Edwin's Old Friends

"I hear you're still a Cloud Painter?"

There appeared to be companions with him, and all of them wore simple but beautiful golden brow ornaments, each a little different, and their gold belt buckles carried solemn carvings and a pale cabochon that marked their rank.

From their dress, Vihal could tell they were of the Escort Division—the most popular post among angels.

Every one of them held a drink in one hand, and they had the air of a group about to start a party…

"Mmff!"

Edwin raised a hand while chewing a mouthful of strawberry and said something toward them.

"With your flying power and your gift for reading what a soul feels, you could do the glamour work we do—crossing the Ladder of Angels down to the world below to bring souls home. So why won't you come?"

"That's right. We heard you turned it down when they called on you, and again afterward…"

So Edwin had been scouted any number of times—Vihal was astonished. Edwin mumbled, swallowed his strawberry, wiped his mouth lightly, and said to them:

"I've said it before, haven't I? The work I want to do isn't that.

My Angel Road points up, not down."

And with that, he pointed at the sky—which could not be seen from where they sat—with a broad smile on his face.

"And what about you lot—won't you come back? We're still short-handed as ever, you know."

At Edwin's words, they looked at one another, smiled wryly, and said, each in turn,

"…Hahaha, that's not going to happen…"

"That place is hard labor. I've got more to sink my teeth into where I am now, and better pay besides."

"I see… Then the work heaven made for you and the work heaven made for me were different things.

That's a shame…"

"What a waste, after all that practice you put in," one of them murmured, and Edwin looked a little lonely as he said it; and then the angels told him:

"Our part in that place was surely just to be a bridge. To carry things on to the next angels.

If you can still keep at it, then keep at it, where you are. Right?"

"Though the Escort Division would welcome you any time."

These angels, it seemed, had been on good terms with Edwin, and had been called away and promoted out of the Escort Division. So they were the ones who had left, not the ones who stayed.

*Were they of his year, I wonder*—Vihal thought as he listened in silence; and then the angel who had first called out glanced at him and asked,

"By the way, who's this…? Bigger than you, and with those curls—cute kid."

"He's my little brother. Vihal, my colleague now. He paints good skies, you know."

Told that he painted good skies, Vihal was so happy he squirmed; and the angels gathered around him, delighted, and said,

"Ohh, is that so! Then that makes him our little brother too, doesn't it!"

"That's impressive. Keep it up, all right?"

His spirits, which had been shrunk small by nothing but failures, had come back a good deal under those words—and Vihal, who was usually a little shy of strangers, decided to gather a bit of courage.

"Thank you… Um… may I ask you something…?"

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