Last of the Mighty (9 page)

“Augustine.”

My eyes popped open.

The man with lavender eyes stood before me, smiling. Same sleeveless tunic, gold forearm guard, and heavenly aura. All seven-feet, five inches of him. We weren't in my room, though. We were in a forest. High trees. Sunbeams streaming through the canopy. Raccoons at play. Squirrels, birds…the whole nine.

“Hi,” I said, not sure if he'd hug me or slug me. Dreams were weird, anything could happen.

“Greetings.” There was a playful glint to his eyes.

“This is a…dream, right?”

“It is your creation, Augustine, so you tell me.”

“I made this?”

“The subconscious is a powerful entity.”

“But you're real, right? An angel?” Gold forearm thing, like Shemja-za's, but no wings like Phaeus's. “A Watcher?”

“I am.”

I gave him the spirit test—renounce Satan, confess Jesus… He passed.

Which could only mean one thing—I was looking at the only Holy Watcher in the universe. The one Watcher who had obeyed God and never took a human wife. A member of the Tenth Choir who was still under God's command to shepherd mankind and teach us the finer points of civilization.

It was mind-blowing. This guy had known Noah, Moses, King David, and probably every person in the Bible. The things he must have seen…

I asked, “What do I call you anyway? And why are you here?”

“I am here because you called for assistance.” His smile was so bright.

“I did?”

“Your concerns regarding your upcoming training sessions were broadcast into The Symphony.”

Maybe it was like he said, power of the subconscious and all.

“With regard to your other concerns, Og, I ask that you allow me to address them at a later date. Time is short, my friend. This is a fine training ground you have built, yet its defenses are poor. I took the liberty to add certain safeguards to protect us from the enemy, but even they grow weaker by the hour. The adversary seeks out your thoughts and words, Augustine. They strive to win the secrets that I am to teach you. I suggest your training begin at once.”

Though I had a thousand questions, and was unsure of Mr. Lavender's ulterior motives, it was enough that he'd passed the good spirit test and was going to train me in the art of war.

“Ready when you are.” I rubbed my hands together, excited for some hearty play with the broadsword, and spear. “Bring on the weapons.”

“The only weapon concerning us tonight”—he tapped at my brow—“is this.”

Bummer. I was drooling to get all Braveheart with a war axe or something.

“This forest is a representation of The Symphony.” We ambled down a dirt path. “Listen to the birds, the wind, the river, and all that dwell in these woods. Do their voices speaking all at once remind you of anything?”

“The Committee.”

“Yes. And like a forest, if you walk through The Symphony quietly and without focusing too intently on any one sound or individual, you can travel for a long while without detection. As you have done for years, in your Committee. However”—he stopped abruptly—“upon singling out an object…”

He fixed his eyes to a nearby deer. The grazing buck lifted its head, saw us, and froze. For a few moments, the animal and angel were locked in a motionless staring duel. Until the deer bolted away.

“Hmm,” I mumbled and told him about eavesdropping on Smiler and Knock, how after a minute, one of them sensed I was there and split.

“Exactly.” His hand patted out a congratulations on my back. “To effectively listen within The Symphony, you must never become too emotionally vested in the conversation from which you seek to glean information. Come.”

We left the path and went off-road, into the trees. “Professor Lavender,” he smiled at my name for him, “why can I hear The Symphony?”

“It is a gift, Augustine. Uncommon even among the Mighty.”

Nice to know I wasn't crazy. “Can I ask you a personal quest—”

“Please.” He touched my arm, reassuring. “A day will come, soon, I promise you, when there will be time to converse at length. It is a day to which I look forward with great anticipation, Og, but at this moment, time is of the essence.”

“Sorry.” I had so many questions.

“Choose one animal's sound, Augustine. Any animal.”

I nodded. Looked around, listened. Went with Woody Woodpecker hammering away on a distant tree.

“Focus on your sound.”

I did. Ten seconds later, Woody stopped his pecking.

“Now, let it go. Allow the forest to flood your ears, eyes, and nose. The creaking limbs…the musk of the soil…the stones along the riverbed.”

I did, and almost immediately, Woody's beak was drumming again.

“And the same technique applies in the reverse. While conversing within The Symphony, permit few emotions to enter the discourse. Let your mind and feelings wander. The more you speak with a certain detachment, the better the chances of keeping your conversation hidden from prying ears.”

For the next lesson, I tried to chat with Lavender while remaining aloof and indifferent. I was terrible at it. Funny, though. You know, yawning, looking into the forest, checking my fingernails, and pretending to be completely disinterested in what he and I were saying. If only I was in Biology class, where disinterest came so naturally. Problem was, Lavender was so interesting I couldn't help but listen with my whole heart—a problem of mine outside The Symphony too. On top of that, I was with an angel who'd been on earth forever, strolling through a dream forest and learning Heaven's top-secret spy techniques! How do you keep an emotional lid on that?

By the end of it, I was sure if it hadn't been for Lavender's extra defensive barriers, the entire Symphony would have heard every word I'd said. Yet, according to Lavender, that wasn't always a bad thing. Every now and then, you wanted everyone to hear what you were saying. Sometimes, to call your comrades to arms. Other times, to relay misinformation meant to confound the opposition.

He told me not to worry about how bad I was at Symphony speak. That the majority of God's holy angels used The Symphony primarily for listening anyway, to gain enemy intel.

He clarified, “It is the Fallen, in their arrogance, who spout words into The Symphony like a whale spouts water. They lack the discipline to restrain their tongues, announcing battle plans with little consideration for the sharp ears of our scouts. Time and again, the data we sift from The Symphony tells us where to prepare for combat and when it would prove wiser to avoid battle entirely.”

“Why would you wanna avoid battle? Shouldn't we try to take ‘em down every chance we get?”

“Only the fool rushes into a conflict they know they cannot win. It requires wisdom and humility to flee from battle, to admit when you are defeated. Be not afraid to turn away from an encounter before it begins, Augustine. There will always be another battle. Choose to fight only the ones you must.”

The thin line between cowardice and wisdom grew even thinner.

“There is something more, Og.” Again with the big smile. At times, angels reminded me of puppies, so thrilled just to be around humans. “There is a way to silence the voices that gong inside you.”

Okay. Now this was stretching it. Angels. Nephilim. Enchanted nails. That stuff was so common. But silence between my ears? That would be a miracle. The Committee had been with me for so long, I'd given up on calm mornings and quiet nights years ago. “How? If you—”

“Shh!” He grew still, as if in danger. “Tell me,” he whispered, “what do you sense?”

I whispered back, “Something with…the air. Seems…heavier.”

“Good. That is the adversary. Drawing near.”

Lavender waved his hand at the trees in a wide, sweeping motion. The dream forest began to corrode from the outer edges in.

He squeezed my shoulder. “Until we meet again.” He gave a curt nod. “Godspeed.”

And just like that, he disappeared.

I woke to the sound of my cell phone trembling on the nightstand. It was either having a nightmare or someone was calling me at the unreasonable Saturday morning hour of ten fifty-two.

It was Merryn. I take back what I said about unreasonable. She's immune to unreasonable.

“Ready?” she asked. “We'll be there in, like, five.”

Ready for what? Did it matter? I was hoping to get to the dojo for some training, but time with Merryn was time with Merryn. “Uh, sure...I'm ready.”

Recognizing the I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about quality of my voice, she said, “Didn't get my text, didja? Going to Mandinka's. You, me, and Dad.”

Mandinka's Safari Adventure was a drive-through wild animal park. From the safety of your car, you could experience the pseudo-African savannah. On good days, lions, zebras, leopards, and giraffes crowded around your windows. More often, you caught a glimpse what might be a pony's hoof.

I did the quick shower/breakfast thing and was ready when they arrived. I dropped into the backseat of the Cherokee next to Merryn. And all was right with the world.

She instantly began flipping through the open book of my face, as usual, reading between the lines, suspecting that I was hiding something. “What's up?” That reporter gleam in her eye.

“N-nothin'.” I smiled. A kid with a secret. May have even winked. I often found myself acting like a moron around Merryn. It was embarrassing.

“Yeah right,” she said.

My idiot's grin validated her hunch that I had news. She stared at me expectantly, folded her arms and waited for me to spill it about the whole Tucker/Fourth Nail/Shemja-za/Phaeus ordeal.

Of course, I wanted to tell her everything. I bounced my eyes off Uncle Will then back to her—Can't say it in front of him, can I?

She glared at me, screwed up her mouth, and let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Whatev.” She faced forward and stared out the windshield. “You're ridorkulous.”

Next came the silent treatment. With her arms still crossed and her eyes on the road ahead, she soundlessly attacked me.

“So I had this dream the other night.” I shot Merryn with the happy now? face.

She grinned. A murmur of satisfaction.

I began to recite the Hobbs Hill experience, trying to make it sound as outlandish as possible so Uncle Will would believe it was a dream and not real life.

When I got to Phaeus, Uncle Will jumped in. “Hold on.” He was all excited. “So he had a breastplate, a belt, a dagger, and a sword? In addition to the forearm guard?”

“Yup.” I resumed, spurred by Merryn's eyes.

“And you say he was in the Fifth Choir, this…Phaeus.”

“Yes, Dad!” That was Ms. Patience.

“Sorry.” Uncle Will whispered something to himself, like he was working on a math problem out loud.

“So Phaeus goes to Tucker.” Merryn's eyes glued to me. “And puts his sword up to—”

“You know”—Uncle Will again—“that is not an unfeasible premise.”

Merryn's face fell.

“If one can identify the rank of an angel by the weapons they carry, then…wow…that's—”

“Daaad!”

“No, hear me out. Og you—wow!—just might have stumbled onto something like…man!” He paused, considering the possibilities, mumbling to himself.

On Merryn's signal, I resumed.

“But Smiler pushed the sword away and said, ‘You have no power to Pit me.'”

“I'd be published…” muttered Uncle Will. “Time and Newsweek…Christian Science Monitor…the Journal for sure…”

Merryn put a finger near her head and drew cuckoo circles in the air.

I got as far as Vero's offer before Uncle Will interjected, “Hang on.”

“Dad!”

“So Phaeus's sword”—Uncle Will had blanked out Merryn—“couldn't harm Smiler because the demon's rank in the Choir was higher?”

“I guess.”

“OH…MY…” Uncle Will could barely keep the car on the road, “It's GENIUS!” More smiting of the steering wheel.

I continued while Uncle Will eventually calmed himself…until the exorcism of Smiler and Knock.

Uncle Will whooped and jounced up and down in the driver's seat, blathering professorial things that neither Merryn nor I understood.

Merryn, on the other hand, had gone tranquil, silent, a blanket of peace wrapping itself around her. She was relieved that Tucker had been freed of his demons and was no longer a danger. Tears welled in her eyes. Without thinking, I put an arm around her and pulled her into me. It was so natural. She pressed her cheek into my chest.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “But ya didn't have to, y'know. I coulda handled it.”

“Okay!” Uncle Will. Again. “How much?”

Bafflement. “How much what?” I asked.

“For your dream's theories. Angel ranks and weapons, Choir laws…all of it. What do you want for them? Needs some tightening of the screws, of course, but, in general, I believe the nimrodic simpletonians at work would love to—”

“'S'all yours. You can have it. Tell ‘em it's your theory even. I don't care.”

He gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled excitement. Made the turn into Mandinka's Safari Adventure. Then, out of nowhere, he blurted, “I got it!” He caught our eyes in the rearview. “Isn't Winter Formal coming up?”

“I don't know?” I'd never gone to a formal dance.

“It's next month.” Merryn was peering out the window. Probably replaying a few scenes from my escapades last night.

“As compensation for your dream, Og, I would like to pay for everything. The tickets. Your tux. Dinner. Corsages. All of it.”

“Well, I wasn't planning on—”

“You two are going together, aren't you?”

“I…don't…” My heartbeat doubled. “Haven't…really…”

Merryn's face turned from the window. Her lips wore a small smile.

“Would you,” I asked her, “like to…”

Her eyes found mine, color rising to her cheeks.

“Go…”

My mouth went all Sahara.

“To the, uh…”

My tongue was tree bark. My epiglottis was camel fur.

“The dance with me?”

With her eyes still on me and her smile still smiling, she nodded.