Overcomer - The Battle, Judy Colella [first color ebook reader .TXT] 📗

physical weapon, but a manifestation of the Light. This manifestation contained every promise, every phrase of power, and every desire for good abiding in the heart of the Creator. Next, he told Cian that each type of movement with the blade determined the kind of power released, and each kind of attack determined the type of movement to be made.

After having Cian repeat these things aloud to be sure they were remembered, the Archangel warned that the thoughts of the wielder determined the purpose of each movement and effectiveness of the Sword strokes. A wrong thought, one that was not based on the will of the Creator, would result in a drain of power which in turn would render the Sword ineffective, useless.

That having been said, Michael took Cian by the shoulders and stared down earnestly into the boy’s eyes. “What kinds of thoughts do you have, Cian? What do you think of yourself, your life, your friends and your circumstances? What do you think about being here?”

Cian looked back without fear into the fierce yet serene eyes of the Archangel, and knew that to answer quickly was to answer wrong. “I think,” he said, paused for a moment, then continued, “I think I need to consider your questions honestly and with much care before I even try to answer.”

A slow smile spread across Michael’s ferociously handsome features. “Good. Very good. And while you are considering them, close your eyes and raise your sword.”

Cian obeyed, not sure what Michael was doing, but having no desire to start questioning him.

“Now imagine a wolf coming from behind you to attack you on your left side – and defend yourself.”

Immediately, Cian pictured the animal attacking as described and switched the sword to his left hand to execute a downward, back-handed stroke, extending his right leg forward to add momentum. He halted in that position, standing still, waiting.

“Directly behind you – larger wolf!”

The boy whirled around in a clean one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc, sword whistling a little higher, his imagination filling his head with the image; as he moved, and right before the end of the swing, Michael called out, “In front, left, then right!”

Without hesitation or pause, he continued his arc to encompass the full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, then smoothly passed the sword back into his right hand and slashed backward against the non-existent enemy.

“Stop.”

Cian stood straight, feet together, sword at his side, and faced Michael, opening his eyes once more.

“Four wolves attacked and four lost their lives. Excellent.”

“Had they really been there, the sword would have found them?”

Michael chuckled. “Had they really been here, you’d be looking down at four headless bodies.”

The boy nodded, frowning slightly. Not so much because they weren’t real enemies. Rather, it was because he realized his task was going to be harder than the training because Moloch was not some vision conjured up by his mind to help him train. Also, he wouldn’t have Michael there to tell him the direction of the attack. This was much more difficult than the free exercises he did on his own, and much, much harder than fending off a visible enemy. Was this how he’d have to fight Moloch? Still, Michael seemed pleased . . .

That was when it dawned on Cian that, logically, he shouldn’t have been able to move the way he had in the tiny space where he and Michael were standing. He’d been so focused that he hadn’t noticed how the hill, which wasn’t very large, had somehow grown to three times its normal size. The stone where Celeste sat was now easily fifty paces away. “Wait – how did we get here?”

“Am I right,” the angel said, ignoring Cian’s question, “in assuming that you can move a lot faster than that?”

Shaking off his confusion, Cian replied, “I – well, yes, but I know that speed doesn’t always help in terms of accuracy.”

“No, it doesn’t. But I think your accuracy is probably quite good, too.”

Cian rolled his eyes, thinking of the monstrous spirit in his dream. “You’ve no idea how much I hope you’re right.”

“Have you memorized the Laws of the Sword?”

The boy thought quickly now. Laws of the Sword? Huh. Okay, what did he say? There were five of them. . . He took a deep breath and started. “The Sword of Light is not a physical weapon but a, er, manifestation of the Light. Yes? And this manifestation contains all the, uh, every promise and every phrase? Um, phrase of power, and every good, no, desire for good. . .abiding in the heart of the Creator.”

“Relax, Cian. You’re doing fine.” Michael’s smile was a combination of amusement and encouragement

Cian nodded, allowing the tension in his shoulders to ease. He went on, “Um, the, uh, type of movement. . .with – wi- the type of movement with the blade determines the power, er, no, the kind of power released.” Brows drawn together, he concentrated harder now on his memory of Michael’s voice as he’d spoken the Laws. “Okay. The type of attack – from the enemy, you mean? That’s what I figured. Um, the type of attack determines the type of – type of movement to do? No, wait. To be made. And the thoughts of the wielder decide. . .I mean, determine the purpose of each movement and effectiveness of the Sword.” He raised an eyebrow, hoping he’d gotten it all correct.

“Very good. Now repeat them again.”

Cian gave an inward groan, but obeyed. This time, he stumbled only twice over the words. Michael had him say the Laws of the Sword yet again, and finally, on the third try, he spoke the Laws smoothly and without mistake.

“Excellent, Cian.” The Archangel patted him on the back. “Never forget them. So have you given any more thought to my questions?”

“You asked me what kinds of thoughts I have.”

“That was the first question, yes. And don’t tell me you’ve been too busy fighting off wolves to think of an answer.”

Cian’s scowl, which had begun when Michael had asked him if he’d thought any more about the questions, cleared as he suddenly understood – no matter what activity people were engaged in, they never stopped thinking, and unanswered questions rarely went away.

“I have thoughts about the people I’ve come to know, about whether or not I’m being a good friend; I have thoughts about my past, and how I can continue to overcome it, usually with every opportunity I have to choose a positive thought over a negative one; I think about my schoolwork, and I think about why in the world anyone thought I have the capacity to fight a creature like. . .you know. Oh, and I think about the things that keep returning to my memory that I’d either blocked out or had simply not thought of in so long, that I’d pretty much forgotten them until someone said something to remind me. And. . .I also think about Celeste.” Cian blushed, despite his strong desire to control it.

“No need to be ashamed or embarrassed about that last one, boy. You’re actually very normal, you know. This is what makes you so extraordinary.”

“What do you mean?”

Michael sighed. “More evil has been done to mankind than any of you know; perhaps the worst evil was influencing man to hurt and do evil to others of his own kind. You, personally, have been the subject of more evil from both sources than most your age, yet you have normal thoughts. That tells me why you were chosen for this battle.”

“Oh.” Cian was pretty sure he got that, but would ponder it more deeply later.

“I also asked you what you think of yourself.”

Cian had to admit that he really didn’t think of himself very often, and when he did, it was to criticize something he’d said or done. But not all the time. “I think I make a lot of stupid mistakes,” he began slowly, not sure how to talk about this. “I think I’m okay, I guess, but try not to let what happened to me be an excuse for the wrong things I do. I don’t hate anybody, but I’m still very angry at. . .no, to be honest, I think I do hate her – my former foster-mother. She’ll soon be dead, and her son will be punished severely, and while part of me feels sorry for them both, there’s still a part that is glad about what will be done to them. I don’t know if that’s bad or not.” He shrugged, looked at his feet, then continued. “But the memory of what they did hasn’t gone away, and there is definite anger there still. Other than that, and from what I’ve seen and learned about others my age, I suppose I think of myself as being um, pretty typical about most things. I’m nothing special, but I’m not irrelevant. No one is. And,” he took a deep breath, raising his head to look up into Michael’s eyes again, “I’m not. . .un-unacceptable.” He swallowed hard, clamping his teeth tight in determination. This was the first time he’d spoken that word aloud since the day he’d told Dr. Lee that his former foster-mother had been using it has his “new” name.

Michael nodded, silent for a few minutes. “Most of what you think of yourself is good and, as you say, pretty typical. But you could be at risk. As long as you’re still on shaky ground about the lies you once believed about yourself, you are vulnerable to serious, maybe even deadly, attack. We must work on this.”

Cian agreed completely. Even if he never got into a battle with Moloch, he was still vulnerable to the evils of everyday life.

“Now what do you think about your life?”

With a crooked smile, Cian said, “It’s good. I never expected that, but it really is. I have a lot to be thankful for.”

“Your friends?”

The boy shifted his gaze to where Celeste and Katie were listening to something Celesta was saying, the Keeper standing beside her, nodding. “I have friends.” Then he thought about Josiah and Felicity, the social workers from Atlanta whose diligence led them to him where he’d been left to die in that basement, and thus saved his life. Then there were the guys he was getting to know at school, particularly Tyler who had accepted him, scars and all. He thought about Niall, the Druid lawmaker from his own millennium who, as their guide, accompanied him and his parents across time. And of course there was the Croghan who had been a part of his life for so long. “I love them all very much,” he concluded. “I think maybe I’m more blessed than a lot of people when it comes to having friends. I don’t have a lot of them, but the ones I have are wonderful.”

“And what about the circumstances you find yourself in now?”

“I don’t know. My circumstances include this place and you and Celesta, and while it’s good, it’s also kind of frightening. And not normal.”

Michael chuckled at that. “No, it isn’t. But as you say, it’s good. Let me clarify what I mean. How do you feel about the circumstances that have brought you to this place for this purpose?”

“Honestly? I’m scared.” He looked at the sword in his hand and shook his head. “I have a lot of help here, I know, but still – maybe after I’ve been practicing a little longer I’ll have more confidence, but right now, I think someone else could do a better job.”

Michael told the boy to sit. “Listen well, Cian MacDara, as I address the things you have told me.” He crossed his arms, looking down at the attentive human, his eyes glittering in the strange light of the Hub. “You are a young man who is feeling all the things any healthy human would feel at your age with regard to self, friends and circumstances. But because you have experienced pain, terror, humiliation, despair, deep loneliness and constant sadness, you also have had to fight a continual battle with those things, and fight you