Archangel Page 17

  “These are the rules,” Gabriel had said. “You always tell someone you’re taking the cage down, and you always ring the bell before you get in the cage to come up. I cannot conceive of any more horrifying end than to be trapped in some little box deep in the heart of a mountain. If you don’t observe these rules, I swear to you, I’ll have Matthew cut the cords and never let you get in the cage again.”

  She would have liked to flout his rules, but the idea of freedom was too precious; besides, she had to admit that the prospect of being stuck for hours in the stone shaft was far from attractive. So she readily agreed to both conditions. They watched her make a trial run, and she was secretly relieved on two counts. The levered weights were easy enough for her to manage, and piped gaslight down the length of the shaft provided comforting illumination.

  And then the door at the bottom of the mountain opened and she was on flat, solid ground, and she was free. The only reason she came back up so quickly was because she did not want to give Gabriel any reason to rescind this most wonderful of privileges. When she stepped from the car back in the Eyrie, she could have hugged her husband in gratitude. She refrained.

  But she knew she was glowing, anyway, as incandescent as the gaslight throwing an eternal nimbus against the rosy mountain walls. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she exclaimed, the words dancing out of her mouth, her feet dancing across the stone floor. “This is the best thing you could ever have done for me—

  And she had been surprised by the wistfulness that had momentarily crossed Gabriel’s face. Was he sorry that he hadn’t given her this gift sooner, or sad for her that her joys were so few? It scarcely mattered; she didn’t care at all. She could get off the mountain. She was a prisoner no more.

  Magdalena, the third wedding gift, had proved to be almost as wonderful. As Gabriel had said, it was impossible to dislike the Monteverde angel, although Rachel had been willing to try.

  Magdalena had come to her late the day of the ill-fated breakfast, and even her manner of chiming the door had been unobtrusive. Rachel let her in but did not invite her to sit down.

  “I think you’ve been kept here under false pretenses,” Rachel said without preamble. “They told you I needed a friend, but they really wanted a way to keep you away from Nathan.”

  “I know,” Magdalena said gently. “But I too was looking for a way to keep away from Nathan.”

  Rachel stared at her. “Don’t you want to be with him?” she demanded. “When you’re together, you look as if you’re in love.”

  Magdalena gave her a sweet smile. “I am. We are. I scarcely remember a time I wasn’t in love with Nathan.”

  Rachel made a broad gesture. “Then—”

  “If I can’t have him, it is easier not to be near him.” The angel stepped slowly around the room and began to inspect it. When she spoke again, she had changed the subject. “It’s so surprising,” she said. “I’ve seen this room before, and it’s always looked exactly like this. Same tapestry on the wall, same furniture. Haven’t you brought in anything of your own?”

  “I didn’t have anything when I came here,” Rachel said evenly. “I had nothing to bring except guilt gifts from Lord Jethro.”

  “We should go shopping, then. Down to the Velora bazaars. What kinds of things do you like? They have almost everything there.”

  Intrigued, Rachel thought about that. “I don’t know … The Edori traveled so much, we didn’t have many things. Decorative things, that is. Everything we carried from place to place was useful in some way.”

  “How strange. My whole life I’ve been surrounded by beautiful, useless objects—gifts, mostly. People are always giving angels gifts. Ariel loves them. The more delicate and ornamental a thing is, the more she loves it. Which is also strange, because for the most part, she’s an extraordinarily practical person.”

  “She must like Luminaux, then.”

  “Her favorite place in the world. All that glass and crystal.”

  “I like colors,” Rachel decided. “Maybe all Edori do. Bright weavings, and embroidered head scarves, and blankets dyed red and blue and purple. Color is the only way to make practical things beautiful.”

  “We will have a wonderful time in Velora,” Magdalena said solemnly.

  Rachel laughed. “But what do I buy with?” she asked. “I have nothing to barter. In Semorrah, everything was bought and paid for with gold. But here—”

  “Velora and the Eyrie have a credit agreement,” Magdalena said. “Many of the cities have such arrangements with the angels. You just show your bracelets—” She stopped abruptly.

  “Ah, yes, my bracelets,” Rachel said dryly.

  Magdalena did not ask questions. “Well, could you carry them with you if you don’t feel you can wear them?” she asked. “Put one in your pocket or something?”

  Rachel considered. “Well, I could … But how do I know how much I’ve spent if I’m not using gold or bartered goods? What if I spend too much?”

  Magdalena laughed. “The Eyrie is rich beyond the dreams of Semorrah,” she informed the angelica. “You could not possibly spend too much on a few dresses and a couple of items for your walls.”

  Unlimited wealth, a choice market and a companion who seemed to have no concept of economy. Despite her innate caution, Rachel felt a certain anticipation rising. “Let’s go, then,” she said recklessly. “Down to Velora. Tomorrow morning.”

  They spent the better part of the next three days in the small, elegant city at the foot of the Velo Mountains. Magdalena would not let Rachel buy anything the first day.

  “You don’t even know what you want yet,” the angel said. She sounded serious, but Rachel suspected she was inwardly laughing; surely the act of purchasing could not be this complex. “You must look at everything first, and then go back to the things you thought you liked, and make sure you still like them. And then you must look at everything that you didn’t like and make sure you didn’t overlook any good qualities. And then you must make sure nothing new came in overnight that you might like better than everything else.”

  But the ritual was enjoyable nonetheless. The bazaar stalls were full of exotic items, from pottery to jewelry to gloves, and Rachel found herself savoring every last piece of merchandise, holding jewels up to her ears, trying scarves around her head, stepping into and out of pair after pair of hand-sewn shoes. Velora could not compare to Luminaux, of course, and even Semorrah had a greater range of wares available in its open-air markets, but it had been so long since Rachel had the chance to squander any money on herself that the experience seemed almost sinfully luxurious.

  The second day they went back to buy. Magdalena had instructed Rachel on how to bargain with the petty merchants (“Because they overprice everything, particularly when they think they’re selling to the angel holds.”), and Rachel entered into the haggling process with zest. Three of the shopkeepers congratulated her, once the transaction was completed, on her tenacity and skill. She laughed, and gathered up her goods.

  She did not bargain at all as she bought apricot silk at a small booth on the edge of town, run by a thin, nervous, teenaged girl. Magdalena scolded her once they were out of earshot, but Rachel shrugged.

  “She looked hungry.”

  “But still! You could have brought that price down by half and she would have eaten well for three days—”

  “I’m going back tomorrow to buy the blue silk as well.”

  When the spree was ended, Rachel had bought enough clothes and furnishings to transform herself and her room. Weeks ago she had noticed how the close-fitting leathers gave the angels much greater freedom of movement than the full-skirted gowns she had always worn, so she had bought—and commissioned— several woolen outfits that approximated the vests, shirts and trousers that even the women angels wore. That meant she also needed boots to tuck the trousers into, and shawls to dress up the plain patterns, and scarves with which to tie back her hair.

  For her room she bought rugs, wall ha
ngings, potted plants, an etched mirror in an ornate wooden frame, a small maple table with a checkerboard inlay of onyx and pearl, a silver hairbrush, and five embroidered pillows. Most of these items had been delivered to the hauling platform at the edge of the mountain which was used to hoist bulk goods up to the Eyrie. She did wonder from time to time how Gabriel would feel about her headlong plunge into pure hedonism, but she could not ask him. He was, of course, gone again. He was usually gone.

  The shopping was curtailed by a spell of cold, wet weather, so Rachel and the angel stayed in for several days. These hours passed agreeably as well. Magdalena taught Rachel the intricate board games that she had seen some of the affluent Semorrans play (and lose huge amounts of money on, though she and Maga did not gamble). In return, Rachel taught her some of the rudimentary weaving skills that had earned her such fame among the Manderras.

  And they each spent some time, separately, in the recital chambers—Magdalena, no doubt, to rehearse, and Rachel to listen to recordings. Magdalena also signed up for several one-hour harmonic shifts, and sang duets with three or four of the Eyrie angels during those rainy days. She had a pure, wistful alto; her voice was not as strong as her sister’s, but sweet in tone and absolutely true. Rachel liked to listen to her. Or maybe she just liked Maga.

  She was not the only one. The Monteverde angel was a universal favorite with the Eyrie residents, and while she was in Magdalena’s company, Rachel could count on continuous brief visits from mortals and other angels. After the first day or two, she stopped glowering at the visitors and just ignored them while they talked to Maga. Most of them returned the favor.

  The only person, as far as Rachel could tell, who did not like Magdalena was Hannah. This had become evident on the first day that Maga was there, when the older woman joined them for breakfast.

  “I understand you’re staying with us for a few weeks,” Hannah had said in her usual measured tones.

  “Yes—a month or so,” Magdalena replied.

  “You realize of course that we’ll expect you to sing some of the harmonics while you’re here.”

  “Certainly. I’m looking forward to it.”

  And Hannah had not said another word to the angel except to admonish her sharply not to dip her sleeve in the milk. Rachel had observed all this in surprise, since Hannah—although not especially warm—had always been kind to everyone Rachel had seen her with before.

  It was late in the second week, during a rainstorm that had turned, messily, to snow, that Rachel asked Magdalena for an explanation. They had just returned from trying out Rachel’s new boots in the snow that had fallen on the plateau, and Hannah had severely criticized them for tracking in water.

  “I’ve never heard her speak to anyone the way she does to you,” Rachel said, once they were ensconced in her room. “Doesn’t she like you? I thought Hannah liked everyone. I thought everyone liked you.”

  Maga was toweling her thick, short hair. “She used to like me. But this whole business with Nathan—” She shrugged and folded up the towel. “She thinks it’s all my fault, I suppose.”

  “But why does she care? More than anyone else, I mean.”

  “Because Nathan’s her son.”

  Rachel stared. “Her son? But I thought he and Gabriel were brothers—”

  “Half brothers. It’s rare that you’ll find full-blooded siblings among the angels.”

  “You and Ariel?”

  Maga shook her head. “Oh, no. You don’t know that story?”

  “No one talks to me. I don’t know any of the gossip.”

  “No one talks to you because you’re extremely unfriendly,” Maga retorted.

  Rachel grinned. “I don’t care much for angels, as a rule.”

  “You married one.”

  “Duress.”

  “And you seem to like me well enough.”

  “Everybody likes you. Tell me your story.”

  “Well, my father was an angel, and he was married to Ariel’s mother, and she was born. Shortly after that, a young woman came through Monteverde and drew my father’s attention. Well, she drew the attention of several of the men at the hold. She was one of the angel-seekers, and she’d been to Windy Point—”

  “Wait a minute. Angel-seeker? What’s that?”

  “A woman who seduces angels in hopes of bearing an angel child and thus being accepted into the hold.”

  Rachel’s eyes grew big. “You mean, that’s her goal? Her purpose for loving a man? Are there many women like that?”

  “Oh, yes. Haven’t you noticed them in Velora? I’ll point them out to you next time we go.”

  “So they seduce angels and—then what? If they have an angel child—”

  “Then they can choose to raise the child in the hold, and live there as long as they like. Angel babies are rare and precious, you understand. A woman who bears one gains a certain status for life. It’s a gamble, of course, because so few women do have cherub children.”

  “And what happens if her children are mortal?”

  Maga shrugged. “It depends on the woman. Sometimes she raises them. Sometimes she abandons them. There are a lot of stray children in Monteverde. And Velora is overrun with them. Surely you’ve seen them in Velora. Some of them become almost feral—street children, with no one to care for them but each other. There are even more in Breven and the other Jansai cities. That’s where a lot of the angel-seekers end up, because the Jansai cater to women with—certain moral standards.”

  Rachel was shocked to the core. “How can a mother abandon her child? Just leave the baby on a street corner somewhere—”

  “Or in a field or a cave or a wagon by some roadway. It’s gruesome, I know. To these women, children are a liability. Mortal children, anyway. When you’re around angels long enough, you’ll come to expect it—the sight of these lost children who would have had such different lives if they’d been born angelic.”

  Rachel felt physically ill. “I can’t imagine— Among Edori, children are valued above everything,” she said. “You would sell yourself into slavery before you would permit harm to come to your child. We don’t believe in allowing ourselves to have children unless we are able and willing to care for them. To have one on a gamble, on a chance, for some other purpose than to love the child for itself—”

  “You are appalled, I know, but to me the chance seems worth it,” Maga said seriously. “You see, I know how few angels there are, and how worried the host leaders become when baby after baby is born mortal. There is such rejoicing when a new angel enters the world. They say even Jovah dances. I don’t believe the mortal children should be abandoned, but I cannot blame anyone for trying to sire—or bear—an angel.”

  Rachel shook her head, still amazed and disturbed, but clearly she and Magdalena would never agree on this subject. “So—your mother,” she said, her voice sounding a little strained. “She was one of these—angel-seekers …”

  Maga nodded. “And she came to Monteverde. Ariel had just been born and my father was feeling proud of himself, confident that he could sire another angel. So when my mother approached him, he was eager enough to sleep with her, and within a few weeks it was clear that she was pregnant. He was delighted. She should have been delighted, too, but meanwhile she’d fallen in love with another man—a mortal man, I mean, a Jansai—and she wanted to leave Monteverde and go off with him. My father refused to let her go. So they left anyway, in the middle of the night.”

  Magdalena paused, resettling herself on the pillows next to Rachel. “And they were gone,” she said simply. “No one could find them. My father searched for the next year. He went to Breven, he went to Luminaux; he had portraits of her sent to every hold and city. No one had seen her, no one knew what had happened to the baby. He finally stopped searching.

  “Then, one day a few years later, he was on a routine search flight over Gaza and he saw a plague flag over a rocky area where he knew there were no villages. He came down and found a little camp—a tent, a
hut, a few rabbits in a hutch. The Jansai man was dead. My mother was dying. I was lying in the hut, crying and hungry but not sick. Angels rarely succumb to plague, for some reason. My father brought me back to Monteverde, and that’s where I’ve been ever since.”

  Rachel was fascinated. “Do you remember any of it?”

  Maga shook her head. “Nothing. Ariel’s mother once showed me one of my mother’s portraits, but I didn’t remember the face. I don’t remember anything but Monteverde. I wonder about her, though.”

  “What do you wonder?”

  “Why she did what she did. It’s almost incredible. I mean— angel-seekers, that’s what they live for, to bear an angel child. And she—first, she left without knowing what kind of child she would bear. And then, when she had me—when she could have taken me to any hold in Samaria and been welcomed for my sake—still she chose to hide me, to live as far from angels as possible, to be with the mortal she loved rather than with my father. I’ve never heard of anyone else who did such a thing.”

  “She loved him,” Rachel said softly. “She dared everything for love.”

  “She could have given me up to my father and still lived with that Jansai man,” Maga said. “She didn’t have to hide the way she did.”

  “She loved you, too,” Rachel said. “She couldn’t give you up either.”

  “Maybe. I’d like to think so, but—”

  “There’s no other explanation.”

  “And then I’ve always wondered. The plague flag. Did they really hope an angel would come in time to save them? Or—”

  Rachel shook her head. “She raised it for you. So an angel would come down and find you. She knew she was dying and she could not leave you alone. But she wouldn’t give you up till the very last moment.”

  “Maybe,” Maga said again, her sweet voice wistful. “I would like to believe she loved me that much—”

  “You have to believe it.”