"Imagination is more important than knowledge."
- Einstein
Chapter 2: Questing
Lyra, being the little wildcat that she was, had already marred Sir Charles' face and hands with scratches from her nails. His leg had been bitten with her sharp teeth, and if he was not careful, Sir Charles would be in danger of losing a finger or two with the way she was fighting. That was why Sir Charles employed the use of two very large, very strong, and very obedient manservants to remove and repress her.
"Get your hands off of me! I mean it!" Lyra called to Sir Charles even as they pitched her headfirst into the blackness ahead. It was not a complete blackness; however, a solitary candle held a now-diminishing flame to light the nearby corner. Lyra drew toward it like a moth. That flame, even how small it burned, became Lyra's hope as her memories flooded back and the tears streaked her dusty cheeks.
Half-hidden in shadow, Mrs. Coulter stepped forward after the sobs had lessened, invading Lyra's privacy. "Lyra. We must go now."
"No." Lyra held her head high. "I refuse. Not until I see Will." She had begun to suspect the truth, that Will had been taken away from her, or her from him, but she wanted to stave it off, at least for the time being.
"Lyra, don't make me raise my voice." Mrs. Coulter held that warning note in her voice that gently reminded all daughters of their place in life. The golden monkey prepared accordingly. Readying his best stance, it leapt upon Pantaliamon. The two daemons tussled, and Pan writhed and squirmed but already this early in the fight did Lyra see it was no use. Pan ripped away from the monkey once; nevertheless, the golden creature dropped the fur in its paws and leaped again on Pan. As a bronco rider to a bull, the little monkey held fast, increasingly wrapping his furry little arms tighter around the daemon's neck.
The problem was, the monkey had a very tight grip, and soon enough, Pantaliamon was bucking and grabbing at his throat. He couldn't change into something bigger that would defeat the monkey because, in the process, it would suffocate him. If he changed into something smaller and didn't change fast enough, the monkey would just adjust its grip. The loss of oxygen flow into Pantaliamon's brain stopped him from charging.
Lyra prayed a secret, "Hold on," but she could not even bring herself to believe it.
Grimacing, she felt dark spots begin to flash out and grow at the corners of her eyes. She knew she was about to black out because of Pan's pain, but she could do nothing besides accede. "Let go of him!"
The monkey did as ordered, loosening his hold around Pantaliamon's neck. The space was just enough to let him though, so he weakly crawled into the waiting comfort of Lyra's arms. Taking a shift as a red ferret, he settled around her neck.
Now that Mrs. Coulter had proven her power to her daughter, she headed towards the door, fully expecting Lyra to follow. She strolled haughtily down several flights of stairs, as if to say, "I won, I beat you, my child." The girl paid no attention to her mother, Lyra instead amused herself by counting the creaky steps and hopping over each one of them. As she did this, her step pattern echoed that familiar children's rhyme, "Step on a crack, break your mother's back."
She made sure that every crack she came upon was firmly crushed underneath her heel.
~
Lyra sat in the corner, facing the wall. Her self-assured countenance appeared that she chose to stare at the wall of her own choosing and not because the cords bound her so tightly she could not move. Pantaliamon was free to move as he chose, and he had tried to loosen the cords, but they seemed to defy all natural laws and even his sharp little rat teeth could do nothing to harm them.
Lyra clenched her fists tighter. She was a prisoner in her mother's house, and a literal one at that. Will - what could he be doing right now? Surely, whatever he did would come to some kind of good, it always did in the end. It was odd that though they were leagues apart, she still trusted his action enough to place her fate in his hands. It had been days already since she had first entered the small chamber, and the only human contact she received was from a beggar-like servant. She had realized the second day as he brought her a meal that his tongue was cut off. Lyra also realized that he was one of the unfortunates born deaf as she yelled at him about something her mother had done while his back was turned, and he did not even flinch. She tested him several times after that to see if he was only pretending, for a lie must falter some time, but the servant never changed and was so regarded as deaf and dumb.
Several days afterward, the servant brought Lyra out of her chamber into the hallway. Lyra was expecting to leave quickly, her mother had basically promised them the departure orders. He then escorted her to a meeting with her mother and they walked in on a conversation between Mrs. Coulter and Sir Charles.
"The child is ready and waiting for instructions, as you ordered."
"Thank you Charles. See that she is treated for shock."
Sir Charles hastily excused himself with a glance at Lyra. She refused a curtsey before her, instead standing tall and proud while Sir Charles grimaced at her lack of deference.
"Lyra, my child," Mrs. Coulter started, "It is wonderful to see you again. What have you been up to?"
"Nothing mother," she quickly replied in a tone that set her mother's stiff attempt at an actual conversation flat. Throughout all this the cogs in her head were constantly spinning; and at the moment, she was wondering about the shock treatment. It was obviously confusing. That was often given to those before they were to enter another world. Sometimes if it could not be given before, the treatment was afterward, especially if the one in shock had crossed boundaries between worlds unconsciously. She had not crossed any boundaries. had she? Then Lyra noticed that Mrs. Coulter was staring at her, pinning her with those eyes as surely as ropes. A small smile tilted the corners of her mouth and she said, "Lyra, look out the window."
Lyra looked. It was exactly how she remembered it, down to the last minute detail. Then. if she did not cross into another world, then who was being treated for shock? Lyra studied her hands so Mrs. Coulter would not she the incredulous expression plastered upon her face. Pan rested on the window sill. It was just as she remembered. Even Pan agreed with her now. Pantaliamon nuzzled her ear a bit so Mrs. Coulter would not see that they were talking. "We must find the shock victim."
"Where is she?" Lyra whispered. The golden monkey was staring at them intently, so Lyra pretended to point ecstatically at a baker. "Pan, Pan! Look! It is home!" She continued in this manner, describing certain things she remembered and loved about the place her mother called home.
The monkey nodded, obviously satisfied at her reaction and turned back into the conversation. Lyra had not even noticed the return entrance of Sir Charles into the room, but there he was, already having an avid discussion with her mother. No. Not her mother. Mrs. Coulter. Mother came with endearment and they were strangers to each other now.
Mrs. Coulter and Sir Charles conversed at the other side of the room; Lyra shrugged. The two were probably discussing what they termed as "business" but what Lyra knew as Gobbler work. However, Lyra was half-wrong, they were doing Gobbler work by talking about Dust, but it was in a different context. A darker, deeper one in which the fate of the world rested.
"It is wonderful Sir Charles. She will bend to our ways without even knowing it, and she will bend him to her ways with him practically unconscious to it. She is manipulative, I can see it clearly now, and we can turn this to our benefit. Every thing she has done in an act of rebellion is actually throwing herself farther in our path. We must defeat Dust before it can take down the Church." "But the child - " Sir Charles started.
"You find a flaw in my plan?"
Rather unsteadily, Sir Charles responded, "N-No."
Mrs. Coulter fixed a patronizing stare upon him. "You know the truth, and as do I. Tell me."
"What if the child Lyra - she somehow sways the boy? That is what is said in the prophecies of the witches."
Mrs. Coulter waved his question away. "I have already considered that possibility. Whatever she does, she does for the boy. If we lead her to believe it is in the boy's favor, then we have no problems. Besides, that is what this child is for. The child will sway the boy through our movements. Did you find anything on that in the witch prophecies?"
"N-no."
"I thought so," Mrs. Coulter stated smugly. That simple fact was the entirety of her being. Cold. Calculating. "I assume the shock treatment went well?"
Sir Charles nodded. "Yes. But the child is still rather unsteady, we might have to slow down the introductions of this world. Imagine, still wanting clothes like that!" He laughed once, but it was harsh and forced.
"Do what you must." It was not a spoken dismissal, but one indicated by the tone of her voice. To accentuate the dismissal, she turned from him to face Lyra.
Sir Charles left rapidly.
"Lyra, come here." Lyra came obediently, though defiantly. She managed to drag herself slowly across the room inch by inch until she stood before Mrs. Coulter. She appeared not to have noticed her daughter's deliberation. "We have a guest to arrive in this house soon. I expect you do nothing of the ordinary, this is a very important guest." She paused, as if she expected a response. Lyra gave none. "You will be introduced later. Go to your room now."
Lyra turned around, wanting to wander the halls of the house. Instead, a servant stood there, awaiting their departure. Later, the servant stopped at a wholly different room, furnished nicely with soft chairs and fluffy pillows.
Pantaliamon glanced at Lyra. "No matter how beautiful, it is still a prison."
Lyra said nothing, but her heart agreed wholeheartedly.
~
That night Pantaliamon woke Lyra up, gouging into her arms. "Pan! PAN!"
Pantaliamon let go, but circled the room in a swallow form. His wings flapped frantically at the windows and door, and it was obvious that he was panicking. He scratched at windows and tried to claw his way out as a jaguar. Nothing worked. The walls seemed to be impenetrable. Finally he shifted into a swallow once more, dipping and swirling, following unknown air currents and finally landed. "Lyra! Lyra! Do you hear that!"
"What? Did you wake me up because of nightmares?!" She knew that was untrue, daemons rarely had nightmares, but though it was a rarity, it still occurred.
"No! Listen!" he hissed. He was on the floor, in the form of a terrier.
There was silence but Pan was shivering. All of a sudden, of pure instinct, Lyra touched him. She felt more than heard a sudden an ear-shattering scream which rent the still night air. Silence again and another scream followed, this time, more muffled. Again and again the screams exploded until they faded away into silence. Lyra clutched Pan closer to her heart. "What was that?"
"The guest? Is that shock?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. Why can't I feel it alone?"
Pan shivered. "Somehow, the daemon's emotions are so strong that it gets sent to all of us. It's horrible."
Lyra massaged her daemon, whispering soothingly, "We will search tomorrow. Tonight, sleep."
Lyra slept, but her dreams were filled with tormented echoes of those yells. She kept picturing someone shouting and someone - sometimes something - making that person yell so much. There was something wrong in the house besides the works of her mother. It was small, so Lyra could not place it, but it was there. It hovered in the back of her mind like a savage taint that did not want be removed. Lyra's only solace came from the fact that, where ever he was, Will was safe and far removed from her mother and the plans of the Church.
~
The object of Lyra's thoughts stood atop a hill overlooking the surrounding area. They had walked for hours upon hours, and through multitudes of worlds. Sensenoy and Semangelof were searching for something, that was obvious, but he could not tell if it was Lyra or their angel friend. They had told him that their angel friend was out doing another mission, after all, so why bother?
It got to the point where the two angels stopped making the polite conversations and Will broke through with a question of his own. "What are you searching for?"
Sensenoy glanced at him and said, "Traces."
He left it at that, and gave no more information until Will pressed him again asking, "Traces of what? I thought we were going to find Lyra!"
Sensenoy responded saying, "Every human is marked, with a distinguishable difference. Lyra, in particular, is marked well. We are searching for her traces, that slight fingerprint that she leaves when she enters and reenters worlds."
Will nodded. "Then if there's only one "trace" or fingerprint of Lyra, why is this so hard? Why can't you just zero in on her?"
Semangelof stopped Sensenoy's response. "We seem to have a problem."
"What?"
"There are two people, very similar, with almost the same trace feel as Lyra. The problem is, they lie at directions opposite one another."
"And you don't know which one to choose?" Will finished.
"Yes. Maybe you should decide."
The gripping realization of it all hit him. There were two people, and if he was to choose wrongly, then they would be wasting time and Lyra could be in danger. Two people. Two directions. One path. Will paused and then questioned, "Is there anything else you know about them?"
"One of them seems to be moving through worlds and one stays still in one world."
Will pictured Mrs. Coulter running away with Lyra, moving hurriedly through worlds to get away. He could see Lyra's face and the mask of pain brought by separation. "We follow the moving one."
Semangelof and Sensenoy exchanged looks. "Let us hope you have chosen correctly, knife-bearer."
Will started down the path that he brought upon himself, but he could not help but stare down the other road, the road he would have taken. Was it even possible that he could choose wrongly, when he was so close?
him? Or her. Or.
"Are angels guys or girls?"
This question threw Sensenoy and Semangelof off guard. They glanced at each other, and Sensenoy answered with a vague, "Angels are whatever they want to be."
Will left it at that. It was truth they had told him, but it was not the answer he was looking for. His whole mind, his whole being was occupied with thoughts of Lyra and how she was doing, if she was safe, and so on. He was filled with her presence, reminiscing on memories because that was all he had left.
It was not enough for Will. Lyra had to be there, with him, safe. His heart was torn between staying with her and pushing himself onward. Sighing, he made the final decision and stepped down the road toward the moving blip. The angels waited for him to doubt himself, but Will walked assuredly down the path of his choosing.
- Einstein
Chapter 2: Questing
Lyra, being the little wildcat that she was, had already marred Sir Charles' face and hands with scratches from her nails. His leg had been bitten with her sharp teeth, and if he was not careful, Sir Charles would be in danger of losing a finger or two with the way she was fighting. That was why Sir Charles employed the use of two very large, very strong, and very obedient manservants to remove and repress her.
"Get your hands off of me! I mean it!" Lyra called to Sir Charles even as they pitched her headfirst into the blackness ahead. It was not a complete blackness; however, a solitary candle held a now-diminishing flame to light the nearby corner. Lyra drew toward it like a moth. That flame, even how small it burned, became Lyra's hope as her memories flooded back and the tears streaked her dusty cheeks.
Half-hidden in shadow, Mrs. Coulter stepped forward after the sobs had lessened, invading Lyra's privacy. "Lyra. We must go now."
"No." Lyra held her head high. "I refuse. Not until I see Will." She had begun to suspect the truth, that Will had been taken away from her, or her from him, but she wanted to stave it off, at least for the time being.
"Lyra, don't make me raise my voice." Mrs. Coulter held that warning note in her voice that gently reminded all daughters of their place in life. The golden monkey prepared accordingly. Readying his best stance, it leapt upon Pantaliamon. The two daemons tussled, and Pan writhed and squirmed but already this early in the fight did Lyra see it was no use. Pan ripped away from the monkey once; nevertheless, the golden creature dropped the fur in its paws and leaped again on Pan. As a bronco rider to a bull, the little monkey held fast, increasingly wrapping his furry little arms tighter around the daemon's neck.
The problem was, the monkey had a very tight grip, and soon enough, Pantaliamon was bucking and grabbing at his throat. He couldn't change into something bigger that would defeat the monkey because, in the process, it would suffocate him. If he changed into something smaller and didn't change fast enough, the monkey would just adjust its grip. The loss of oxygen flow into Pantaliamon's brain stopped him from charging.
Lyra prayed a secret, "Hold on," but she could not even bring herself to believe it.
Grimacing, she felt dark spots begin to flash out and grow at the corners of her eyes. She knew she was about to black out because of Pan's pain, but she could do nothing besides accede. "Let go of him!"
The monkey did as ordered, loosening his hold around Pantaliamon's neck. The space was just enough to let him though, so he weakly crawled into the waiting comfort of Lyra's arms. Taking a shift as a red ferret, he settled around her neck.
Now that Mrs. Coulter had proven her power to her daughter, she headed towards the door, fully expecting Lyra to follow. She strolled haughtily down several flights of stairs, as if to say, "I won, I beat you, my child." The girl paid no attention to her mother, Lyra instead amused herself by counting the creaky steps and hopping over each one of them. As she did this, her step pattern echoed that familiar children's rhyme, "Step on a crack, break your mother's back."
She made sure that every crack she came upon was firmly crushed underneath her heel.
~
Lyra sat in the corner, facing the wall. Her self-assured countenance appeared that she chose to stare at the wall of her own choosing and not because the cords bound her so tightly she could not move. Pantaliamon was free to move as he chose, and he had tried to loosen the cords, but they seemed to defy all natural laws and even his sharp little rat teeth could do nothing to harm them.
Lyra clenched her fists tighter. She was a prisoner in her mother's house, and a literal one at that. Will - what could he be doing right now? Surely, whatever he did would come to some kind of good, it always did in the end. It was odd that though they were leagues apart, she still trusted his action enough to place her fate in his hands. It had been days already since she had first entered the small chamber, and the only human contact she received was from a beggar-like servant. She had realized the second day as he brought her a meal that his tongue was cut off. Lyra also realized that he was one of the unfortunates born deaf as she yelled at him about something her mother had done while his back was turned, and he did not even flinch. She tested him several times after that to see if he was only pretending, for a lie must falter some time, but the servant never changed and was so regarded as deaf and dumb.
Several days afterward, the servant brought Lyra out of her chamber into the hallway. Lyra was expecting to leave quickly, her mother had basically promised them the departure orders. He then escorted her to a meeting with her mother and they walked in on a conversation between Mrs. Coulter and Sir Charles.
"The child is ready and waiting for instructions, as you ordered."
"Thank you Charles. See that she is treated for shock."
Sir Charles hastily excused himself with a glance at Lyra. She refused a curtsey before her, instead standing tall and proud while Sir Charles grimaced at her lack of deference.
"Lyra, my child," Mrs. Coulter started, "It is wonderful to see you again. What have you been up to?"
"Nothing mother," she quickly replied in a tone that set her mother's stiff attempt at an actual conversation flat. Throughout all this the cogs in her head were constantly spinning; and at the moment, she was wondering about the shock treatment. It was obviously confusing. That was often given to those before they were to enter another world. Sometimes if it could not be given before, the treatment was afterward, especially if the one in shock had crossed boundaries between worlds unconsciously. She had not crossed any boundaries. had she? Then Lyra noticed that Mrs. Coulter was staring at her, pinning her with those eyes as surely as ropes. A small smile tilted the corners of her mouth and she said, "Lyra, look out the window."
Lyra looked. It was exactly how she remembered it, down to the last minute detail. Then. if she did not cross into another world, then who was being treated for shock? Lyra studied her hands so Mrs. Coulter would not she the incredulous expression plastered upon her face. Pan rested on the window sill. It was just as she remembered. Even Pan agreed with her now. Pantaliamon nuzzled her ear a bit so Mrs. Coulter would not see that they were talking. "We must find the shock victim."
"Where is she?" Lyra whispered. The golden monkey was staring at them intently, so Lyra pretended to point ecstatically at a baker. "Pan, Pan! Look! It is home!" She continued in this manner, describing certain things she remembered and loved about the place her mother called home.
The monkey nodded, obviously satisfied at her reaction and turned back into the conversation. Lyra had not even noticed the return entrance of Sir Charles into the room, but there he was, already having an avid discussion with her mother. No. Not her mother. Mrs. Coulter. Mother came with endearment and they were strangers to each other now.
Mrs. Coulter and Sir Charles conversed at the other side of the room; Lyra shrugged. The two were probably discussing what they termed as "business" but what Lyra knew as Gobbler work. However, Lyra was half-wrong, they were doing Gobbler work by talking about Dust, but it was in a different context. A darker, deeper one in which the fate of the world rested.
"It is wonderful Sir Charles. She will bend to our ways without even knowing it, and she will bend him to her ways with him practically unconscious to it. She is manipulative, I can see it clearly now, and we can turn this to our benefit. Every thing she has done in an act of rebellion is actually throwing herself farther in our path. We must defeat Dust before it can take down the Church." "But the child - " Sir Charles started.
"You find a flaw in my plan?"
Rather unsteadily, Sir Charles responded, "N-No."
Mrs. Coulter fixed a patronizing stare upon him. "You know the truth, and as do I. Tell me."
"What if the child Lyra - she somehow sways the boy? That is what is said in the prophecies of the witches."
Mrs. Coulter waved his question away. "I have already considered that possibility. Whatever she does, she does for the boy. If we lead her to believe it is in the boy's favor, then we have no problems. Besides, that is what this child is for. The child will sway the boy through our movements. Did you find anything on that in the witch prophecies?"
"N-no."
"I thought so," Mrs. Coulter stated smugly. That simple fact was the entirety of her being. Cold. Calculating. "I assume the shock treatment went well?"
Sir Charles nodded. "Yes. But the child is still rather unsteady, we might have to slow down the introductions of this world. Imagine, still wanting clothes like that!" He laughed once, but it was harsh and forced.
"Do what you must." It was not a spoken dismissal, but one indicated by the tone of her voice. To accentuate the dismissal, she turned from him to face Lyra.
Sir Charles left rapidly.
"Lyra, come here." Lyra came obediently, though defiantly. She managed to drag herself slowly across the room inch by inch until she stood before Mrs. Coulter. She appeared not to have noticed her daughter's deliberation. "We have a guest to arrive in this house soon. I expect you do nothing of the ordinary, this is a very important guest." She paused, as if she expected a response. Lyra gave none. "You will be introduced later. Go to your room now."
Lyra turned around, wanting to wander the halls of the house. Instead, a servant stood there, awaiting their departure. Later, the servant stopped at a wholly different room, furnished nicely with soft chairs and fluffy pillows.
Pantaliamon glanced at Lyra. "No matter how beautiful, it is still a prison."
Lyra said nothing, but her heart agreed wholeheartedly.
~
That night Pantaliamon woke Lyra up, gouging into her arms. "Pan! PAN!"
Pantaliamon let go, but circled the room in a swallow form. His wings flapped frantically at the windows and door, and it was obvious that he was panicking. He scratched at windows and tried to claw his way out as a jaguar. Nothing worked. The walls seemed to be impenetrable. Finally he shifted into a swallow once more, dipping and swirling, following unknown air currents and finally landed. "Lyra! Lyra! Do you hear that!"
"What? Did you wake me up because of nightmares?!" She knew that was untrue, daemons rarely had nightmares, but though it was a rarity, it still occurred.
"No! Listen!" he hissed. He was on the floor, in the form of a terrier.
There was silence but Pan was shivering. All of a sudden, of pure instinct, Lyra touched him. She felt more than heard a sudden an ear-shattering scream which rent the still night air. Silence again and another scream followed, this time, more muffled. Again and again the screams exploded until they faded away into silence. Lyra clutched Pan closer to her heart. "What was that?"
"The guest? Is that shock?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. Why can't I feel it alone?"
Pan shivered. "Somehow, the daemon's emotions are so strong that it gets sent to all of us. It's horrible."
Lyra massaged her daemon, whispering soothingly, "We will search tomorrow. Tonight, sleep."
Lyra slept, but her dreams were filled with tormented echoes of those yells. She kept picturing someone shouting and someone - sometimes something - making that person yell so much. There was something wrong in the house besides the works of her mother. It was small, so Lyra could not place it, but it was there. It hovered in the back of her mind like a savage taint that did not want be removed. Lyra's only solace came from the fact that, where ever he was, Will was safe and far removed from her mother and the plans of the Church.
~
The object of Lyra's thoughts stood atop a hill overlooking the surrounding area. They had walked for hours upon hours, and through multitudes of worlds. Sensenoy and Semangelof were searching for something, that was obvious, but he could not tell if it was Lyra or their angel friend. They had told him that their angel friend was out doing another mission, after all, so why bother?
It got to the point where the two angels stopped making the polite conversations and Will broke through with a question of his own. "What are you searching for?"
Sensenoy glanced at him and said, "Traces."
He left it at that, and gave no more information until Will pressed him again asking, "Traces of what? I thought we were going to find Lyra!"
Sensenoy responded saying, "Every human is marked, with a distinguishable difference. Lyra, in particular, is marked well. We are searching for her traces, that slight fingerprint that she leaves when she enters and reenters worlds."
Will nodded. "Then if there's only one "trace" or fingerprint of Lyra, why is this so hard? Why can't you just zero in on her?"
Semangelof stopped Sensenoy's response. "We seem to have a problem."
"What?"
"There are two people, very similar, with almost the same trace feel as Lyra. The problem is, they lie at directions opposite one another."
"And you don't know which one to choose?" Will finished.
"Yes. Maybe you should decide."
The gripping realization of it all hit him. There were two people, and if he was to choose wrongly, then they would be wasting time and Lyra could be in danger. Two people. Two directions. One path. Will paused and then questioned, "Is there anything else you know about them?"
"One of them seems to be moving through worlds and one stays still in one world."
Will pictured Mrs. Coulter running away with Lyra, moving hurriedly through worlds to get away. He could see Lyra's face and the mask of pain brought by separation. "We follow the moving one."
Semangelof and Sensenoy exchanged looks. "Let us hope you have chosen correctly, knife-bearer."
Will started down the path that he brought upon himself, but he could not help but stare down the other road, the road he would have taken. Was it even possible that he could choose wrongly, when he was so close?
him? Or her. Or.
"Are angels guys or girls?"
This question threw Sensenoy and Semangelof off guard. They glanced at each other, and Sensenoy answered with a vague, "Angels are whatever they want to be."
Will left it at that. It was truth they had told him, but it was not the answer he was looking for. His whole mind, his whole being was occupied with thoughts of Lyra and how she was doing, if she was safe, and so on. He was filled with her presence, reminiscing on memories because that was all he had left.
It was not enough for Will. Lyra had to be there, with him, safe. His heart was torn between staying with her and pushing himself onward. Sighing, he made the final decision and stepped down the road toward the moving blip. The angels waited for him to doubt himself, but Will walked assuredly down the path of his choosing.