Jovah's Angel

by Sharon Shinn

  “Is it safe?” a man called out.

  Noah nodded. “We’ve been traveling three days now. Nothing’s gone wrong. Nothing here to hurt you.”

  “How fast does it go?”

  “Top speed is about twenty miles an hour, but we’ve been averaging a little less than that.”

  “How does it run?”

  “Fuel and steam and a lot of moving parts.” Noah laughed.

  “Can I really ride? Can I really ride?” a little boy called.

  “Sure. If your mom or dad says so.”

  “How much does it cost?”

  Noah spread his hands. “Free!”

  There was a sudden commotion as excited children and boyish men pressed forward at that invitation—and a silence just as sudden that caught Caleb and Noah by surprise. As one, they turned back to look at the Beast, and saw that Delilah had risen to her feet and was now visible to the crowd. With her wings folded behind her and her arms spread for balance, she seemed to be floating above the vehicle like an angel offering benediction. Surely no one had recognized her in those few moments, but there was something—the tilt of her head, the intensity of her gaze—that always had this effect on people, of bringing them, at least briefly, to a state of humility and awe.

  “Jovah’s bones!” one of the children exclaimed to his friend. “I’d have thought she’d be able to fly to Breven!”

  The ensuing laughter broke the tension and opened up the flurry of questions again, though Noah glanced quickly at Delilah to see how she’d taken that unwitting remark. Unruffled, she held her hand out to Caleb, who helped her from the car.

  “I don’t believe I would enjoy the amusement rides as much as you and Noah might,” she said in the pleasantest voice imaginable. “Why don’t I go see if I can find us accommodations for the night? Perhaps an inn that also serves hot meals? Then you can join me when you’ve quite had your fill of fun.”

  “Blue Heron sets a nice table, and I know they’ve two empty rooms right now,” the ostler spoke up quickly. No doubt courting the innkeeper’s daughter, Caleb thought, but even the worst bed tonight would seem kingly compared to blankets spread thinly over bumpy ground. Besides, they wanted this man’s good will if they were to leave the Beast with him.

  “Blue Heron,” he repeated. “And where would we find that?”

  “Up this street to the first cross, then turn to your left, and it’s the second building on your right.”

  Caleb nodded at Delilah and she smiled back. He handed her a bag of coins and watched her make her way gracefully through the crowd. Or, more accurately, watched the crowd part for her as it might part for a mountain cat inexplicably come down from the heights to make its home among humans. Angels were apparently as rare here as self-propelled motorized vehicles, and even more open to suspicion.

  Caleb was not crazy about the idea of spending the next few hours piloting the Beast around the outskirts of town while giggling children bounced in the back. But when he saw Noah’s joyous expression, his sullenness dissipated. “You drive first,” he said to the Edori. “I’ll organize the carloads. Let’s keep the rides as brief as we can, shall we?”

  Noah grinned. “Done in an hour,” he promised, and he climbed into the driver’s seat and waved his first passengers aboard.

  Of course, it was more like two hours before they were able to accommodate all those clamoring for a turn, even crowding four and five people at a time into the passengers’ compartment. Caleb was thoroughly exhausted by the time they made their way to the Blue Heron, and famished as well. The innkeeper, a pleasant middle-aged woman who had heard all about the excitement from her son but betrayed no interest in the event herself, gave them their room key and told them dinner would be ready whenever they wished.

  “There’s a bathing hut out back,” she said helpfully, running her eyes over their dusty clothes and soot-streaked faces. “Your friend seemed to think you might want to wash up before you had your dinner.”

  “When did she say she wanted to eat?” Noah asked.

  “Whenever you returned.”

  “Then we’ll bathe,” Noah decided. “Dinner in half an hour?” Caleb nodded.

  It felt unbelievably good to get completely clean in heated water in a controlled environment, Caleb decided as, a few minutes later, he slid his head all the way under the water in the big metal bathing tub. A quick swim in icy river water or a halfhearted splashing in a shallow stream did little more than wash away the surface dirt, and he felt grimy right down to the bone. It was rare for an inn this small to offer such a luxury; the hot baths must be a service for the whole community. And a damned fine one. He came up for air, soaped his hair, and went under again. In the tub beside his, he heard Noah splashing with equal pleasure. It made him smile underwater.

  Soon enough, they were dressed in clean clothes and joining Delilah in the tap room. There were maybe a dozen tables of varying sizes clustered together rather tightly in the low, dark room, and all but two were occupied. Delilah had selected one of the smaller tables in a shadowed corner. The two empty tables were at right angles to hers, as though no one had wanted to get too close to the angel—but everyone in the room glanced over at her repeatedly, in almost helpless fascination, and then quickly looked away.

  “Well, don’t you two look handsome,” was her greeting when Caleb and Noah seated themselves in chairs across from her. “I never dreamed either of you would clean up so nicely.”

  “I was just thinking the same about you,” Caleb replied. “You must be showing off for the townsfolk. You never waste fresh clothes and a new hairstyle on us.”

  Noah frowned at him, but Delilah laughed. “I’ve already ordered,” she informed them. “They only serve one meal every night, so I ordered three of everything and a pitcher of ale. I assumed that would be fine with everyone.”

  “Perfect, if this is it,” Caleb said, watching a thin young woman approach with a loaded tray. “I could eat the Beast itself, I’m so hungry.”

  “Give you a stomachache,” Noah murmured, and they all laughed.

  The meal was one of the best Caleb had ever eaten, though he was sure hunger and three days of road rations were the primary seasonings. Delilah was in the gayest of moods, flirtatious in a way that seemed entirely innocent—merely happy. She drank almost none of the ale, so her lightheartedness could not be put down to alcohol, and Caleb couldn’t imagine that just taking a bath and eating a hot meal could lift anyone’s spirits so much. But he wasn’t complaining. As the candle on their table glowed with flame, Delilah glowed with charm, and the effect was just as cheering.

  None of them had the energy to linger long over their wine (which Delilah ordered once the pitcher of ale had been emptied), so as soon as their meal was over they headed upstairs to the chambers the angel had bespoken. “I’m in the room right next to you, so come rescue me if you hear any trouble in the night.” She laughed as she unlocked her door. Both men solemnly promised to do so.

  “I’m asleep on my feet,” Caleb said the instant they were inside their own room with the door closed. It was a small chamber, barely big enough for two narrow beds and a nightstand, but it seemed palatial to him. He stripped off his shirt and trousers and practically fell into bed. It took almost more strength than he had to wriggle his body under the covers. “Don’t wake me tomorrow. Let me sleep till Jovah comes looking for me.”

  “All right,” Noah said, blowing out the candle and crawling into his own bed. “But don’t blame me if you wake tomorrow at noon and find that the Beast has crawled on to Breven without you.”

  Caleb remembered laughing, and then he remembered nothing else. Sleep claimed him like a famished lover, and he went willingly into her jealous embrace. He’d been certain he would sleep through till noon, unmoving and oblivious, but something woke him a couple of hours later. He lay there a few moments, trying to recall where he was and then to reconstruct what might have disturbed him. But the streets outside were silent and his companion o
n the other side of the room slept soundlessly in his own bed.

  Except…

  Caleb rubbed his eyes, then looked again at the formless shape of quilts on the other bed. Moonlight filtered through the shuttered window and threw white bars across the floor, across the crumpled covers on the bed. No one was sleeping in it. Caleb sat up, said “Noah?” very softly, and then came to his feet. It only took three steps to cross the room, and he verified by touch what his eyes had already told him. The bed was empty.

  And Noah could only be in the room next door, sleeping in the arms of the fallen Archangel. Bringing some salve to her wounded heart and cruelly wounding his own.

  Caleb climbed back onto his mattress and turned his face to the wall, but it was quite a while before he closed his eyes again. In the morning, when he woke for the second time, Noah was in his own bed, sleeping the noiseless, guarded sleep of the Edori. Caleb lay there a long time, watching his friend’s peaceful face, and wondered if he had dreamt the whole thing.

  After spending hours poring over the incomplete genealogy records of the angel Gabriel and his offspring, Alleya reluctantly concluded that she would never be able to track down all of the great Archangel’s progeny through such limited resources. Against her better judgment, almost against her will, she decided she must consult an oracle—or rather, work through an oracular interpreter, to ask Jovah himself.

  Job would have been the logical choice, since he already knew why she was seeking the sons of Jeremiah, but Mary was closer and somewhat less intimidating. Actually, Sinai was even closer, and Alleya debated the idea of entering the empty caves and attempting to ask Jovah the questions without benefit of an intermediary. She almost thought she could do it. During nights of studying the old histories, glancing at the original text alongside the modern interpretations, she’d become fairly adept at comprehending certain words and phrases in the forgotten tongue. In fact, one night she had rather painstakingly gone through a long chapter of the history before she realized she had read the entire thing in the old language, having somehow turned her eyes to the wrong side of the open pages when she first took up the book. The discovery chilled her (how could she do such a thing accidentally?), but elated her at the same time. She had the true scholar’s love of knowledge, any knowledge; acquiring a lost language held intrinsic appeal for her.

  Lately she had even begun dreaming in those strange, unfamiliar words. At first those dreams were cramped, uncomfortable episodes in which she sat at her desk, hunched over an open volume, laboriously interpreting various passages in books that she had never seen before. In the mornings when she woke, she could remember what she had read, and she remembered it in the old language, and she knew what it meant in her own lexicon. Mostly the phrases were simple, even laughable—“The beautiful tree cries its autumn tears” or “What child laughs in the other chamber?”—but she found it fairly marvelous for all that. She had never heard of anyone learning a language from dreams.

  More recently, however, she herself strolled through her dreams talking in this ancient tongue. Sometimes those around her understood what she said and seemed to display no amazement at her new skill; more often, they gaped at her uncomprehendingly, and she was filled with a nightmare’s frustration at being unable to communicate. She woke frequently in the middle of the night, tense and angry, with her fists clenched and her face furrowed in a frown.

  But Caleb Augustus, when he appeared in her dreams, always understood every word she said; and he appeared in her dreams almost nightly. But there was no use spending every waking moment analyzing that.

  In any case, because of her growing familiarity with the language the oracles used in communicating with Jovah, Alleya suspected that she could head straight for the interface at Mount Sinai and talk to the god without assistance. Except… the interface itself. She was not entirely sure how it was used, what buttons to press and when, how much time she should allow between a question and a reply. And if either of the oracles ever found out what she had done, they would never forgive her.

  Although what could they do to her, really? She was the Archangel. It was not as if they could order the priests to shatter her Kiss and tell Jovah she had been removed from the lists of the living. The thought gave her a faint pleasure. She was unused to having any advantages accrue to her from her high position.

  But she was also unwilling to risk the experiment—what if it was Jovah she angered by her inept questioning?—and she needed information only an oracle could supply. So she told Samuel she would be gone for a day, perhaps two, and she packed a travel kit for a short visit to Gaza.

  Mary worked in a stone retreat quite close to Monteverde—in the same mountain range, in fact, though Mount Sudan was at a much higher, colder altitude than the angel hold, and it was much harder to get to. For anyone who was not an angel, at any rate. Alleya coasted in to the narrow, flat landing place that was instantly swallowed by an overhang of rock, and made her way inside the caverns where Mary did her work.

  As was the case at Mount Egypt, Mount Sudan had a small cluster of acolytes and petitioners moving through the outer rooms. A respectful silence muted all voices, even kept footsteps to a cautious, hollow tiptoe. Alleya practically whispered her request to the acolyte who came up to ask her business (“I would like to see the oracle Mary as soon as she has time”), and then waited as quietly as the rest.

  Naturally, it was not long before the acolyte scurried back to escort her to Mary’s inner sanctum. The oracle was standing by the blue interface, her hand resting on the keyboard, her eyes watching the door.

  “Angela,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “I’m honored by your visit. What can I do to serve you?”

  It was strange to receive such a respectful greeting from someone only five or six years older than she was—especially someone like Mary, a sharp-featured, sharp-tongued, no-nonsense woman.

  “First, do you have time to spare for me? This is not an emergency, and I know you have much to do,” Alleya said.

  Mary smiled faintly. “The work of the Archangel is the preservation of the realm, and the task of the oracles is to support the Archangel,” she said didactically. “Even your small questions carry weight for us.”

  “Actually, it might not be a small question,” Alleya said. Mary indicated two rolling chairs arranged close to the glowing screen. Alleya came forward, and they both sat. “Some weeks ago, I was in Mount Egypt and I conferred with Job about troubles in Samaria. We asked Jovah if he was angry with us, why he sent so much storm, who he—” She hesitated, then plunged on. “Who he had selected as my angelico. To every question we asked, Jovah replied, ‘Ask the son of Jeremiah.”’

  Mary nodded. “Job mentioned some of this to me. He wanted to know if I was familiar with any Jeremiah who might have caught Jovah’s attention. I had to confess I was not.”

  “Jerusha reminded me that Jeremiah was the name of Gabriel’s father. And we thought perhaps, since Jovah was speaking so vaguely, he might mean one of Gabriel’s descendants living today.”

  “But which descendant? There must be a hundred—”

  “And not all accounted for,” Alleya finished. “I checked records at the Eyrie, but they scarcely list anyone except the angelic offspring, and even those erratically. But if, as I believe, Jovah tracks all the sons and daughters of everyone on Samaria—”

  “Everyone who has been dedicated,” Mary said automatically.

  “Then perhaps he could tell us where all of Gabriel’s ‘sons’ are today. And this man must have been dedicated for Jovah to know of his existence.”

  Mary nodded briefly, not as if she agreed, but as if she was thinking everything over. “But if he has been dedicated,” she said slowly, “why will Jovah not call him by name?”

  Alleya spread her hands. “I don’t know. I don’t understand why Jovah does many of the things he does. But since Jovah seemed to think this man held so many keys, I thought it behooved me to try and find him. If, that is, th
ere is a way to phrase the question to Jovah.”

  “Well, we can certainly ask,” Mary said, swiveling around to face the blue interface. “I cannot promise that he will answer. These days—”

  “I know,” Alleya said. “It is the same with me.”

  The angel pulled her chair closer to the oracle’s and watched intently as Mary played her fingers over the keyboard. Ah—it was so simple—the buttons that Mary pressed were marked with the letters of the foreign alphabet; and after she had framed a polite question (which appeared on the screen before her), she pressed a square green key which, apparently, signaled to Jovah that her message was complete. Alleya could not believe how straightforward it was. All these years of mystery solved by a single textbook!

  It was still impressive, she had to admit, when Jovah’s reply materialized in glowing blue letters on the pale screen. Mary’s inquiry had been a repeat of one of Job’s questions: “Who should be the angelico to the Archangel Alleluia?” This time Alleya did not need to guess at the reply; she could read the words for herself. “The son of Jeremiah.”

  Mary glanced over at her. “Well, at least it’s the same answer.”

  “I thought it would be. Ask him about Gabriel.”

  Mary typed in: “Is the Archangel Gabriel the son of Jeremiah?”

  Jovah replied almost immediately in the affirmative.

  “This is where it gets interesting,” Mary remarked, and entered her next question: “Can you tell us the names of the children of Gabriel who are living today?”

  This time there was a lengthy pause between the query and the response. “Why does he wait so long to answer?” Alleya asked. She found herself speaking in a low voice, almost in a whisper, as if she were afraid of disturbing Jovah while he meditated.

  “The more complex the answer, the longer it takes.”

  But a few minutes later, the requested information filled the screen. There were fewer names than Alleya had expected and most of them were women.