Angels of Darkness

He let go of my hands.
    â€œThat was even better than last night!” he exclaimed. “I remembered things—how to bank into a turn, how to slip into a downdraft. It all seems so—so effortless. I can’t believe I was afraid before.”
    I couldn’t help laughing. He hardly seemed like the same person I had met a few nights earlier. Maybe it was the moonlight, so enchanted by the sculpture of his wings that it could not resist gilding them with radiance, but he seemed to glow with energy or excitement or hope. Even his skin seemed to hold a faint light. By contrast, I seemed to be hidden in shadows. Even if Corban hadn’t lost his sight, I doubted he would have been able to see me.
    â€œExcellent,” I said. “The more you practice, the more familiar it will become.”
    But some of his buoyancy faded as his face showed dissatisfaction. “Well, I can’t learn much by flying in circles over the school,” he said. “I have to go farther. I have to fly for longer periods.”
    â€œMaybe you need to establish routes that you can take from the house to specific destinations,” I said. “Routes that have markers that let you know where you are.”
    He was listening closely. “Yes. For instance, when I fly about ten minutes in that direction”—he pointed straight north—“there’s a distinct noise that I catch whenever the wind blows. It sounds like—clattering.”
    Oddly, I knew exactly the spot he was talking about. I had passed it on my journey to the Gabriel School, and I had convinced the driver to pull over so I could investigate. “It’s an abandoned mine,” I said. “There are four or five collapsed buildings, and an old windmill that once must have pumped water to the surface. Half of the blades are missing, but when the wind blows, they spin enough to hit one of the old buildings.”
    â€œSo I know where I am when I’m over that ,” he said. “Then if I can find a landmark that’s nearby, I can go out another few miles—”
    â€œAnd eventually you can fly from point to point to anyplace in Samaria.”
    But that was going too fast for him. He shook his head. “It just doesn’t seem possible,” he said. “So many factors would have to be considered. The effect of the wind—the possibility of being blown off course—the fact that any man-made structure could be destroyed at any time and I would lose my point of reference. I could fly for miles in the wrong direction and be completely lost.”
    I flung my hands in the air. My fingers were practically icicles by now. “Fine! Find reasons it won’t work instead of trying to find ways it will,” I said. “I’m going inside before I freeze to death.”
    â€œIt’s just that there are obstacles,” Corban argued, following me to the trapdoor and down the stairs. “I want to fly again, but I have to be careful.”
    I went straight to the table where our scraps of dinner remained and gulped down a glass of water. The singing and the arguing had left me parched. “Fine,” I said again. “I think you’re right to take it slowly. But I don’t think you should give up.”
    â€œI’m not giving up,” he said. “I just need more help. You have to come with me.”
    I almost choked on my last sip of water. “Come with you where?”
    â€œThe next time I fly.”
    I stared at him, unable to answer.
    Oh, I’d been carried in an angel’s arms before. But not far, and not lately, and not of my own free will. I had no desire to repeat the experience. “No,” I said shortly. “But that’s the right idea. You can go anywhere you want if you bring someone with you to tell you where you are.”
    My words had roused his curiosity; he cocked his head. “You’re afraid to fly with an angel?” he asked. “You? You’re not afraid of anything. And you don’t think anyone else should be, either.”
    â€œI’m not afraid,” I said stiffly. “Just not interested.”
    â€œYou sound afraid.”
    â€œPerhaps you’re not as good at reading emotions as you like to think.”
    â€œIs it the height? Some people are too petrified to even stand on top of a tall building.”
    â€œI don’t mind reasonable heights. Corban—”
    â€œHave you ever flown