Archangel (6 page)

The man had laughed in his face. He was big, deeply tanned, completely bald and draped with a fortune in gold. “And I am trying to tell you, there is nothing for the Jansai in the wretched farmlands of northern Jordana,” he said. He counted on his fingers. “No gold—no commerce—nothing to trade for. Jansai only travel the routes of profit, my friend.”

“Someone came through that village.”

“Ask the Edori,” the chieftain advised. “They travel all through Samaria, for curiosity’s sake. Some Edori, at some time,
has strayed into that village circle, I swear to you by Jovah’s wrath.”

“But which Edori? And why?”

The chieftain laughed again. He had very large teeth. “Who can tell one Edori from another?” he said. “And who knows why they do anything? Ask them and see what they will tell you.”

So Gabriel had left Breven and begun an exhausting search through all of Samaria for an Edori tribesman who could tell him what happened in a nameless Jordana village ten years ago. Like most of the angels, Gabriel had little experience with the Edori, so he was awkward and unsure around them. The city merchants, the farmers, even the Jansai, felt respect and a certain fear for the angels; they believed that only the good will of the angels protected them from divine wrath. But the Edori were not so certain of this most basic principles of theology. When they cared to appeal to Jovah, they did so themselves, holding unstructured firelit Glorias at their Gatherings. They also sang to the god to celebrate a birth, a death or some other important event, and many of the Edori singers whom Gabriel had heard had exceptional voices.

But they did not believe that a baby had to be dedicated to Jovah at birth; they did not believe that only an angel’s voice would find its way to Jovah’s ear; and, most shocking of all, they did not believe that Jovah was the one true god, the only god, the source of all good and the potential source of total annihilation. Instead, they believed in a god more powerful than Jovah, who directed Jovah and to whom Jovah was answerable—or so Gabriel understood, though he could hardly credit it. It was contrary to the basic principles of his existence.

He flew, low and with no particular direction, a day and a half from Breven before he came to an Edori tribe camped at the far southeastern border of Jordana. He had always found the Edori willing to welcome strangers, and this time it was no different. The women greeted him with hot wine and offers of warm cloaks (for, as usual, he was wearing only his flying leathers, and to mortals these did not look warm), and the children ran around him in a frenzied circle, chanting out a verse. The men came forward more slowly, as befitted creatures of more dignity, and they nodded to the angel and waited for him to state his case.

“I am looking for information on the whereabouts of a young woman,” Gabriel said, speaking slowly, looking from face to impassive face. “She once lived in a small village in Jordana,
not far from Windy Point. The village is gone, she is gone. I thought perhaps Edori, who go everywhere, might know what happened to the people who lived there, and this girl in particular.”

It was, as he had anticipated, a tortuous, tedious process. He was invited to stay for a meal while the most observant men and women of the tribe were called together to consider what he had to say. Could he describe exactly where the village had been? Did he know the names of any who had lived there? When had it been destroyed? What had destroyed it? His ignorance on most of these questions embarrassed Gabriel, but the Edori did not mock him or show irritation. Instead, with their help, he was able to sketch out a tolerably accurate map of the area—and, again with their prompting, he came up with clues that led to a more precise idea of when the destruction had taken place. For they asked him to name the grasses and the lichens he had seen on the boulders of the ruined houses: Was the mold brown with black spots or was it red with brown spots? Was the grass as high as his waist or only as high as his ankle and bearing seeds of a yellowish-green? With this information they deduced with certainty how long the site had been abandoned.

“Eighteen years,” one of the middle-aged men had pronounced, and all the others in the group murmured agreement. “What tribe was traveling near the Caitana hills eighteen summers ago? Was it the Logollas?”

“No, they were in the Gaza foothills that summer,” a woman said. “The Chievens, perhaps.”

“They were with the Logollas.”

“The Pandas?”

“Not the Pandas.”

“The Manderras, then.”

“The Manderras.”

“Yes, the Manderras.”

Gabriel felt a stirring of hope. “And where might I find the Manderras?” he asked.

The middle-aged man shook his head. He might have looked sad, but it was hard to tell; Gabriel found it impossible to read expression on any of the bronze faces. “The Manderras are gone,” he said.

“Gone where?”

“Scattered. Dead.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Attacked by Jansai?” he asked sharply.

Several of the Edori nodded. The others remained inscrutable.

“Are they all dead?” Gabriel persisted. “All of them?”

“Or enslaved,” a woman said dryly. “And if you can find them after the Jansai have dispersed them, you will have no trouble finding one lost girl.”

Gabriel uttered a small exclamation that encompassed many things—frustration on his own behalf, rage on behalf of the Edori. “So there is no one left who might know—”

“Naomi,” someone said.

Gabriel swung around to identify the speaker. A young woman, in her early twenties perhaps, suckling a baby while she audited the conversation. “Who is Naomi?” he asked.

“She was born to the Manderra tribe, but she followed a man of the Chievens,” the woman told him. “She was with the Manderras when they wandered through the Caitana foothills.”

“Then she can tell me what happened to the village.”

The young woman shrugged. “If the Manderras ever came upon the village. Who can say?”

Gabriel struggled with his irritation. “And where can I find Naomi?”

“With the Chievens.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Where can I find the Chievens?”

The middle-aged man who seemed to be as much of a leader as these people had spread his hands wide. “Who can say?” he said. “They may have gone to Gaza or to Bethel or to Luminaux. We will see them again at the Gathering.”

“You mean, you have no idea where any of these people are at any time?”

“Not until the Gathering. Then we tell stories of where we have been and what we have seen.”

“You can’t even make a guess?”

“We could guess. We know where we would go at this time of year. But look, we are here and the Chievens are not. Where else would you like us to guess? One place is as likely as another.”

Gabriel waited a moment, until his anger had passed. “And the next Gathering,” he said. “When is it to be, and where?”

“In the fields west of Luminaux, five months from now.”

“Five months! But I don’t have five months to spare!”

The dark eyes stared at him from the circle of dark faces. None of the Edori had a comment to offer on that.

“I see,” Gabriel said after a long silence. “You have no more help that you can give me.”

“We have told you what we can.”

“Yes, and more than I could have expected to learn from you,” Gabriel said, rising to his feet. “It is not your fault I need to know more.”

The middle-aged man rose too; the others remained seated. “Stay—eat the evening meal with us,” the leader urged him. “You are tired and angry, and you should be refreshed with food and companionship.”

“I am tired and angry, and I am in a desperate hurry,” Gabriel said. “I thank you for your offer. And for all your assistance. But I must go now.”

And he had left, knowing it was rude, knowing there was nothing he could learn during a night flight back to the Eyrie and that he should have stayed to show his appreciation. But he had spoken the truth: He was made restless by desperation, and he could not have stayed. Jovah guide him, where could she
be
?

During the next two weeks, Gabriel made an erratic search through the three provinces of Samaria, looking for bands of Edori who might through some fantastic stroke of luck be the Chievens. He did happen upon two more small tribes, but neither of them were the Chievens, and no one in either tribe knew where the Chievens could be found, nor did they know anything of a small farm village in the Caitana Mountains.

Once, when his route took him past Josiah’s mountain retreat, he stopped to see if the oracle had any more aid to give him. Unfortunately he did not.

“All I can tell you is that she is still alive,” Josiah said. “I cannot tell you where she is.”

“Then how is it you could tell me where she once was?”

The old man gave him a faint smile. “Because when she was dedicated, a record was made of where the dedication took place, and where she was born, and who her parents were. I know she is still alive, because her Kiss is still animate—Jovah can still sense her existence. But as to where she is—” He spread his hands.

“Very well. She’s alive. And she’s lost. What happens if months go by and I still cannot find her? And the day of the Gloria arrives. What then?”

Josiah regarded him somberly. “That is a very serious question,” he said.

“Will any woman do? Perhaps I can press Ariel or Magdalena into service—or, no, it must be a human woman—can I just find a mortal woman with a passable voice and have her sing the Gloria at my side? Will that satisfy Jovah? Or must it be this woman—this Rachel?”

Josiah was nodding thoughtfully. “The answer is—I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Because, in the past, there have been times when the angelica has been unable to perform. When Michael was Archangel, thirty-five years ago, there were three consecutive years when the angelica Ruth lay too ill to speak, and their daughter sang at his side. And there are stories from even longer ago, when the angelica or the Archangel was unable to perform, and substitutes were found, and Jovah accepted the new voices. At least, he has never unleashed destruction upon us after a Gloria.

“But the scriptures of the Librera are very strict,” he went on, his voice troubled. “It is written there precisely who is to attend every Gloria and who is to participate. There must be the Archangel, who is chosen by Jovah, and the angelica, who is chosen by Jovah. There must be angels from the three hosts; there must be Jansai and Manadavvi and Edori and Luminauzi. Representatives must come from every part of Samaria to join in harmony together, to assure Jovah that there is peace on the planet and good will among all peoples. And if the smallest part of this decree is overlooked, then Jovah will be angry and cast down thunderbolts, and he will destroy first the mountain and then the river and then the world itself.”

Gabriel stared at the oracle. Josiah’s voice had been flat, almost matter-of-fact, but his words were chilling.

“Then if I cannot find her—” the angel began.

“Then, if you cannot find her, we may all be in grave danger. I don’t know—it may be that Jovah will understand, and forgive, and listen to whatever voice sings beside you. He has forgiven these other lapses. But in each of those cases, the angelica was, in fact, the angelica. The Archangel had not capriciously chosen to install someone who had not been selected by the god himself.”

Gabriel rubbed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes. He was very tired. “Then I must find her, that’s all,” he said.

So he continued his search, but he had no luck. Samaria was too big for one angel to cover thoroughly—and the Edori were constantly on the move. He could spend the rest of his life hunting one mobile tribe and never catch up with them. He would have to enlist the other angels from his host, have them quarter the three provinces and speak to every last Edori clansman.

After the wedding, of course.

Mentally cursing Lord Jethro of Semorrah, his misbegotten son and the girl who was fool enough to marry him, Gabriel returned to the Eyrie a few days before the event to collect his formal clothes and his brother Nathan. As always, he felt a sudden sense of deep peace envelop him as soon as his feet touched the smooth stone of the landing point. It was beautiful, the Eyrie—three terraces of interconnected chambers and corridors all carved from the warm, rosy-beige rock of the Velo Mountains— but it was not just the physical beauty that gave Gabriel the instant emotional lift. It was the singing.

Night and day, at least two voices were raised in constant sweet harmony, the notes resonating throughout the whole compound. For weeks in advance, the angels and mortals who resided at the Eyrie volunteered to sing duets in one-hour shifts, then took their places in the small chamber in the highest tier of the compound. Night and day, entering the Eyrie—or waking, restless, in the middle of the night—or eating, laughing or brooding—this music came to a man’s ears and soothed him with the magic of harmony.

For a moment, Gabriel felt all his tension lift away. But even the sweet voices of Obadiah and Hannah could not make all his problems right this afternoon. Gabriel listened for a moment, then strode to the nearest tunnelway, and entered the Eyrie complex.

Candlelight and piped gaslight reflected back from the pale rock interior walls so that even at night and inside, the Eyrie glowed luminescent. Gabriel hurried through the tunnels toward the inner warrens, making his way through corridors that gradually widened into great halls and common rooms. Luck was with him; he made it safely to Nathan’s chamber without encountering anyone he had to greet with more than a nod and a smile.

And he was still lucky; Nathan was there.

“Gabriel! I thought I would have to leave tomorrow without
you,” his brother exclaimed, rising up from his seat at a narrow desk. Behind him, Gabriel spotted white scrolls covered with black notations. Nathan was writing music again. “And then I wondered if you remembered the wedding at all.”

“I remembered,” Gabriel assured him, stripping off his flight gloves and vest. Because more than half the inhabitants of the Eyrie were mortal, the entire complex was heated, and most of the angels found the temperature a bit too high. “And I considered forgoing the honor of singing at Lord Jethro’s son’s wedding, but I decided it would not be politically sound to offend the burghers even before I ascend to the position of Archangel.”