I thought that it was impressive when the Cupids flew down to Earth in all their ranks, and in its way, it was. But for heaven’s army to fly out together—it is something quite different.
When I went to the gathering place with Orison, Eburnean, and Inca, I could not believe my eyes. Orison told me that there were never enough Guardians in the battle, and so I thought that their numbers were smaller than those of the Cupids, but I was wrong in that. There are hundreds upon hundreds of the Guardians, ranging from young trainees to the dark-eyed Cherubs to Salathiel herself. I was in awe at the sheer number of them.
And in my heart, there was a shiver of fear, for looking at their fierce multitudes, I could not help but remember that the Enemy is more numerous still.
Inca put one wing around me. “We do what we can,” she whispered to me. “Even the Father-King expects no more.”
We took our places—I was in the rearguard with Inca, under Eburnean’s sharp supervision. Orison went to the fore with the other Cherubs. They all carried weapons, gleaming swords of shadow and blood and ice. Even as I watched, Orison took his blade from the air, a long spear whose head crackled with lightning.
“Weapons of the spirit,” Inca explained when I asked her. “They are gifted to a Cherub upon receiving the Lower Eye. Each is made by the Father to match that Cherub perfectly.”
A weapon crafted by the very hand of the Father? I was dizzy with awe.
Then silence fell over us all, and I looked up to see that Salathiel had arrived, carrying a long lance of the north wind. Beside her was a vast and terrible angel, with six wings that seemed to stretch across all the sky, with one eye black and horrible on his brow, and another brilliant and magnificent at his breast.
This, Inca told me later, was Syebo, eldest of angels and Elder of the Sentries who guard the gates of heaven. This night is the one time in the year that he leaves his post, that he may send us on our way with the blessing of the First Blade. In that moment, however, we only knelt, and I know that mine was not the only heart that swelled.
Syebo extended his hand, and in it appeared a blade as long as—well, it seemed endless, and tongues of white flame washed the length of it, making it seem even longer. Even as far back as I was, I felt those flames flickering over my head.
“Fly in strength and courage, sisters and brothers,” he said, his voice deep and quiet, but with such a power in it that every last one of us heard. “Wing your way with caution, for the battle is perilous, but with speed, for there is great need of you. Most of all remember what it is that we defend.” He swung the sword over us again, and as the flames flashed and vanished, I saw for an instant something so beautiful, so heart-opening and hopeful…I do not even know how to describe it, except that it filled me with passion and fierce courage.
Salathiel stepped forward, lifting her great lance high. “To battle, brothers! To war, sisters! And let the ranks of the Enemy tremble!”
And we all cried out with a great roar, and when Salathiel sprang into flight, we followed, wing alongside wing, and spiraled down into the darkness.
And it was dark, and it was cold, and as we flew we saw much that was terrible and cruel—blood in darkened streets, screams gone unheard, fire and gunpowder and secrets and lies. But at our coming, the evil went still, and as we went past, they did tremble.
I know that some of the higher ranks did battle this night, but that was not our role. Ours was only to lend strength and support, and to see all that there is waiting for us. I did see, and it was fearful, but…I am ready. I want to be a part of the battle that strikes back.
There is something behind it all, something vast and hateful and cunning. I caught a glimpse of it this night—of him.
But I also saw just a bit of what stands behind us, its beauty and its power, and let me tell you, sisters and brothers—our King is greater. Our Father is stronger. And the Battle will end well for us.
And I am ready to begin my part of it.