female leaders in history. She had saved a nation on the verge of collapse and conquest, and she had managed it all through her own charisma and her absolute faith in her God. It was humbling, being in the presence of such unwavering belief, and it made me feel . . . small, in a way. What did I believe in? What did I have faith in? I’d never regarded myself as a particularly religious person, more a sort of nominal Christian than anything else. I have just tried my best to live as decent a life as I could and do the right thing and would work from there. I’d never seen anything wrong with that, never seen it as being lesser to anything else.
Now though, I still didn’t think I was wrong in how I lived, but at the same time I couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to have that level of belief powering you on. What must it be like to have that sort of surety, that conviction that what you were doing had absolute merit? Such faith had caused things both great and terrible in the world, and I couldn’t help wondering what it was like.
“Do you regret it, your life?”
The question was asked hesitantly. She’d lived and died doing what she felt was her divinely appointed duty, even when she was burning at the stake, she had asked for someone to hold up a cross for her. By questioning that, by questioning if she regretted her faith, could I be doing anything other than insulting her?
“Not even for a moment.”
There was absolutely no hesitation in her voice, nor was there any rancour, much to my relief.
“I was called because I was needed, and I served because I was a good Christian and a dutiful daughter to Mon Signeur. His saints gave me their advice, and I followed it to the end. In the end I burnt at the hands of your countrymen, but I hold only pity for them that they were blinded by greed and hatred and were unable to hear the words of the Lord. My actions saved my country and my king and brought us back onto the right path. For that I was willing to do all I could, and had I known what path my choices would take me upon, I would walk it all again without a second thought!”
“And what about us? I mean, you know, the English? You really don’t feel bitter about what was done to you? You really don’t you hate us?”
I paused for a bit, as I saw her eyes narrow slightly, but I couldn’t stop. If I was going to trust my life to her I had to know. “I . . . look; I think you’ve got a right to hate us. I’m no great authority on history, but I do know at least a bit about your history, though I’m sure it’s been muddled some by time. You . . . you didn’t get a fair trial, the English that captured you and tried you, made a . . . a mockery of the whole thing. In the end they burned you for wearing men’s clothes, that was it, that was all they could prove against you! And they killed you for it! I . . . if you did hate everyone from my country, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I . . . I am ashamed to say that I might have hated the men that sentenced and burned me,” she admitted. “Were they before me I would hate them, but they are long dead and gone to what they deserved. Your country is not responsible for the crimes committed by mortals centuries ago, and to think otherwise would be to indulge myself nothing more than holding a grudge against those that are innocent.”
The cup in my hand was empty now, and the porcelain cold to touch. It was strange, here I was having received answers to things that historians and philosophers would have killed to know, and I could feel my concentration falling apart. Why? What was wrong with me?
No, actually I knew what it was; it was information overload, pure and simple. Today I’d met a resurrected hero, I’d found out I was a child of the divine, had probably had the greatest fright of my life, been taken completely out of any sort of familiar setting, and now I’d received the answers to some pretty heavy questions. When you thought of it that way, was it really that much of a surprise that my brain was running out of steam?
“You know . . .” I said slowly, setting the cup down on its saucer. “I think that’s about all I can take of the serious stuff.”
“Oh?” Joan sounded distinctly amused by this, and a light smile was touching her lips again. “Are you certain of that, Adam? I may not recall all that I learnt in the Halls of Heaven, but I still know many great secrets. Are you certain that you do not wish to ask me more?”
I could tell the question wasn’t meant seriously, and I found myself smiling back.
“How about we try something a bit more . . . mundane?”
“Such as what?”
“Well, you say we’re going to be here for a while, so why don’t we get to know each other a bit better?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to cringe. Come on, that sounded like a bad pickup line. Not wanting her to get the wrong impression I ploughed on.
“How about this? I’m Adam West. I like long walks, seeing new places, and admit that I massively into sci-fi and Japanese entertainment. My favourite colour is blue; my favourite hot drink is tea, and I my favourite fruit is strawberries. I can’t stand eating lamb, I hate cocktails, and I can’t assemble any sort of DIY to save my life. Pleased to meet you.”
As I said that last bit, I stuck out my hand in greeting, as though we were meeting for the first time. She looked at me, smiled, then took my hand and gave it a firm shake. Her grip was strong, but not crushing, and I could feel the calluses on her palm pressing into my skin.
“I am pleased to meet you, Adam,” She said. “My name is Jeanne d’Arc; also known as Joan of Arc. I enjoy riding and swordsmanship, prayer in chapels, and watching sunrises. My favourite colour is white; I am quite fond of sweet meats, and also red grapes. I cannot abide pipe smoke, and dislike wine. I also confess to a mild fear of fire since my return to mortal life.”
There was a pause as we both just looked at each other and laughed as we both just leaned back in out armchairs.
“So, what do you like most about the modern world?”
“The new bathrooms, without a doubt!”
“Really?”
“Indeed, bath and showers are luxuries that kings would granted lordships for, in my day. And these new toilets, they are so much better than the stinking privies that we used to use. You cannot imagine it! And toilet paper, Mon Dieu, so wonderful!”
I grinned at that, then asked her; “How about the atmosphere? I remember reading once that modern pollution has made things smell different, is that true?”
“Adam, with the kinds of waste disposal that we had in my mortal days there wasn’t a large town or city that didn’t stink.”
It was pleasant. We spent the next hour talking about small, inconsequential things, getting to know each other, just . . . relaxing. In the end, I went to bed exhausted, but feeling better about my situation.
I felt more at ease, knowing Joan as a person rather than as some larger than life figure from the past. It made me feel as though things were more manageable.