Angel-Seeker (50 page)

“Do you drive?” Paul asked Elizabeth. “You can have a turn handling the horses if you'd like.”

“Umm, no, thank you. I can't drive or ride.”

Silas turned around from the seat. “You can still have a turn sitting up front,” he said. “More comfortable than it is back there, though not truly comfortable even so.”

“How far will we travel today?” she asked.

Silas laughed. “As far as we make it.”

That seemed like an odd answer, until Elizabeth had spent one full day with the Edori. And then it seemed—well—typical. The Edori were not much for planning, for setting an agenda and following it. They liked to accept the gifts of the day, to pause when they got hungry, or pull to the side of the road when they saw an interesting sight ahead. They didn't mind being asked to take a privacy break, even if they'd just lost an hour eating lunch. They didn't seem worried about whether or not they'd find a proper campsite come nightfall. They seemed to harbor no anxiety at all—or even what Elizabeth would call a sense of purpose. Before the day was out, she found herself astonished that the whole race could organize itself sufficiently to plan something as synchronized as the Gathering. Based on her experience with these four members of the tribe, she would have said such a feat was impossible.

There were differences among them, of course. Rufus and Paul called themselves “city Edori,” a term that she quickly translated to mean “former slave.” They were a little more focused, moved a little
more quickly to set out a meal or solve a problem. Silas and Jed, middle-aged men who now lived in Cedar Hills, had grown up among their clans and merely drifted into urban life through a series of unplanned chances. They had never missed a Gathering, even when they lived on one side of the continent and it was scheduled to take place on the other. Then again, they had meandered to every single one of these events with all the randomness of a summer bee making its way through the most alluring of gardens. Or so Elizabeth, after a day in their company, surmised.

Though she was not convinced they'd covered enough ground to permit themselves the reward of stopping for the night, nonetheless she was happy when Paul pulled up at a likely place along the roadside. “Here's water and a little break from the wind,” he said, indicating a small stream and a tumble of rocks. “Or do you want to go farther?”

Silas glanced up at the sky. “Getting on toward dark,” he said. “Time for camp.”

With more efficiency than Elizabeth would have expected, they unhitched the horses, built a fire, and pitched the two tents. Soon enough they were all gathered gratefully around the bright warmth of the fire, eating an assortment of dried fruits and meat. Talk was low and easy, though from time to time all conversation lapsed and a comfortable silence settled over them. Elizabeth could not stop yawning, though she mentally chided herself. What had she done that was so taxing, after all? Nothing—merely sat in the wagon and been jounced along the road all day. Still, she was as tired as if she'd worked beside Mary for twelve straight hours, delivering babies and seeing out the dead.

“A prayer for Yovah,” Jed said softly, and lifted up a tenor voice in a simple song. Elizabeth could not understand the words, though the syllables were melodic and sweet. Paul and Silas joined in, Paul on the tenor line and Silas adding harmony, and Elizabeth felt her heart twist. Such a simple thing—music before a campfire on a frosty winter night—and yet there was something primeval about it. So men had sung for centuries, since they first made their homes on Samaria, so men had sung, perhaps, back on that home world that the first settlers had left behind. How many years, how many voices raised to the listening god? She had a swift, peculiar vision of herself, or women
just like her, sitting at uncounted campfires down the long march of time. It took her out of her own body, made her feel adrift and untethered—yet, at the same time, the thought made her feel anchored to her past and her history as she never had before. Just an instant, while the image lingered in her mind; then it faded, and she was herself, sitting before the dying flames, and starting to shiver.

“Bedtime for all of us, I think,” Rufus said. “On our way early in the morning.”

“Cold will wake us,” Silas said with a grin. “We won't be lingering all that long.”

It was a matter of minutes before the fire was banked, last-minute trips were taken out beyond the firelight, and all of them had ducked inside their respective tents. Now was the time for some awkwardness, Elizabeth felt, as she and Rufus found very little room to maneuver under their own low canopy.

“Did you dress in a couple of layers, as I told you to?” Rufus asked. She nodded. “Good. Then you can strip down to your underthings and crawl into the blanket.”

“I don't want to take anything off,” she said helplessly. “I'm too cold. But I can't sleep in this dress—”

“Quick, undress and slip inside,” he said, pulling off his own outer shirt and trousers. Underneath, on both top and bottom, he wore what looked like heavy flannel clothing in a neutral gray. He kept his socks on, she noticed. “I'll be right beside you. We'll warm each other up quick enough.”

She took a deep breath and divested herself of her traveling clothes, then scrambled under the covers as fast as she could. Rufus was beside her almost instantly, but it still took a few moments for the heat of his body to do anything to dissipate the chill. She felt herself being shaken by violent tremors, deep and uncontrollable. Rufus put his arms around her and drew her closer.

“Soft city girl,” he said in a teasing voice, but the tone was kind. “Never far from a fire or the comforts of home.”

“I used to—sleep in a cold room—at James's,” she said through chattering teeth. “Because—Angeletta—didn't want to—waste a fire on me. But still! Inside the house—it was never—quite as cold—as it is here.”

His hands clasped themselves over hers. She marveled that he could have such reserves of heat in his body that it could be pumped even to the outlying regions of his fingers. She could feel some warmth beginning to seep through to her from his body, folded over hers. Her back was beginning to thaw, where it was pressed against his torso; his arms, wrapped around hers, were creating a small firestorm in her heart.

“Wait till the morning,” he murmured. “All cozy in here, all freezing outside. You won't want to get up, even to meet your basic needs. You'll just want to burrow down under the covers with me.”

“I'll never—be warm—even by morning,” she said. “I think my nose—has frozen off.”

He reached a hand out to test her assertion, then quickly pulled his arm back under the blankets to recover his hold on her fingers. “Nope. Still there. Mighty cold, though.”

“Have any Edori ever frozen to death?”

“Not in any story I ever heard. That's because they sleep all tumbled together, as I told you. All that body warmth. It defeats winter.” He stirred, as if moved by a sudden thought. “Say! We could join the others in their tent. That would warm us up quick enough.”

“No,” she said, even though she was sure he was joking. “No. I'm warmer now. I want to stay here, just with you.”

Silence a moment, and then he leaned in from behind her and kissed her cheek. “Yes,” he whispered, “and I want to stay with you. This trip. When we're back in Cedar Hills. After that. All those days.”

She would have turned then, to kiss him or to ask him what he meant or just to talk it through—for it was what she wanted as well—but he tightened his arms and held her in place. “Sleep now,” he said. “Travel in the morning. Plenty of time later to settle everything else.”

Part of her still wanted to clarify everything, to lay out plans and commitments, but another part of her was able to shrug and acquiesce. This was the Edori way, she realized, to know what you wanted and pursue it, perhaps with great determination, but without impatience. To enjoy the event as it unfolded, whether it was a journey to see a friend or the impossibly slow, impossibly wonderful act of falling in love. She wondered, if this man had carried a Kiss in his arm, if it
would be lighting with fire at this moment. She thought that, if she could summon the energy to sit up in bed and roll back her sleeve, she might see her own Kiss sending up shy signals of light. She was too tired to make the effort. She closed her eyes and snuggled even closer to him. In minutes, she was asleep.

They were on the road three more days and nights, the rest of their trip going pretty much as the first day had. It was almost midday of the fifth day before Silas, at the reins, lifted his head and appeared to be listening to the gossip of the wind.

“Do you hear that?” he said, grinning at his companions. “The drums.”

Indeed, when Elizabeth strained forward she could catch the faint sound, a low, broken rhythm that might be the heartbeat of the earth itself. They were too far away from the source to be able to catch every stroke and hammer, just the teasing intermittent suggestion of bass percussion.

“How much farther?” she asked.

Silas clucked to the horses. “We'll be there within the hour.”

And sure enough, before that hour had passed, they had arrived at the bright, chaotic scene of the Gathering. Hundreds of tents were laid out in no discernible order around a double ring of campfires; a makeshift corral held a thousand horses. The scene was alive with figures bending over fires, clustered before tents, hurrying down the hill with water buckets in hands; the world seemed made over in the Edori image. The very air smelled like a feast. And the drums never stopped their insistent, exultant pounding.

“The Gathering,” Rufus said, standing up in the wagon as it came to a halt. Elizabeth thought his voice sounded half reverent and half fearful as he surveyed the scene, the site of so many of his longings.

“Let's see if anyone is prepared to take us in,” she said, and swung herself out of the wagon.

The men had barely climbed down when a smiling woman approached them with her hands outstretched. She was in her early thirties, perhaps, with the lustrous black hair and dark skin that marked all of the Edori, and she looked at once placid and joyful. Though Elizabeth could hardly credit it, she appeared to have been
appointed by a foresighted Edori committee to make sure any latecomers were welcomed to the assembly.

“Hello to this group of stragglers! We are so glad to have you among us! You did not ride in with a clan. Do you have a tribe to go to, or would you like to pitch your tents beside those of my family? We would be happy to take you in.”

Just like that,
Elizabeth thought.
Welcome indeed
.

“I'm off to the Cashitas,” Silas said, “and my friend with me.”

“I'm looking for the Barcerras,” Jed said.

“Excellent! They are both camped down that way. You see the big brown tent? Just beyond that,” the woman said, pointing. Her attention came back to the other two wayfarers, her gaze resting briefly on Elizabeth's pale skin. No reason to think Elizabeth had any clan connections here.

“I arrive without a tribe to go to,” Rufus said, speaking more stiffly than Elizabeth had ever heard him. He was always so relaxed, so composed; but here, where it mattered most to him to be accepted, he was clearly uneasy. “My family is all gone.”

The woman nodded, compassion quickly overcoming the open happiness on her face. “There are more than a few of the people who have been lost in the past fifteen years,” she said softly. “We mourn all of their names. The clan that you belonged to?”

“The Kalessas,” he said in a tight voice. “I am Rufus sia a Kalessa.”

“I have not seen one of them in more than ten years,” the greeter said sorrowfully. Then her face changed subtly, lightened again to what Elizabeth guessed was its more habitual expression. “But you—a Kalessa returned to us! This is good news indeed!”

Rufus bowed his head a little. “I have not been—free—to come to a Gathering in some time,” he said in a quiet voice. “I have forgotten much of the Edori ways. But I thought—even without my clan—if I came to the Gathering—”

“But you have a clan! You will be a Chieven!” she interrupted. “I am Naomi of the Chievens, and I say you will sleep in our tents, eat from our cook pots, and sing beside us at the great fire. Welcome, Rufus sia a Kalessa.” And she stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek.

He closed his eyes and took that kiss as if it grounded his spirit
back into his body after years of aimless travel. Elizabeth found she had stopped breathing for a moment, so painful was it to watch his hope warring with his fear, and now her lungs labored extra quickly to make up for her short loss of oxygen. She was still catching her breath when Naomi turned that warm smile on her.

“And you?” she asked. “Is there a clan you are looking for?”

“His. Rufus's. I'm traveling with him,” Elizabeth said, tripping over the stupid words. “That is, I don't mean to intrude—”

“You, too, are greatly welcome,” Naomi said, coming forward to kiss Elizabeth as well. “Blessed is Yovah, that he brings together so many for us to love! What name do you go by, or should I simply address you as Rufus's?”