After momentous events, there is a certain expectation that, in time, life will go back to normal. We are all so eager for that illusion of peace and safety in the things that happen the same way each and every day, we forget sometimes that there is no going back. Sometimes, you must just move forward and find a new way of being safe in yourself.
I am fortunate, at least, in that all of my peers know exactly what it was that I experienced, and many of them are going through much the same right now. They know that it will take me longer than a few days to feel like myself again, and that maybe “myself” will be a very different entity from what it was before the attack. It is different for my friends on earth.
Freya and George both called out of work on Monday, too weary and overwhelmed even to think about going into the office. But on Tuesday they went back, shouldering the same old life once again. It seemed very unreal to them both.
“Gary asked me what I did over the weekend,” George told Freya this afternoon. “I only laughed.”
“I know. It’s so strange that no one noticed anything. The whole fabric of the universe was torn, and to everyone else it was just another weekend.”
“Yeah, you’d think the events of heaven would have an impact on Earth.”
“Ace says it takes longer than a few days for the effects to be felt,” Freya said.
They were quiet at that thought, and more than a little uneasy.
“How is Ace?” George asked at length.
Freya glanced over her shoulder at me. I was present, but too weak to show myself to George, and I wouldn’t be able to stay long. “Getting his strength back. Not saying much.”
“Please tell him that I am glad to see him, though,” I whispered.
George smiled at this relayed message, then shook his head. “You take your time, Ace. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t say anything to anyone for a few years.”
What can I say? There are no words.
“How is Kara?” Freya asked in turn.
They both glanced upward. For the past several days, Kara has been hard at work trying to capture the battle in her own words, putting aside all other work to do it. If not for her husband, she would have put aside food and sleep for it as well.
“I think it was hard on her to see her dad again,” George murmured. “And again, she didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.”
Freya glanced back at me, but I could only shake my head. No one compels a Saint, and though I truly don’t believe that Kara has seen the last of her father in this life, I could not say when he may return.
George leaned forward. “Ace, you wouldn’t—” he began to ask.
“Hey, he’d talk to her if he felt like she needed it,” Freya stopped him. “I think she just needs some time.”
This is exactly my feeling. Kara will find the words she needs, and then she will be able to rest. It is how I, too, hope to find peace.
“Anyway,” Freya said, giving me a significant look. “It’s about time that he headed back.”
She was right. She has been speaking to Brid even more than I have lately, and both of them have been very stern with me about my recovery. Mine is an unconventional wound—never before has an angel whose heart was torn survived the injury. Brid and the other healers are having to learn from me.
There are some moments that I feel stronger than ever, and others that I know a gentle breeze would blow me away. Power has nothing to do with what was torn out of my heart. An empty, undead love, bearing the weight of dozens of hateful hearts…
I worry that it has tainted me. I know that I will carry the scar throughout my lives, when all others are washed away. Will it make it harder for me to love anyone else?
It comforts me to spend time with Freya, to feel the bond unbroken between us. But I also worry that now my heart is ruined to share with anyone else. How could it not be, when I still feel the pain of that broken thread, burning deeper with every beat?
Like Kara, I am still searching for the words. But just as I had an advantage over the others in the understanding of my siblings, I also have a chance at answers that she does not.
When I returned to heaven from the brief visit with Freya and George, Brid was waiting for me as always, but with her were Orison, Salathiel, and a face I was astonished to see. “Peronel,” I said, too bewildered to bow. She was clad in brilliant robes that spun with story and song.
She beamed at me. “Asa’el, hear the word of the Lord,” she said, holding out her hand. “You are summoned into the Presence.”
I could not move. I stared at her, and at the little knot of light resting in her palm. The Regal Eye? For me?
“I—me?” I stammered. “But—Salathiel, she—she fought so well in the battle, when I did not even—or Brid and Perrine, the Healers have and still are doing the true work—”
“Are you questioning the command of our Father?” Peronel asked, her voice stern, but her eyes were twinkling.
An instinctive denial came to my lips, but it was true, I was. Why me, when all of it would never have happened but for me?
Peronel’s eyes became very soft. “This is not judgment, Asa’el,” she told me. “You are called to love, not to wrath.”
Somehow, that seemed worse to me in that moment. I stared at the Eye that she offered. “When?” I asked.
“When you are ready.”
I was surprised. “What if I am never ready?”
She laughed. “Many angels say that, but they find themselves responding to the call sooner than they thought.” She closed her fingers over the Eye and drew it back to herself. “Call my name when you feel ready. It will be here for you.”
And she departed with no further urging.
I know what she means now. Part of me feels that I will never be ready to stand before the Throne, but I cannot stop thinking about it, as if I were leaving the entire court waiting. And if anyone can tell me how I am meant to go on now, it will be the one who made me.
Freya did this when she was an angel. And even if I don’t feel worthy to be a Seraph, as she was, I do want to experience the same things that she did.
Shall I go?