Angel-Seeker (10 page)

“Boring?” he asked, smiling. “Most people think traveling is an adventure.”

She flung her arms out. “Sitting in the wagon all day! Nothing to do but sleep or rock the baby. Sometimes once we've camped I can leave for a couple of hours, but it's not like there's much to do on the road between Breven and the Galilee River. It's just so dreary.”

“Who's the baby? Yours?”

“No!”
she exclaimed, giggling. “He's my brother. My half brother,” she amended. “I don't usually like babies, but he's really good. He hardly ever cries. Hard to believe that Hector's his father.”

“So your mother remarried after—something happened to your father?”

She was quiet a moment. “He died at Mount Galo.”

“Ah. I'm sorry. No wonder you aren't very fond of angels.”

He saw her drapes lift and fall as she shrugged. “Hector and my uncle Ezra and all the men—they hate angels. Or, I guess, they hate Gabriel. I don't know much about what happened. I don't know
why Raphael hated Gabriel or why Gabriel wanted to bring the mountain down—”

“It wasn't Gabriel,” Obadiah said softly. “It was the god.”

“See? I don't know much about it. The men don't tell the women very much, and the women don't tell the girls anything.”

“Raphael was Archangel before Gabriel—”

“Well,
that
I knew!”

“But he didn't want to give up power,” Obadiah said, speaking slowly so that he was not so breathless. “And he claimed that the god did not truly exist. And, he said, if the god didn't exist, then all the people of Samaria did not need to gather on the Plain of Sharon, as it is prescribed in the Librera, and sing the Gloria to honor Jovah. And Raphael convinced a good many people—including your father, apparently—that if they all stood on the Plain of Sharon on the appointed day and failed to sing the Gloria, that nothing would happen. The god would not strike, and the world would go on as before.

“So Raphael and all his followers stood on the Plain—or rather, stood on Mount Galo that overlooked the Plain, and waited for sunset to fall on the day of the Gloria. And when sunset came and the Gloria had not been sung, the god struck the mountain with a thunderbolt, just as the Librera promised he would do. And all those people died. So a day or two later, Gabriel and Rachel sang the Gloria, and there were no more thunderbolts.”

“So why isn't everyone angry at Raphael instead of Gabriel?”

“Well, some people are. But Raphael was a friend to the Jansai, and Gabriel is not. So the Jansai don't really like him much.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes, very well.”

“Do you like him?”

“I admire him more than anyone I've ever met.”

“That's not the same as liking him.”

Obadiah smiled. “You're right. Yes, I do like him. He is not an easy man to be around. I would not call him my close friend. But I do like him.”

“I've never met an angel before,” she said next.

“No, I imagine not. As I understand it, Jansai women don't meet many people—except other Jansai women.”

“Well, of course, I know all the men of my family: Hector, and Ezra, and my cousins, and Jordan—”

“Who's Jordan?”

“My brother.”

“It sounds like a very strange life,” he said cautiously.

“Really? Why strange?”

“Among the angels—and most mortals—women intermingle freely with everyone else. There are no laws that prevent them from talking to anyone or going anywhere—and doing anything—that they please.”

“Really?” she said again. “But—don't the men mock them when they appear in public? Or abuse them?”

Obadiah laughed softly. “Most of the women I know would not allow themselves to be abused,” he said. “They speak out quite strongly if there is something they do not like. And I know many women who are much wiser than the men of my acquaintance.”

“I would be afraid,” she said, “to voice my opinion to a man.”

“Are you afraid to talk to me?” he asked.

There was a moment's startled silence. “No,” she said wonderingly. “But—I just assumed—you are not like other men.”

“Well, of course, I
am
very special,” he said. “Much wiser, much kinder, and definitely more interesting than most men.”

She laughed. “And much more injured.”

“True,” he agreed. “You can hardly be afraid of a man who cannot even sit up or fend for himself.”

“But I don't think I would be afraid of you anyway,” she decided. “Not like I am of some of the Jansai men.”

That was telling, he thought. “There must be some good men, even among the Jansai,” he said. “I'm sure that's the sort of man you'll fall in love with.”

She laughed a little. “Fall in love! What are you talking about? Hector will find me a husband, and I'll marry him when Hector says. He may have found one for me already.”

“Really? Who?”

“A man called Isaac. He's on this trip with us.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not very much. I've been watching him from the tent. He's kind
to Jordan, which is good. And I've never heard him say anything harsh to his mother. But I've only watched him a couple of days.” She toyed with a bracelet on her wrist. “He's not bad to look at either,” she added. “Though he's not as handsome as you are.”

This last statement caught him by surprise. He laughed. “Thank you. Though I would think I do not look particularly handsome in my present miserable state.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Or maybe it is that I am not used to blond-headed men. Most of the Jansai are darker than you. But your hair is so pretty. And I liked your face.”

“Thank you again,” he said softly. “I wish I could see your face and compliment you in return.”

Another startled silence. “Oh no. I can't remove my veil.”

“I know. And, anyway, it wouldn't matter to me if you were the most beautiful woman in Samaria, or the most hideous. You have been so kind to me—you may have saved my life—I would be bound to look at your face and think you the incarnation of enchantment.”

“No man has ever seen my face. I mean, except the men of my family.”

“I know. And soon Isaac. Or someone like Isaac.”

“And I'm very ordinary. You'd be disappointed.”

“I don't think so.”

“My mother says I'm beautiful,” she said wistfully. “But I think mothers always say that to their daughters. Don't you?”

“They should, if they don't.”

“But what I mean is, you can't believe your mother when she says something like that.”

“There are more important things than beauty, anyway,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, as if she was not convinced. “But it would be good to be beautiful, too.”

“Perhaps Isaac will think you're beautiful,” Obadiah suggested. “If you are to marry him, when will he first lay eyes on you?”

“After we're married. After the ceremony, when he takes me home.”

“He has his own house?”

“No, he lives with his father and his uncle and the women of their family. But one day when he is wealthy enough, he'll have his
own house. With room for his mother, if she's widowed, and his sisters, if they're not wed, and other family members.”

“So a Jansai man must always be prepared to take care of the women he is related to.”

“Well, of course. Who takes care of your women?”

“We don't think of them as so frail they have to be guarded by someone else. They are free to choose their own lives,” he said.

“That would be nice,” she said a little enviously.

“What would you do with your life if it was yours to dispose of any way you wanted?” he asked.

“Oh, I don't know—” she said, but it was clear she was considering. “I would—I would marry and have children, I think. What else would I do? But I might marry someone other than Isaac.”

“You might not want to marry,” he said. “You could go to Luminaux and become a painter, or move to Bethel and buy a farm. Raise wheat and chickens and sell them in the markets.”

“Yes, but I'd be more likely to sell them to the Jansai, who would sell them for me in the market,” she said. “And then I'd be stuck on the farm all day. That doesn't sound like much fun.”

“Move to Semorrah. Marry a rich man and lie about in luxury all day.”

“But then I'd still be married,” she pointed out. “And a rich Semorran merchant might not be any nicer than a Jansai man.”

“Very true. Well, you could open your own stall in the Semorrah market and tell fortunes to the travelers. Or sell gold and other baubles.”

“That I bought from the Jansai who came straight from the artisans in Luminaux,” she said. “You see? There is no way for me to avoid the Jansai. They touch every part of my life.”

“Move to an angel hold,” he suggested. “We do not deal overmuch with Jansai at the Eyrie and Cedar Hills.”

“I wouldn't think I'd be very welcome at either of those places.”

He laughed a bit cynically. “Attractive young women are always welcome at the angel holds.”

“No, I think I will stay in Breven with the life I know and the family I love,” she said. “But it is interesting to think about the possibilities, even if I know they'll never happen.”

He laughed. “Sometimes,” he said, “a dream is all the more powerful simply because you know it will never come true.”

They talked for another hour or two, Obadiah drawing her out with questions about her cousin, her brother, and the rest of her family. Her life sounded appallingly circumscribed to him, and she seemed moderately discontented with it, but no more so than any young girl resentful of the interference of her parents and the contours of her existence. He supposed she was not much different from a wealthy Manadavvi's daughter, who was also expected to marry a man of her family's choosing and live a life very similar to the one her mother had experienced. The Manadavvi women, of course, appeared to have much greater freedom and a more attractive array of privileges, but all in all, he guessed, their lives conformed to certain strict guidelines. How many pampered young Manadavvi heiresses had he met who had been as rebellious as Rebekah at the age of twenty, and as traditional and serene as their mothers at the age of forty?

She did surprise him once, in the middle of a story about her cousin Martha, who sounded like a rare handful. Obadiah found himself wondering if even the repressive Jansai system would be able to smother a girl so lively, and he said something of the sort to Rebekah.

“Yes, but I'm the only one who knows how wild she really is,” the young woman replied. “I'm the only one who went with her to the fair last year—” She stopped abruptly as soon as the words left her mouth.

“Went to the fair?” he repeated, instantly intrigued. “What fair? Are girls allowed to go to fairs?”

“No! We can't even go to the market.”

“Then what did you—how did you—”

She leaned forward to whisper. “We dressed as men. Last year at the harvest festival. As boys.”

He took a startled breath. “And no one caught you?” he demanded.

“No. It was the most exciting thing! A little scary, though. But I want to go again when they have the festival in a few weeks. I know I shouldn't.”

“What would happen if someone discovered you?

She didn't answer directly. “We would just have to be very careful so that no one
did
catch us,” she said. “Maybe we won't go. Probably we won't. But if I'm ever to see the festival again, it has to be now, before I'm married. It might be harder to leave Isaac's house than Hector's.”

He wanted to discuss this astonishing revelation at greater length, but the sun had gone down and the air had cooled noticeably. Rebekah rose to her feet and shook the sand from her garments. “I suppose I've stayed away as long as I possibly can,” she said. “The men must be back from hunting by now, and the women will be making dinner. I'd better return to camp.”

“I can't thank you enough,” Obadiah said seriously. “If you had not helped me—”

“It will get cold when the sun goes down,” she interrupted. “You might want to pull your tent down and cover yourself with your shirts.”

“Angels are never cold,” he said, amused.

“Angels who have been wounded might be,” she retorted. “And the sand will be quite chilly underneath you. If nothing else, you might want to put some of your clothes under your body. I pulled out your trousers when I unpacked your bag. You could make yourself a little mat from them.”