Undone by a Broken Angel

23.) Proving Herself

"That is why, for God's sake, I delight in weakness, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.  For when I am weak, then I am strong."

-2 Corinthians 12:10

This morning as I get ready for more flying lessons, I look once again at the painting of Katrina.  She was the very last queen before Nathanael took over.  But there's something about the painting.  I remember this painting from somewhere else.  Where was it before it was moved here? Or is there a duplicate somewhere?   Her expression looks so fierce, as though she's protecting something small with her body as she hovers over it, her hair falling down to block the viewer's view.  There's no way that I can live up to her.  I don't know much about her or what she did for the falcone, but she managed to hide me away somehow.  I don't blame her for ending up in the orphanage, though I wish she could have avoided putting me on that path.  Attributes aside, she's beautiful.  I don't see much resemblance of myself in her face, but maybe in her eyes.  I have the same gold irises and the shape of them is the same as mine.  As I gaze, I have a sense of grief as though I missed her, though how can I miss someone I don't remember?

"Abby, why are you here?" Abe asks, walking into the empty palace, his footfalls sounding heavy on the tiled floor.  I force my eyes off of the portrait.

I turn to look at him and see that he's wearing his travel clothes again.  In place of the loose white shirt he had been wearing since they arrived in Eden, he instead wears a heavy dark wool with a thick leather vest over it.  His tight pants are tucked into knee length brown boots.  His weapons are strapped onto his hips and legs with more leather, and his heavy black cloak settles onto his broad shoulders, giving him a menacing look.  To me, however, he looks rugged and I can't help but notice how attractive he looks.  Is it the way he stands, all the leather, or is it the way he combed his hair?  Whatever the reason, I decide not to dwell on it.  The concerning expression on his face has me worried, and the fact that he won't meet my eyes has me even more worried. 

"Just...trying to get a sense of who she was," I say, forcing out, suddenly at a loss for words.

A shadow passes over his face.  "I have to go," he confesses, his hands twisting the edge of his cloak.  My gaze lands on his travel bag.  Remembering the morning I woke up here, the words he shared with Nathanael come to mind.  Does this have anything to do with him being told he can't be with me anymore?  I still don't know what that means, but I expect he'll tell me when the time comes.  I don't want to bother him with my overactive curiosity.

"Where are you going?" I wonder, trying to stay composed despite the reaction I seem to be experiencing.  My chest suddenly feels tight and a scary thought comes to mind: I want him to stay, but then I think I'd like to go with him if he can't stay, and that thought scares me the most.

"The others need help, though I don't know how much help I'll be," he tries to explain.  "I just need you to stay here and be safe."  He gives me a pointed look down his nose as though I'd actually want to leave this place.

I'd like to stay here where I can sleep soundly, be in complete safety, and learn at my leisure.  I still want to explore the city ruins more and I'd like to do it alone.  Learning by observation always worked the best for me even though I was only ever given books to read.  I'm sick of books.  I want to touch something tangible, study someone's personal belongings, look at family portraits.  Only then will I feel like people actually lived here and get a sense of who they were.  I feel bad that I didn't grow up knowing them and maybe by going through their homes I'll feel like I do.  But only if I stay.

Still, I don't want him to get into a situation he can't handle on his own.  I need more information if I'm going to decide for sure.  Stay where I'm comfortable, or go on another adventure with Abraham.

"Abraham," I say firmly and his eyes finally meet mine.  "Tell me what's going on, honestly."

He searches my face and rubs the back of his neck.  It looks as though he's running scenarios through his mind again, trying to decide which route is the best to take.  I get the feeling that if he tells me the whole story, it'll make me want to go and he doesn't want that to happen.  Finally, he decides to tell me, "I received a letter from Dianna this morning saying that David and the others arrived at her door in rough shape."

Hold on, I think.  He forgets that I don't know these people or their names.  "Who is Dianna?"  I thought I was the last woman...

He shakes his head showing that he forgot and quickly explains, "she's a human who keeps a safe house for us, an old fortress we call the bunker.  Anyway, we're not sure how bad their injuries are and it may not be safe...for you."  He has to force the last part out and I have a feeling he's still keeping something from me.

"Seems as though here is the only place safe for me," I say under my breath.  Of course, he could hear me.  His expression is pained, as though my words have more meaning for him than they do for me.  I'm about to ask about it when he interrupts me.

"David is the healer," he continues, "so I don't know what exactly Dianna needs me for, but I expect she has her hands full."

The more he explains, the more I feel like I'll be needed.  If they arrived at the bunker wounded, then who knows if the reapers they fought with were destroyed or not.  They could still be nearby there, for all they know, and they'll need the entrance to be cleared if they expect to leave the bunker unscathed.

"I should go with," I demand reluctantly, knowing I'll lose the safety and comforts of Eden if I do.

He sets his jaw.  "No.  I can't protect you and fight at the same time."

Is that his only reservation?  "Oh please," I scoff.  "I can protect myself."

His eyebrows shoot up.  "Is that so?  This, coming from the girl who fled one morning and almost killed herself getting here."

I point my chin at him, hand on my hips.  "Fear is a perfectly understandable reaction at the time.  I didn't know."

"You refused to know," he points out with a smirk threatening to break out on his face, though I don't know what he finds amusing: my stubbornness, or my insistence that I know how to fight too.

"Still," I say, ignoring the statement, "I'm good with a sword too."

He steps closer, leaning over me, intending to intimidate me into submission.  The evil aura he gives off permeates the small space between us.  Anger surges through me.  How dare he underestimate me!  I tamp it down, trying to keep a level head.  I can prove myself, I can take him on if that's what it takes to bring me along.  Two swords are better than one.

"I'd like to see that," he says slowly, watching my face for a reaction, and then his face splits into that smug smile he had been suppressing.

I trot past him with a gait full of attitude.  I strut through the jungle to the only place I know of where we would have room to spar.  The center of the village has the largest open space so I stop and turn to face him there, next to the fountain, and demand for a sword.  He fetches one quickly, going in and out of his house in a matter of minutes.  The sword he comes out with is decorative, and I wonder if he had been hanging onto it for it's beauty rather than it's durability.  I take it anyway, testing it's weight in my hands.  Surprisingly, it feels good, as though it had been made for someone my size.

"You sure you want to do this?" he double checks, his eyes questioning, but excited.

Even though it'll be fun to show him my skill as a swordsmen, I still don't like having to fight.  It brings too many memories of countless nights scared in the darkness.  There was no telling if my father was going to kill me that night or if he would grow bored and let me live.  It was simply the will to live that made me stronger each time he came to attack me, but it was adrenaline that drove my strength back then.  Now, I'll have to focus on what I learned in order to come out victorious, not simply on the fear of dying.

I don't give him an answer in words, rather I take the first swing, trying to throw him off balance before he can strike back.  He's strong, very strong, but that was expected.  I was ready for it.  He puts all of his weight in his swings, but I counter it with my balance, by white wings extending out to counter my deep cants.  I watch his feet and see he's going to swing at my feet, so I jump as his arm swings.  He's surprised to see that I am able to avoid his attack so easily.  It's my turn now.  I push him away and swing my blade to all of his weak spots with speed, the advantage I've always had on my Father.  Abe barely blocks them, but then he switches to offence and almost clips me in the leg, but he's too slow.  His feet make a movement I'm not familiar with and I look up at him, his form changes altogether.  He brings his loose arm to join his hands on his sword hilt, and then he splits the sword in two and I'm looking at dual swords, something I've never seen before.  Completely out of my league, I back off, reevaluating my next move.  He doesn't give me much time to think and he's on top of me again, swinging his swords at me at blinding speed, and I avoid them and block them with nothing but instinct.  I feel the wind the blades make  as they whip at my clothing and my hair, and then I feel my heels meet the fountain edge and I almost fall into the water.  My stomach swoops as I tip back, but he catches my hand, the dark shadow around him invades my senses.  That's when I see my opening!  I duck down and drive my sword hilt into his gut and he doubles over, his breath knocked out of him.  Spinning out from under him, I swing my blade in a side arch and stop just before it slices his neck, where he was not prepared to block.

His face is priceless, but it's his eyes that are what crack me up.  They're filled with both shock, from being beaten by me, and panic, from not being able to breathe.  He also looks defeated and I know that I've won the argument, though I'm by no means excited about it.  I just hope that I can help keep him alive- that's what's important to me.

"Okay," he says with a strained voice.  "I guess you can go."

Great.  I pack my things hoping I don't regret going, but I know it's necessary.  I have a feeling that this is going to be bigger than he thinks it is and I need to be there to protect him when he comes to that realization, and if I can help the others get better, then I'll be glad I went.  I know it's important to meet them, I just hope we get there in time.