Breath of Angel (15 page)

“Because when the harps are reunited, the Wisdom Tree will be restored and the stairway with it.”

“And he doesn’t want that to happen?”

“We believe the Firstborn wants to hold the harps as security. They’re our only hope of gaining a path home to Avellan. If he controls our path home, he controls us.”

Melaia picked at the bark of the sapling. “I should have listened to you at Redcliff. I took the Firstborn exactly what he wanted. Now he has both harps.”

“There are three harps,” said Livia. “Dreia’s book tells where the third harp is hidden. Guard that book with your life. We have to find the third harp before the Firstborn does.”

“But I don’t have the book. Benasin took it north in search of Dreia.”

Livia’s face was ashen. “Did he have the book on him when he died?”

“Whatever he carried into the aerie, Lord Rejius took. I checked. But the
book is all Benasin talked about before he died. He told me to get it and open it. He made me promise.” Melaia rubbed her wrist.

“He definitely knew who you were, then.”

Melaia squeezed her eyes closed. When Benasin entered the aerie, he knew. When he drew her behind him, he knew. When he told her to run, he knew. “He died to spare me,” she murmured.

“That raises my opinion of him considerably,” said Livia.

Melaia leaned her forehead against the sapling as her spirit groaned. It was her fault. If she had insisted on staying in Navia, Benasin wouldn’t have died.

Livia linked her arm in Melaia’s and drew her toward the arbor in the laurel hedge. “Surely Benasin wouldn’t be fool enough to take the book to the palace,” said Livia. “He probably stashed it somewhere.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me where?” asked Melaia.

“Maybe he did,” said Livia. “Tell me again what he said.”

Melaia remembered the swirling mist of Benasin’s spirit. “The book. Get it. Promise. Open.”

“Open,” mused Livia, pausing at the door of Wodehall. “Why would he waste his breath telling you to open the book? Surely he’d trust you would do that naturally. Or perhaps—” Her face lit up. “Perhaps he said not ‘Open’ but ‘Auben,’ meaning Aubendahl. Benasin spent a night at the scriptory in Aubendahl on his way back to Navia. We’ll ask Jarrod about it.”

“Jarrod? The priest at Redcliff?”

“Until recently. He took refuge at Aubendahl, but he’s sure to be here by now.” She ushered Melaia into the cavernous common room.

As they crossed through the crowd, Melaia stayed close to Livia. She estimated there were at least forty angels present, maybe more. The air swirled with lively conversations, some low voiced and head-to-head, some light with the laughter of old friends renewing acquaintance. Esper and her sylvans ducked in and out of the larder with food and drink. Noll and Pym sat serenely beside the brazier: Noll smoking a long-stemmed pipe, Pym studying the group over the top of a mug clamped between his palms.

Partway up the curving stairs, Livia turned toward the crowd and held up three fingers. Talk dwindled as all across the room the Angelaeon raised their hands in the sign of the Tree.

Melaia, one step down from Livia, edged to the side of the stairs by the wall and tried to look inconspicuous, her hands clasped in front of her.
Shhhh
, came the tree-thought.
Shhhh
. Gil caught her eye and raised his bushy eyebrows. She nodded at him, knowing he was surprised to see her there and would be even more surprised when Livia introduced her.

“We’re fewer in number than when we last met,” said Livia.

A mop-haired man called out, “Some in my region claimed they were too busy with farm or trade to make the trip.”

“In my part of the country, we’re working to scrabble together some kind of harvest,” said a big-eared dwarf. “Many have no wish to leave their families with the chore.”

“The guardians,” said a silver-haired woman, “will they come?”

“Windweaver was here last night,” said Livia. “The guardians will attend us as they’re able.”

Melaia shifted, uncomfortable with the questioning glances the angels cast her way. She felt like an intruder.

“Dreia herself had hoped to address this gathering,” said Livia. “By now you all know about her death. Fortunately, she sent for her child before she died.” She drew Melaia up the step to stand beside her.

Murmurs rippled through the group. Gil grinned, and his shoulders bounced in a quiet laugh.

“Do you mean to say that’s Dreia’s child?” called a sylvan. “I thought Dreia had a son.”

“Aye,” said another. “Didn’t she claim she had a son?”

“She did claim it,” said Livia.

“Because she
desired
a son.”

All heads turned toward a lanky, clean-shaven man who leaned casually against the back wall. His hair, the color of hay, hung like a horse tail over his
shoulder as befitted a priest; the ebony hilt of a long knife protruded from his belt.

“The child I’m speaking of, Jarrod, is the one born to Dreia’s task,” said Livia. “That child was a daughter. Dreia claimed she had a son because she wanted to protect her daughter. It was an effective strategy.”

“You’re certain she’s Dreia’s child?” called a ruddy woman.

Jarrod folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes at Melaia. “How much do you know?”

“I know that the high priestess at Navia told me to find a priest named Jarrod at Redcliff,” said Melaia. “But the priest there didn’t go by that name.”

Jarrod raised one eyebrow.

“She’s pegged you, Jarrod,” said the big-eared dwarf. Chuckles sounded around the room.

“My identity is not so hard to discern,” said Jarrod. “Tell me more.”

“I was raised to be a priestess,” said Melaia. “A chantress.”

Jarrod gave one nod.

“I know you are all trapped here until the three harps are brought together again,” said Melaia. “Then the Wisdom Tree will be restored, and you can climb the stairway back to Avellan. Or other worlds.” She glanced at Livia for guidance, but Livia said nothing. Melaia turned back to the angels. “I saw the immortal Firstborn battle the Second-born at the palace at Redcliff.”

Jarrod clenched his jaw. His hand drifted to the hilt of his long knife. “Lord Rejius. Lord Death,” he said. “With immortals, waiting is nothing but part of the game. He waits; we move; he raises his ugly head. All he needs to do is sit back and wait for us to find the harps for him. Just as he did with Dreia.”

“Are there not two more harps?” asked Gil. “Malevolents stole only one.”

“Two,” said Livia.

“Excellent!” Jarrod glared. “We bring the Firstborn one more harp, and we’re at his mercy.”

“Some of us haven’t staked our lives on the restoration of the Tree,” said the silver-haired woman. “We’ve coupled. We have families. We don’t wish to cross to Avellan if it means leaving our husbands, our wives, our children behind.”

“You’re lulled into a slumber that aids the Firstborn,” said Jarrod.

“Not so,” said the woman. “We’ll support the restoring of the Tree and the stairway. Just don’t expect us to cross until our earthly families do.”

Jarrod scowled. Murmured conversations boiled through the room.

Livia sighed and called out, “All I ask is your support. After all, none of us but Melaia can restore the Tree. But she’ll need our help. Noll has agreed to supervise the sending and receiving of messages to the entire Angelaeon.”

Noll rose at the brazier. “I ask three things of you.” Raising his twiglike fingers one by one, he said, “First, choose whether or not to support us, and when you go back to your lands, give others a chance to join our cause. Second, be alert and subvert the malevolents wherever and whenever possible. Third, for those of you who can take a more active role, we’ll need to branch out as spies and protectors where we can.”

“We can’t get too close, or they’ll sense our presence,” said a bald man.

“Come close as you can,” said Noll. “Be ready to join the fray if it comes to that.”

“How far will the Firstborn go to get and keep the harps?” asked the mop-haired man.

“He murdered Dreia,” said Jarrod. “Need we know more?”

“He’ll probably not wage a full-scale war,” said Noll. “It’s easier to take over by lopping us off one by one, as he did with Dreia and Sergai.”

“Which reminds me,” said Livia. “You Erielyon are never to show your wings.” She narrowed her eyes at the Erielyon in the room, who quickly pulled their cloaks over their shoulders.

The room churned with comments and questions directed toward Noll. Livia didn’t try to call them to order.

After everyone else retired, Melaia stayed downstairs, too stirred to sleep.

She helped Esper pack food for the morrow’s journey to Aubendahl. Livia had questioned Pym and Jarrod about Dreia’s book, but neither knew anything for certain. Pym said he had seen Benasin thumbing through the book before their visit to the scriptory at Aubendahl and not after, so it was agreed that the search would start there.

Melaia had suggested that Pym go to Aubendahl while she went to Navia, but Livia insisted that the book was now Melaia’s, as was the responsibility of claiming it. Pym would check on Hanni, let her know about Benasin, and warn her about the Firstborn while Livia and Melaia traveled to the scriptory.

“Esper?” Melaia tucked a pouch of wilderberries into a pack.

Esper sighed. “I know.” She stood back and eyed the pile of foodstuffs she had set out. “The packs are already bulging. I fear it’s back to the larder for the rest of it. And I did so want to send some smoked fish with you.”

“A small packet may fit. But I really want to know about my mother.”

“She was a beauty, that one. But restless and full of worry for her babe.” Esper dug through the pile of food. “Your mother took me aside and made me vow to hide your identity. I had no idea why, just that she seemed to think you were in some danger. If you were a boy, I was to say you were a girl. If you were a girl, I was to claim you were a boy. And she wanted your whereabouts kept secret. Hanamel had studied the herbs with us here, and I knew she lived at the temple in Navia. Just the place, I thought.”

“So you took me there?”

“That I did, pipit.” She handed a fishy-smelling pouch to Melaia.

“What about my father? Who was he?”

“That I wouldn’t know. Dreia kept silent about it. I assumed she had her reasons, and who was I to pry? She was one of the Archae, you know.”

“I know.” Melaia wrestled the fishy packet into the journey bag and helped carry the extra food back to the larder. “One more question. Hanni didn’t want anything to do with sylvans. Or angels of any kind. She didn’t want me to come here. Something about a dark angel and the woods being full of secrets.”

“She was scared out of her wits, poor dear.” Esper covered a bowl of groundnuts. “She was out gathering some herbs when she met a man. The dark angel, she called him. No one but Hanamel ever saw him, but that was in the days when we had lookouts only at Wodehall. The woods were wilder then, so she usually insisted someone accompany her on her herb hunts. But one afternoon she ventured out alone. And there he was. She led him on a good chase, she said, but she couldn’t shake him until another man came and fought him off. We never found either man.”

“You think she imagined them?”

“We did at first. But when Hanamel discovered she was with child by the ‘dark angel,’ there was no denying it. The babe came too soon, though. Stillborn. Hanamel needed to leave the memories behind, so we took her back to the temple in Navia, where the high priestess could help her heal. Then when we needed a place for you, she came to mind. I thought you, too, might help her heal.”

“Maybe I did. But she feared for me.” Melaia wished she had insisted on going to Navia instead of sending Pym.

“No need to fear, pipit.” Esper walked her out of the larder. “After those days we cleared out the woods east to west, north to south, and set up lookouts and signals.”

“The whistle?”

“The All’s-Well, we call it. So you can rest easy in your bed tonight, for sylvans are keeping watch.”

Melaia headed upstairs, not at all sure she could rest easy. Within the space of a day, her whole life had turned upside down.

As Melaia reached the landing, she heard a soft patter of rain over the shushing tree-thought. But when she entered her bedchamber, her unshuttered window stood open to a still, clear night. Bewildered, she walked back to the landing and heard the patter again. She followed the sound to the chamber across from hers and gently nudged open the door.

At the far side of the room, Livia stood with her back to Melaia, bathing
in water that rained from a myriad of holes overhead and drained out through holes in the floor.

Melaia knew she should tiptoe out and close the door, but she was rooted there, awed. It was not the waterfall. It was not even that Livia was naked. It was that Livia’s nakedness was hidden by wings. Curved, white-feathered wings tapered down her back almost to the floor. Melaia had never really thought of Livia as Erielyon, but Sergai was her son, so of course she had wings. To see them close up was like standing before a life-sized figure from the board game.