Archangel Read online

  Quickly enough, he made his excuses and continued down the hall. He had just turned the corner toward his own suite when he encountered Nathan.

  “Back from Luminaux already?” was his brother’s greeting.

  “Ha. Not quite,” he responded. “Do you have a minute? This will take some telling.”

  They retired to Nathan’s room, and Gabriel filled him in. Nathan’s mild face took on a look of wrathful astonishment.

  “Three years running Raphael refused them? And did not even investigate?”

  “So they said.”

  “Were they telling the truth?”

  “Based on the physical evidence, yes. Clearly the place had been in a drought for years. And surely if Raphael had seen it, he would have made an intercession. Therefore—”

  “But it’s incredible,” Nathan said. “An angel’s foremost duty—”

  “I know. I keep thinking there must be reasons. He is Archangel, after all. Perhaps his time—”

  “He would have time to send one of his own angels to the Heldoras!” Nathan exclaimed. “Any angel could have performed the intercession.”

  “Exactly.” Gabriel brooded over it a moment in silence, then looked at his brother and shrugged. “In any case, it doesn’t matter, or won’t for much longer. In five months, I’ll be Archangel—”

  “Yes, but he’ll still lead the host at Windy Point!”

  “But I’ll be able to order him to care for Jordana,” Gabriel said. “And I’ll fly patrols over the region to make sure he does it.”

  Nathan stared at him. “You’re very dictatorial for a man who has not even ascended to his new position.”

  Gabriel smiled. “So anger makes me.”

  “Does it ever occur to you—” Nathan began, and abruptly stopped.

  “Does what occur to me?”

  “That this transition between Archangels will not go smoothly? I mean, you already know that the merchants don’t like you. The Jansai don’t like you. The Manadavvi are not your strongest allies—”

  “Ah, but the Edori and the farmers love me.”

  “And Raphael seems reluctant to see his term come to an end.”

  Gabriel shrugged again. “It’s occurred to me. I don’t know what I can do to make the others love me. I don’t know what I can do to make Raphael resign with good grace. Jovah chose me, and no one can change that. I must believe—we all must believe— he chose me for a reason. Everything has been laid down according to a plan.”

  Nathan spread his hands in humble acceptance. “As Jovah wills,” he murmured. “Still, I don’t think it will be easy.”

  They talked a few more minutes before Gabriel finally turned to go. Thus the day was almost completely spent before he was free to go to the place he had sought since he woke that morning: the chamber set aside for his angelica.

  He paused for a moment before ringing her door chime, uncertain of the reception he would get and bracing himself for the worst. Well, he must speak to her sometime. He pressed the bell and heard her bid him enter.

  She sat with her back to the door, leaning over a narrow loom which had been placed to catch the best of the sunlight from the single window. The first thing he noticed was her hair. The cascading knots of loops and curls made a physical impression on him; the texture was so dense, the gold color so rich, it was impossible not to want to touch it. He nonetheless resisted the temptation, and stayed near the door.

  She turned to see who had entered. Her expression was habitually so guarded that he could not read any additional hostility in her face when she recognized him. He tried to take that for encouragement.

  “Rachel,” was his opening gambit.

  “So you’re back,” was her terse reply.

  It was going to be difficult, of course. There was no talking to this girl. He took refuge in formality. “I hope you’ve been made comfortable by Hannah and the others,” he said.

  “Quite comfortable.”

  “They have shown you—the dining hall and the recital rooms and the common areas?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Was there anything else you needed?”

  She gave him a hard look, and it seemed she would hurl at him all the things she needed—freedom, an escape from this place, a way to refuse the honor of becoming his wife—but she surprised him by refraining. “No.”

  He stepped deeper into the room, gesturing at the cloth she had stretched across the narrow frame. “What are you working on?” he asked. “The colors are very beautiful.”

  The question seemed to startle her; she was confused enough to give a complete answer. “It’s a weaving,” she said. “I found the threads in one of the storerooms down by Matthew’s workshop. I thought to make a gown or a cloak or something.”

  He came closer, touched the fabric with a delicate hand. Three different blues and a soft rose had been blended together in a complex pattern. Even though he did not understand the art, he could see she was adept. “Is it an Edori skill?” he asked. “I have seen cloth like this for sale in the markets, but I thought it was a Luminaux craft.”

  Unexpectedly, she smiled. “I learned it from an Edori who learned it from a Luminauzi,” she said. “Among the Manderras, mine was a much-prized talent. Everyone in my tribe wore something that I had woven.”

  “Nathan writes music,” he heard himself say. “And my stepmother—Hannah—can draw portraits with a piece of charcoal that look identical to her subjects. But I have no skills whatsoever.”

  “You can sing,” she said.

  “So can they.”

  “I have not heard them,” she said, “but I think you are better.”

  “You have never heard me.”

  “You sang at Lord Jethro’s house in Semorrah. I heard you.”

  He was pleased beyond all reason by this admission, but he made a nonchalant gesture. “So I have one talent.”

  “And you can bring the rain,” she pointed out. “So you have two.”

  He nodded. “Did someone tell you where I had gone?”

  “Finally.”

  She was cool again. He gambled on the direct question. “And were you angry with me for leaving so soon after your arrival?”

  She turned away from him to neaten the excess threads at the edge of her loom. “I should not have been, I know.”

  “Anger rarely answers to the dictates of should and should not.”

  She appeared absorbed in the task of unworking a tangle in the rose-colored threads. “Well, and I thought you were probably angry with me, too.”

  His face showed surprise, although she was not watching him to see it. “But why?”

  “Because I—when you carried me up here—”

  “I’m the one who should offer the apology,” he interrupted. “I did not realize just how frightened you were. I admit, I didn’t expect quite such a reaction, but I should have been a little more thoughtful.”

  Her shoulders relaxed; she seemed relieved. “When I was a child,” she said, speaking with some difficulty, “there was a wise woman in our village. She mixed herbs and took care of fevers and made prophecies. She told me that I would one day fall to my death from a great rocky cliff. And ever since then, I have been afraid of high places.” She turned to face him. “I know it’s foolish, but I can’t ever forget it. And I’m afraid of falling in general—down stairwells, on a piece of ice, whatever. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fear.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t understand.”

  “Anyway,” she finished, “I apologize too.”

  He smiled at her, and she gave him a tentative smile in return. Perhaps this would not go so badly after all.

  “So tell me,” he said. “How have you occupied yourself the past three days?”

  “I have spent a lot of time listening to music.”

  “Listening?”

  “In the recital rooms. The recordings.”

  “Ah. And have you found much that you liked?”

>   “Hagar,” she said simply. “Her voice. It’s amazing. I play her disks over and over. I didn’t know anything like this existed.”

  So she liked music—his voice and Hagar’s, at least. That was promising. He still didn’t know if she herself could sing. Among angels, it was considered impolite to ask mortals about their musical abilities. It was thought that the question might seem insulting, for all angels, by birthright, possessed sublime voices. Gabriel was sure the same reticence could not apply between an Archangel and his wife, but he still couldn’t bring himself to ask.

  “Hagar was the first angelica,” he said, falling back on pedantry. “A very spirited woman. She had a special relationship with Jovah—and a difficult one with her husband, the Archangel Uriel.”

  “This sounds like very old gossip.”

  He smiled. “It is, rather. She left Uriel—oh, ten or twelve times during their marriage. She even had a place built in the Corinni Mountains, where—it’s hard to describe—these giant stakes were driven into the earth all around the house and grounds, specifically so that angels could not land there without piercing their wings. Instead, she built this long, winding road up from the valley, a tortuous path, and anyone who wanted to visit her had to walk up it. Well, angels hate to walk. They will fly from one side of Velora to the other rather than cross the street. So she would go to this place for days at a time, weeks, and knew that Uriel would not come looking for her.”

  Rachel seemed to enjoy the story. “I think I would have liked Hagar,” she said.

  Gabriel laughed. “No doubt. She was, by all accounts, a stubborn woman, but also very gifted. And Jovah loved her. There was nothing she prayed for that he did not grant. Especially when she prayed from the Corinnis.”

  Rachel tilted her head a little, considering. “Are certain places better than others for communicating with Yovah?”

  Gabriel spread his hands. “Edori believe otherwise,” he countered. “And angels say that Jovah will hear a whisper uttered anywhere on earth. But the fact is, there seem to be certain places on Samaria to which Jovah’s ears are attuned. The Plain of Sharon, of course. Hagar’s retreat in the Corinni Mountains. A valley in southeastern Jordana. It’s as if songs sung in those places go directly to Jovah’s heart. I don’t know why this should be so.”

  “So who lives in this mountain retreat now?”

  “No one. It always belongs to the angelica—to Leah, now, I suppose, and you later, if you choose. But I don’t believe any angelica has set foot there for a hundred years or more. As I said, it is hard to get to and not adapted to angels.”

  “I have been through the Corinnis,” Rachel remarked. “Or near them, anyway. They’re not far from Luminaux.”

  “You must have seen every part of Samaria,” he said. “Is there any place you haven’t been?”

  “Until four days ago, I was never in an angel’s hold. And I have never been to Ysral.”

  The conversation had been proceeding so amicably that Gabriel had dropped his guard. So he was unprepared for the challenge implicit in the very word. “Ysral,” he said sharply. “No one has been there.”

  “No angels, perhaps,” Rachel said.

  “No one. It does not exist.”

  She opened her eyes very wide. “I have talked to Edori who have talked to Edori who have been there and returned. They say it is a place beautiful beyond imagining. The rivers run with a water sweeter than wine. The apples fall to the ground in piles as tall as a man. Roses flower from season to season, and never fade, and never die. And while the forest is full of wildlife and the sky is alive with birds, the only men who live there are Edori, and so there is always peace among them.”

  “If this Ysral exists, why is it that only Edori have managed to find it? And only Edori believe it is there?”

  “Because it’s an ocean away—too far for an angel to fly, and too far for most men to travel. Even Jansai, who like to consider themselves nomads, will not venture some places where the Edori will eagerly go. Only the Edori have had curiosity enough to build boats, and courage enough to take them across the water.”

  “Ysral is a place the Edori have conjured up to comfort them for the persecution they have suffered here. It is a beautiful fable, but fable is what it is.”

  Now her eyes narrowed in consideration. “And does a thing have to be proved by an angel before it is true?” she asked softly. “You forget, I have seen Edori elders work the miracles you say only an angel can perform. I am not overawed by the pronouncements of the Archangel-elect.”

  He was instantly furious and struggled unsuccessfully not to show it. “You are among the angels now,” he informed her coldly. “Tied to us—tied to me. It would be better for everyone if you chose to act like one of us instead of considering yourself till the end of your days an Edori outsider.”

  “I shall do as I wish.”

  “I don’t have the smallest doubt of that,” he retorted, and stalked from the room.

  So perhaps it was not going to be better, after all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Mint sauce?” the cook asked dubiously.

  Rachel nodded. “Just a touch,” she said.

  “I’ve put mint in a drink before, but never on meat,” the cook said, even more doubtfully. “I don’t think anyone will eat it.”

  “I will.”

  “Some other time,” the cook decided. “When it’s not such an important meal.”

  “Then let me make the sweetcakes.”

  “You,” said the cook, “should not be here at all.”

  Rachel stiffened. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t.”

  “You’ve got more important things to be attending to.”

  Rachel preserved a tactical silence. In fact, she did have more important things to attend to, for a change. She should be dressing for dinner instead of making it. She should be, she supposed, supervising the table arrangements in the great hall, making sure the guest rooms were prepared, taking on the combined duties of chatelaine and great lady which her role as angelica (soon to be formalized) seemed to demand of her. But in the past month she had refused to take on any of the housekeeping responsibilities gently suggested to her by Hannah—and less gently by Gabriel— and let other people continue handling matters in the ways they must have perfected in the years before she arrived here.

  She did not ask to be angelica; she did not want to be angelica; and she did not want to do any of the things angelicas were supposed to do. Let them change that if they could.

  The question then quickly became, What would she do with herself? She had not realized how quickly idleness could pall. After five years of drudgery she had thought she would be content to just sit in a chair and doze her life away. This turned out not to be true. Nor was she fulfilled by the hours spent weaving; or the time spent learning leatherworking skills from Matthew; or the time spent in the recital rooms, listening to music.

  She had figured out very quickly that Gabriel and the others wanted to hear her sing, although no one had said so directly. Hannah had alluded to the topic during Rachel’s first day at the Eyrie, and others had asked her in even more roundabout ways. (“So, I understand there is a great deal of singing at these Edori Gatherings,” Nathan had said to her casually. “Were you one of those who raised her voice at the campfire?”) Since the angelica’s role in the Gloria was of supreme importance, it obviously demanded the talents of a truly gifted singer—and none of them knew if she could sing a note.

  Perversity kept her from ending their uncertainty. She had so few weapons to hand, she must use even the most unlikely. She met all artful inquiries with blank stares or uncommunicative responses. (“I preferred to listen to others sing,” she had told Nathan.) She never volunteered to join other voices in the perpetual harmonics, and she never even hummed under her breath when anyone could hear her.

  She did spend countless hours in the recital chambers, but no one knew how she passed her time there, since she always took in enough
recordings to account for every minute she stayed. She listened to them, too. She was by now note-perfect on every mass and every solo Hagar had ever performed. She rarely bothered listening to the other sopranos’ disks; clearly, no one could match the first angelica. But she never mentioned any attempts she might have made at learning to sing any of Hagar’s pieces.

  Confounding her new community gave her enormous satisfaction, but it only filled a few minutes of every day. For the most part, she was profoundly bored.

  Boredom had driven her to the kitchen early on, where she and the red-faced cook had forged a quick friendship. True to her word, Rachel had taught the woman twenty or so of the finer dishes she had learned to prepare in Lord Jethro’s household. This had been a way of passing the time, although she had been forced to strangle unhappy memories of slavery. In fact, she might have spent only one afternoon in the kitchen had not Gabriel made it imperative that she return as often as possible.

  She had to admit that was not what he’d intended.

  He had been back for one of his rare dinners at the Eyrie, and the cook had wanted to make him a special meal. Braised beef livers in wine-and-mushroom sauce; Rachel remembered the menu very clearly. The meal had proceeded well enough, if you discounted the fact that Judith had joined Gabriel, Rachel, Nathan and Hannah at the table in the dining hall reserved for the leader of the host. Nathan had even complimented Rachel on her gown.

  “Is that one you made yourself, or part of Lord Jethro’s dowry?” Gabriel had asked.

  She disliked being reminded that she owed anything to Jethro’s charity, but she managed not to scowl. “My own,” she said.

  “It’s very pretty.”

  Nathan reached over to rub a fold of the material between his fingers. “Nice and heavy,” he teased. “Warm as a blanket.”

  She smiled at him. She found Nathan much easier to like than his brother. “Not nearly warm enough,” she retorted.