The Alleluia Files (12 page)

The next two weeks passed in a companionable haze. There was never a minute’s boredom at Cedar Hills or, if you wanted companionship, a lonely moment. Every meal was communal; every activity could be shared; and visitors to the compound arrived nearly every minute. It was a cornucopia of souls.

Lucinda spent most of her time with the other angels. In particular, she enjoyed flying aloft with the others to sing to Jovah. Although Gretchen had doggedly taught Lucinda every one of the prayers used to address the god, Lucinda had only rarely asked him for rain or sun or wind. At Angel Rock, they pretty much took what the god would send.

But she enjoyed flying straight into a pelting rainstorm, coming to a fluttering pause beside another angel, and raising her voice in harmony to beg the god for sunshine. And she was delighted when, an hour or two later, she could actually feel the shifting pressure of the air around her as the clouds unraveled and the rain trickled to a halt. She accompanied Jonas on three weather intercessions over various parts of Jordana, and she loved the experience every time.

She participated in the impromptu concerts that somehow seemed to happen every night after dinner, and she learned the singing games that required great feats of memory and vocal range. She flew to Luminaux one day with Jonas and two other angels, and walked the blue streets of that elegant city with awe and reverence. Surely there was no place in the whole world as beautiful as this.

During the two weeks of their visit, Mercy planned two formal dinners, one to honor the angel Jared of Monteverde, and one to honor the Archangel’s son Omar, both of whom had dropped by for quick visits. Lucinda had not met Jared at the
Gloria, though he had been pointed out to her, and during this visit she had only a five-minute conversation with him.

“Are you enjoying your stay here?” he inquired as they loitered in the foyer leading to the dining hall. He posed the question in a careless, casual voice—but then, everything about him seemed careless and casual. He was a tall man, but he slouched against the door frame as if his height offered him no particular advantages; he was good-looking, with strong, regular features and long, curling black hair, but he did not appear to have paid much attention to his clothes or his styling. Only his gray eyes, lively and alert, gave much clue to the quickness behind the indolence.

“Very much! There’s so much to see and everyone has been so friendly. We went to Luminaux the other day. I’ve never imagined such a gorgeous place.”

“No, Luminaux is quite unmatched,” he agreed. “Although for sheer architectural whimsy, you should take a trip to Semorrah. The city isn’t as livable, but the design is fantastic.”

She laughed. “I don’t think we’ll be here long enough for me to visit all the major tourist attractions. Though what I’ve seen so far—”

“Makes you want to stay?” he suggested.

“Makes me want to come back,” she amended. “I think I’d miss my home if I were gone for long.”

“Not what I’d expect to hear from someone who grew up in your particular home,” he commented. “Then again, perhaps I underrate it. I’ve never been to Angel Rock.”

“Have you never been to Ysral, then?”

He nodded. “Half a dozen times. But I’ve taken my rest on one of the Jansai boats traveling between continents. The seas are so crowded with merchantmen traders these days that you don’t really have to worry about finding a place to halt for the night.”

“Our loss, then,” she said, smiling.

He smiled back. “Well, next time I go I’ll be sure to stop by. Now that I know how friendly the natives are.”

And that was all they said to each other. Yet there was something about him that appealed to her deeply, prompting her to ask Mercy about him the next time she had a chance.

The small, brown-haired angel laughed and shook her head. “I adore Jared, I truly do, but I despair of him, too. There’s a
man whom the god has blessed with every gift, and all he does is idle his time away.”

“What gifts?” Lucinda said cautiously.

Mercy snorted. “Besides the obvious one of physical beauty? Intelligence. Integrity. The ability to deal with all kinds of men—and women. You should see the mortal girls fawn over him. Not that he seems to care. He’s had his liaisons, of course, but never anything serious. If nothing else, I wish he would find a few months of happiness with some little angel-seeker and produce a child or two. Then maybe there would be something in the next generation to look forward to.”

“Maybe he’s just waiting to fall in love,” Lucinda said.

Mercy made that graceless sound again. “Angels seldom do,” she said. “The Archangel always marries according to the god’s will, but not even he considers the bond exclusive. Most angels spread their affections fairly far and wide—and a good thing it is, too! The more lovers they take, the more often they produce angel children, and that is something that seems rarer every day. Well, I don’t despair of Jared yet. He’ll surprise us all someday. In some way. I’m sure of it.”

Omar, when he came to Cedar Hills, put more energy into getting to know the visitor from Angel Rock. Lucinda was not sure she was glad to see him, since she had felt some mistrust of him by the time they parted on the Plain of Sharon, but here in Jordana he appeared to make a special effort to please.

“How long are you staying?” he asked her one afternoon as they strolled through the shops of Cedar Hills, eating ice cream. “I’d like to bring you back to the Eyrie for a few days. It’s something you really should see—the oldest of the angel holds, and the most beautiful. It’s built right into the mountaintop, and the stone is this sort of glowing rosy color, and when you’re inside it, it feels like you’re wrapped in warmth. I can’t explain it very well, obviously.”

“I’d like to see it,” she said. “And Semorrah. Jared said that was worth visiting.”

“He was right. And the Gabriel Dam, and Monteverde, and even Breven, though it’s not as pretty a place as the other cities. But the shipyards are fabulous.”

“I don’t know how much longer we’ll be here,” she said. And then, because she wasn’t sure how well she would enjoy a
tour in Omar’s company, she added without enthusiasm, “I’ll ask my aunt if we can take a journey.”

But Gretchen, when approached, was adamant: They had to leave the very next day. This was news to Lucinda, and she received it with mixed emotions. Much as she was enjoying Samaria, the constant barrage of people and events was beginning to wear on her. And she missed Angel Rock with an intensity that surprised her. But to leave the very next morning—!

“Couldn’t we wait a day or two? Omar said—”

“No,” Gretchen said firmly. “Mercy says we’ll find any number of boats that can take us home, all docked at Port Clara. We can get there in a couple of hours. So, hurry now, better start your packing. Make sure you don’t leave anything behind.”

Something had upset her, that much was clear, and Mercy seemed just as mystified as Lucinda. “I hope it’s not something I’ve said, some courtesy I’ve omitted,” the older angel said to Lucinda. “She seemed perfectly happy yesterday.”

Mercy had sought her out in her rooms that evening, and sat by the bed watching Lucinda pack. “Oh, I don’t think it has anything to do with you,” Lucinda said. “Aunt Gretchen is very moody. The smallest thing can make her mad for days. It may be that she’s remembered something at the inn that she wants to get done. It may be that somebody said something to make her feel she’d trespassed too long on your hospitality. It may be—she might have remembered something from twenty-five years ago, and it made her sad, and she can’t stand to be here another minute. With Aunt Gretchen, it’s pretty hard to know.”

Mercy watched her with shadowed eyes. “You must have had a difficult time of it,” she said. “Growing up as you did, with an embittered woman on a desolate island. I feel like I’ve done wrong by you. You were born at this hold, and it’s my hold. I should have come after you much sooner.”

“I didn’t need coming after,” Lucinda said serenely. “I’ve always been quite happy where I was. And Aunt Gretchen loves me. She’s difficult and contrary and I sometimes think she’s ruled by fear, but she loves me. I haven’t felt the need of others to care for me.”

“Still. If you get too lonely. If you just want a change. For any reason at all. Will you come back and visit me? There will always be room for you.”

Lucinda crossed the floor and kissed the older woman on the cheek. “I will,” she said. “Thank you for the offer.”

The next morning, they were on the road before nine. Lucinda had elected to ride with Gretchen in the van that Mercy had specially ordered for their use. It was not nearly as much fun as flying, but Gretchen had looked so frail and alone as she climbed into the big, empty vehicle that Lucinda didn’t have the heart to abandon her. The ride was fairly bumpy, and too noisy to make conversation easily, so they traveled in a silence that suited them both.

Lucinda looked out her windows, watching the gentle green countryside roll by, and wondered when she would actually make it to Samaria again. Somehow, this trip seemed like the one big event of her life, the splash of bright color to which she would compare all other days, sighing with fondness and regret. She seemed destined for a quiet life, half-lonely and half-full of wonder, and that had always been enough for her; but she could not help being a little sorry that her period of glory was ending so quickly. She made herself smile and toss the rueful thoughts away, but she continued watching out the window.

Port Clara was even smaller than Lisle, and there were only Edori boats docked there this morning. Lucinda felt a small lift of hope—surely this would delay their journey by a day or two—but she had underestimated the strength of Gretchen’s desire to leave Samaria. She marched up to the first sea captain she found on the wharf and bargained for passage to Angel Rock. Then she hurried back to where Lucinda was patiently waiting with their luggage.

“We leave within the hour,” she said. “Best buy anything you think you might need for the journey.”

Lucinda squinted out into the harbor. “Which ship?” she asked.

Gretchen pointed. “The one there at the end. It’s called
The Wayward
.”

B
ack in Luminaux, Tamar found everything changed. None of her Jacobite friends were there; all their houses and apartments had been rented to others or left empty till new residents could be found. She was afraid to approach the sympathetic merchants and artisans she had relied on for help in the past. After her experience with Ezra, she believed anyone could betray her. If he had betrayed her. She couldn’t be sure. But who else? And could not anyone else, anyone at all, whisper her name to the angels or the Jansai? So she avoided the familiar streets, rented a room in a district she did not know, and took a job cooking at one of the city’s hundreds of cafés. She needed the money. She needed the food. She needed to buy time to think.

The trip from Breven had been accomplished easily enough, although her nerves were so unsteady that every minute had been harrowing. If Ezra
had
betrayed them, she was lost; she walked through the city streets with a spotlight on her head. He could describe her height, hair color, clothing, the rubbed red newness of the wound around her Kiss…. She must disguise herself.

So she had spent a careful half hour at the market, buying materials, and she had used one of the filthy public rest rooms to do what she could to alter her appearance. An application of dye made her bright blond hair several shades darker, and a few cuts with a razor made it short, spiky, severe. Sapphire eye shadow turned her green eyes a murky aquamarine. Heeled sandals added inches, new clothes changed her style. She gazed in the mirror and forced herself to stand upright, straighten her shoulders, assume a commanding expression that said
I belong
here
, a posture and an attitude that no fugitive would attempt. She powdered the scarlet skin around the Kiss, dulling it to the flesh tone of the rest of her arm. She surveyed herself again. She did not much resemble the woman who had walked in.

She had very little money left, but she did not want to chance sneaking out of the city at night. Nothing could look more suspicious, not if they were searching for her. Her best course was a bold one: buying a ticket on one of the commercial buses that traveled between Breven and the rest of Samaria.

At the station—which was merely a heavy, striped tarp draped over a huge expanse of concrete—she found she had just enough money left to book a seat on a bus heading for Luminaux. That suited her; it was too early to go to the rendezvous at Ileah, and at least she was familiar with the Blue City. Even better, the bus would be leaving in half an hour. She found an empty bench and waited almost motionlessly for her route to be called.

The scent of sea air wafted in through the open walls, cutting a welcome edge through the overpowering odor of fuel. The grumble of many simultaneous motors was giving her a headache, but there was nowhere to sit to avoid the sound and the smell of the buses; they were parked on all four sides of the tent. Mute and miserable, Tamar endured.

At last, the thirty interminable minutes crawled by and the call went out:
All aboard for Luminaux! All for Luminaux!
She knew a moment’s panic as she rose to her feet, clutching the little bag she had carried with her across the desert. What if they were waiting for her, Jansai soldiers disguised as weary travelers? What if they were cruelly allowing her to gain the border of freedom, laughing to themselves, watching as she tossed her head and strode with a carefree woman’s walk right to the very doorway of the bus? What if they were to take her—
now
? No, not until she truly thought she was safe, not till the bus had rumbled to life, shouldered its way down the crowded city streets, attained the open road beyond the city limits. Would they take her then? Would they stop the bus, haul her off screaming and fighting, bludgeon her to death there on the side of the road? Or, worse, take her to the Archangel’s hold to await who knew what sort of peril?