The Broken Window Part 3

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. Shifting 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?"

"No." Padgett pushed his hair behind one pointed ear, inadvertently leaving a bright smudge of blood across his cheek. Shaking his head, he repeated, "No, it's not. The enemy has been gathering strength, and they attack with greater numbers each time they rise up."

"Why?"

"Why what?" he patiently inquired.

"Why are they attacking here?" she clarified.

"I cannot say for certain," the Caretaker replied as he brushed the hair out of the eyes of a suffering Protector. "This place has seen unrest for quite some time."

"Because of the Deep?"

"Perhaps. However, it's fair to say that the Fallen don't need a reason to steal and destroy."

By the time he'd seen to the last of the wounded, Prissie's emotions were in a weary tangle. The senselessness of the enemy's attacks angered her, the pain of the wounded defenders sickened her, and the threat of further violence frightened her.

Gently extracting the last roll of bandages from her hands, Padgett said, "Do not dwell on fear."

She looked up at him, and her lip trembled. "There's so much more than I knew about."

"And there is far more than this," he rejoined. "May that knowledge stir your heart to greater faith."

"But ... if I forget?"

"Then the memories will be stored up for you like treasures in heaven," he replied.

"R-really?" she mumbled, surprised when relief brought tears to her eyes.

Padgett held her gaze and gravely declared, "Nothing is lost for those who are found."

"Are you sure?" she asked with a sniffle.

"Quite sure," he promised. "You do not hope in vain. When the time for partings has ended, your joy will be full."

"I guess that's okay, then."

Padgett gently pulled her into an embrace. "Close your eyes." Her lashes fluttered shut, and the last thing she remembered was his voice speaking a simple benediction in her ear. "Sleep in peace, Prissie."

"You okay, Prissie?" whispered April. "You seem really out of it today."

She snapped to attention. "I'm fine, thanks."

April Mayfair peered steadily at her through the lenses of her rectangular-framed gla.s.ses, then shrugged. "If you say so."

Turning her attention back to the front, Prissie was relieved to see that Miss Knowles hadn't noticed her inattention. She wasn't usually the type to zone out in cla.s.s, but she couldn't seem to corral her thoughts today. Her concentration was shot, so even though it was irresponsible, she gave up, promising herself to ask Koji about the lecture later on.

He was as meticulous a note-taker as she normally was, living up to his angelic order as a future archivist of heaven. His notes were a faithful record of their cla.s.s periods, even if he did tend to stray off topic. Mixed in with the facts, figures, and formulas were s.n.a.t.c.hes of praise, often in a language she couldn't read. Prissie thought this alone might have given away his true nature, but Koji didn't stop there. Unlike other kids their age, he didn't doodle in the margins; he illuminated them. All along one side of his notes, he added intricate ill.u.s.trations that he later showed to Shimron, his mentor.

Prissie snuck a quick peek in April's direction, wondering if she'd noticed Koji's latest pen-and-ink masterpiece. Normally, her nose-for-news friend was quick to pick up on unusual things and even quicker to follow up on her hunches. If anyone was going to figure out the truth about Koji's heavenly citizenship, it would be April. But so far, she hadn't shown any signs of suspicion. Either April had written off his strange quirks as cultural differences, or she was providentially oblivious to the boy's inability to completely fit in with the rest of the cla.s.s.

Koji sat at the desk in front of Prissie's, head bent as he worked. His black hair was gathered in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his slim shoulders were hunched over his notebook in a way that made her suspect he was drawing. She hoped he would show her after cla.s.s. He usually did.

It was just a little embarra.s.sing to think that her best friend at school was a boy. For weeks she'd worried that people would get the wrong idea about her and Koji; after all, they'd been quick to a.s.sume the worst about her and Marcus. But no one seemed to think that she and the young angel were an item, and Prissie was grateful. Those kinds of rumors would have spoiled something she never wanted to give up.

The very next day, Beau caught her attention in the hallway at lunchtime and pulled her aside. "Say, Prissie ... have you been hearing stuff?" he asked pensively.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her gaze following Koji, who continued into the cafeteria without her.

"People are saying stuff again."

"More gossip?" Prissie felt her stomach drop. "Is it about me and Koji?"

"No. It's about you and Margery."

She hadn't expected that. Shaking her head in confusion, she asked, "What possible rumor would there be about us? Everyone knows we've been friends forever."

"Not lately," Beau pointed out.

"Obviously, but that's hardly my fault," she retorted in exasperation.

"I know," her brother replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "But some people are saying that you've been spreading rumors about her."

"What are these so-called rumors I'm spreading?"

"Dunno, Sis."

Prissie shook her head. "Who would believe something that vague?"

"I just thought you should be prepared. I didn't want you to find out in a way that puts you on the spot."

"Well, thanks."

Beau shrugged and slouched into the cafeteria, aiming for the table where he and his friends always sat. No new gossip had reached her yet, but she spent almost all of her time with Koji, so why would it? Mystified, Prissie lifted her chin and whisked inside, finding a patient Koji waiting for her just beyond the doors. Now that she was aware that there might be a problem, she noticed a few looks in their direction, although that could have been coincidental. Taking a deep breath, she led the way to their usual table.

Conversation screeched to a halt as soon as they walked up. Red flags waved furiously. Elise and Jennifer were all smiles, but Margery and April were avoiding eye contact. It was definitely a bad sign. Prissie and Koji sat down anyway and ate in awkward silence.

Later, Prissie caught up to April between cla.s.ses. "Is there something going on that I should know about?"

April smoothed her hand over her sleek bob. "It might be better if you didn't," she said bluntly. "It's just talk."

"What kind of talk?"

April sighed. "It doesn't matter, Prissie. Leave it alone, and it'll blow over, just like the Marcus thing."

"I thought we were friends," Prissie said quietly.