I have been wrong many times before. I am quite certain that I will be wrong many more times before I am through having thoughts and opinions. But I hope I never have to be convinced of being wrong as forcefully as I was today.
I was at work on my own today, practicing some exercises that Rumael had given me while Orison was on patrol. He thought that having me use my hands as humans do might help, and I think he was right. I was seeing some improvement in my precision movements.
And then something struck me hard from behind, and I was not seeing anything.
“You young fool.”
Much astonished and afraid, I looked up to see a figure of white terror, rage gathered all around Eburnean as they loomed over me. Had I ever thought that Eburnean was small? They seemed vast and terrible in that moment.
“Inca showed me your last entry into the Repository,” they said, eyes burning into me. “She was worried, and she has every right to be. Tell me, Asa’el, do you remember what Salathiel told you when you were brought into our fold?”
I couldn’t think, much less speak.
“Do you?”
I managed to get up to my knees, though the weight of their disapproval dragged me to the earth. “Eburnean, I don’t understand—”
“Listen and obey,” Eburnean said, their words cutting like knives. “Listen to your seniors and obey what they tell you. What do you know about being a Guardian? You think you know what it is like on the Earth? You think you understand the dangers? You haven’t the first idea, putto.”
By this point, I was beginning to remember some of Orison’s lessons on how to work through fear. I took a deep breath and spoke in a level tone. “I am willing to heed your advice, Eburnean,” I said with my head bowed, “but I still do not know—”
“ ‘I almost wonder if this is a skill I will need,’” Eburnean quoted with harsh sarcasm. “ ‘I am not afraid of pain, and I am willing to feel it if it means I can protect those who are under my care.’” Eburnean struck me again, this time without force behind the blow, so that their wing only brushed across my face, stinging me with their disdain. “Do you think you are the first angel to think this unnecessary? To go into the battle with heart open and kindness in hand? Do you not think all of us would do the same if it were any use at all?”
I said nothing. I finally understood that now was not the time to speak.
“Love will be your weapon,” Eburnean said, “but it cannot be the only one. We cannot go into battle with only a single blade in hand. What a glorious charge that would be—ten minutes into the field, and then you fall and are lost to the shadow.”
I looked up then, hearing something in their voice besides scorn. There was a great shield of righteous wrath in Eburnean’s bearing, but it flickered in that moment, and in that moment I saw their fear—fear for me.
And then as I watched, Eburnean gathered all that concern and compassion and love they felt for me—more than I had expected, enough to weigh on my heart—and drew it deep within, storing it safely away behind the anger and the need to speak the truth. Hardening their heart.
“You will learn this skill, Asa’el,” they said. “You will learn it and you will use it, or you will be lost before you can do anything worth doing. We will not send you naked into the battle to be martyred for no cause. Sacrifice is only noble when it accomplishes something that cannot be done otherwise.”
I looked into Eburnean’s eyes, though it still sent fear rippling through me, and I saw that the truth was there. “Yes, Eburnean.”
“Good,” they said. “Then let us begin.”
And so now I understand. I thought that one had to be willing to sacrifice to be a Guardian, and that is true. There will be pain and sacrifice ahead of me, surely. But to carve oneself up and give oneself away, piece by piece, is no way to do any good. I must protect myself as zealously as I protect others, for I, too, am worthy of protection. And how can I help anyone else if I am gone?
Eburnean, thank you. I will remember what you have taught me, and not just what you showed me in the lessons. Thank you for speaking truth in a way that I could not fail to hear.