Jovah's Angel

by Sharon Shinn

  And soon enough, he had his own distraction whispering in his ear. Politely waiting for the brief pause between acts, Alleya touched him on the arm and murmured, “Do they ever sing in Edori?”

  “Every once in a while,” he replied softly. “Thomas was bemoaning that fact the other day—that so many of the younger Edori had forgotten their old language. So you rarely hear it.”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever even heard it spoken. I understand it’s a beautiful language.”

  “Maybe we’ll make a special request,” he said.

  But they didn’t have to. Perhaps an hour into the music, when children had begun to fall asleep and even the moon looked weary, when all the selections had become haunting and sad, one of the older Edori women came to her feet and glanced carefully around at the assembled listeners. All faces turned expectantly in her direction; even the tired ones stirred.

  “So that we never forget,” she said simply, and then began to sing one of the old ballads in the original Edori tongue. She had a high, true voice, silver and thin, and she delivered her notes plainly. Something about the melody, or the foreign words, or the quality of her voice itself, invested the song with an eerie significance. Caleb felt disembodied, hurled backward, re-created at a campfire hundreds of years ago where the words to this song were being delivered for the first time. Among the faces of the Edori he knew were scattered a few of the long-ago Edori, listening gravely to the message of the lyrics, impressing the words forever on their hearts. The singer’s voice became stronger, more urgent; she raised her arms slowly in a gesture of entreaty to the god, and held them out, pleading, a long moment after her final note had sounded.

  Silence reigned until she dropped her hands, and then the mad applause went on for more than ten minutes. Alleya tugged on Caleb’s sleeve. “What was she singing?” she said in his ear.

  He shook his head, and leaned across her to address Thomas. “What was the gist of that song?” he asked.

  Thomas almost had to shout to be heard. “It is a recitation about the floods that visited Samaria shortly after the first settlers arrived. It is a reminder to Jovah that we are his people and we worship him, and a prayer to him to never forget us that way again.”

  Caleb saw Alleya’s sharp look at the Edori. “Floods?” she repeated. “I don’t remember reading about this.”

  Thomas smiled. “Well, it happened centuries ago. And I don’t suppose it really affected anyone except the Edori. It was, oh, fifty or so years after Samaria was colonized, and most of the settlers were still living in Bethel and southern Gaza. The Edori, of course, had been on the move since their arrival. The floods washed across the southeast tip of Jordana, maybe one hundred miles south of where we are now. Drowned about a dozen Edori. There weren’t as many Edori then, so it was quite a tragedy.”

  “So! They had weather problems six hundred years ago, too,” Caleb said cheerfully, and was surprised to earn his own quick look of concern from Alleya. He arched his eyebrows at her. “What?” he said.

  She shook her head. “I was just thinking… That’s the same place that’s going to flood now if these rains don’t let up.” She turned back toward Thomas. “What caused the flood then, do you know? Was it rain? Or was it one of the rivers rising—maybe too much snow melting up in the mountains?”

  “The song doesn’t say,” Thomas replied. “Does it matter?”

  “I don’t—I was just wondering.”

  “Odd, though, that what’s essentially a desert would flood more than once within our memories,” Caleb remarked. He was surprised to receive yet another swift, unhappy look from Alleya.

  “Not odd,” she said, almost too softly to hear, “if Breven had not been a desert to begin with.”

  “What?” he said again, but she did not have a chance to answer. A tall, handsome Edori man was standing over them and smiling down.

  “It would be such an honor,” he said to Alleya, “to have the Archangel sing for us.”

  More of those rapid glances, as the angel looked from Thomas to the new arrival. Caleb guessed that Alleya had believed she was here incognito; Edori were not big on ceremony, and probably no one had betrayed to her that they knew who she was. Thus she was caught completely off-guard.

  “Oh—” she faltered, into what was suddenly an intent and expectant silence. “I’ve enjoyed hearing all of you so much,” she said, clearly improvising. “I would not want to intrude my voice on yours.”

  “Sing for us, please sing, angela,” Thomas urged, and from beside him, Martha added her quiet voice. The tall man held his hand out as if he would help her to her feet.

  “No intrusion at all!” he said happily, taking her words at face value. “It is rare the Edori have a chance to hear angel voices lifted around their campfires. Our pleasure would be great if you could consent to sing for us now.”

  Clearly, there was no possible way to refuse. Caleb remembered what Delilah had said (years ago, it seemed): that it was torture for Alleya to perform in public except on holy occasions. He felt a deep sympathy for her—but had to admit to feeling an equally strong current of excitement. He had a sharp desire to hear this particular angel sing.

  Alleya was on her feet, perforce, and then she made a quarter turn in the other angel’s direction. “Delilah,” she said. “We once sang the Benediccio Duet in D minor together. Do you remember? I wish you would perform it with me now.”

  For a fraction of a second, Delilah sat frozen, stubborn, as unprepared for this public invitation as Alleya had been. Then she laughed aloud and jumped to her feet.

  “Yes, of course I remember it,” she said. “I would be happy to sing with you. Only—we don’t have quite enough room for both of us to stand here.”

  There were a few moments of fussing and confusion as the angels found a more suitable spot, and a low murmur of anticipation ran through the gathered Edori. Caleb glanced at Noah to see what he thought of this. In the past three nights of singing, Delilah hadn’t once showed any inclination to join in, though it had been clear that her voice would be welcome. But the dark angel must have known, even better than Caleb, how much Alleya dreaded a public exhibition.

  Noah’s expression was one of guarded pleasure. “That was kind of the Archangel,” he whispered to Caleb. “To invite Delilah to sing.”

  Caleb smiled. “It was kind of Delilah,” he whispered back, “to agree.”

  The two angels now stood about three yards away, side by side but turned slightly toward each other. The whole crowd had grown unbelievably still; even the night birds and chirping insects had fallen quiet, it seemed, to listen. Delilah nodded twice, and the two women began simultaneously to sing.

  It was as if the moon exploded, as if the stars spun into an iridescent dance. Light showered through Caleb’s brain and careened down the veins in his arms, his legs, with a tingling brilliance. His physical reaction was so strong that for a moment or two he could scarcely distinguish sound from sensation. By a great effort of will, he forced himself to concentrate, to focus on the music itself.

  It was not a particularly complicated piece for sacred music, though the intricate harmonies and interlaced fugues were more complex than any of the other singers had attempted tonight. Obviously, the angels had been rigorously trained in delivery and technique; every word was flawlessly pronounced, every note precise. It was also clear that Delilah’s voice was the stronger of the two, richer and more mellifluous. But Alleya’s…

  Her voice wove around Caleb’s head like a strand of witchlight; it ruffled his hair like a hand stroking back from his face. He felt himself wrapped in her voice, clothed in it, made warm against the winds of the world; and at the same time it sent sparks through the interior of his body, lighting the caverns over his lungs, shooting fire through his hollow bones. He was lit from inside; surely his eyes glowed like lamplight and his lifted hand would be translucent from that inner flame. Even his flesh was burning; he could feel the flickering heat wash once across his bo
dy, then coalesce into a sharp, painful brand on his upper right arm. He slapped his left hand across the knot of fire, as if to extinguish it, and felt only the cool, buried glass of the shattered Kiss in his arm.

  Involuntarily he glanced down—and then he stared. In the black heart of that cold marble danced a flame of scarlet and opal. The sound of Alleya’s voice had brought the fire to life, when the Kiss and everything it stood for had been dead to Caleb for years. He had never heard of such a thing happening. He squeezed his fingers tightly together, but even so, the fey, hot light seemed to leap through, turning his fingers crimson and his palm amber.

  In the morning, Caleb’s first waking thought was that he must speak to Alleya before she left. And she seemed like the kind of woman who would rise early and be productively on her way before anyone else had stirred. Thus, he rolled to his feet almost as soon as he opened his eyes. Carefully, he tiptoed out of the tent he had shared with Noah, Thomas, Martha, and two of their grandchildren.

  He was not the first person in the camp to wake; about a dozen of the Edori women were already at their fires, fanning the flames and mixing bread for breakfast. He asked around; no one had seen either of the angels emerge from their tent. Quickly, he ducked into the water tents which were used for communal bathing, and made himself presentable. Then he snagged a chunk of bread from a smiling Edori woman and loitered until Alleya stepped into view.

  He gave her time to visit the water tents as well, but he was waiting for her when she returned. She seemed startled but not displeased to see him.

  “What are you doing awake so early?” she asked. “I would have pegged you as a late riser.”

  “Not at all,” he said, smiling down at her. Even under camp conditions, she managed to look clean and fresh. Her hair, now damp from a quick washing, had been combed out of its usual knots, though he imagined it would tumble free of its coiffure in a matter of hours. “And certainly I didn’t want you to leave before I had a chance to say goodbye.”

  “That was thoughtful. Though I’ll probably stay for an hour or two. I thought maybe—” She hesitated, shook her head. “Maybe Thomas or one of the other Edori could tell me more of the oral histories. Maybe I could learn something.”

  He guided her gently toward one of the tenanted fires and nodded to the woman stirring a pot of porridge. She brought them steaming bowls and mugs of milk. They sat to eat.

  “Learn something about what?” he asked.

  “Weather patterns six hundred years ago.”

  He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice. “But for what reason?”

  Again she paused, as if uncertain whether or not she should tell him. “I’ve been reading,” she said slowly, “old history books that were translated from texts written about the time of the settlement. And I learned—well, I learned many odd things but the oddest was that the original settlers had decided they couldn’t live on Samaria unless they could change its weather cycle. Essentially, the whole continent was a flood plain. And one of the reasons Jovah created angels”—she paused to consider something, then moved on—“was to control the storms.”

  “Which now for some reason they can no longer control,” Caleb finished thoughtfully. Now her interest became explicable. “And you want to know what might happen if they can never regain control.”

  “That, and if such a thing happened in the past. The angels’ records are not particularly helpful on these points. Mostly they just glorify the deeds of the past Archangels and gloss over any unpleasant events. But the Edori seem a little more—clear-eyed.”

  “Yes, I think it’s an excellent idea,” he said approvingly. “Stay all day. Stay a few days. I think there is much to learn.”

  She smiled faintly. “Well, I think I’ll find out what I need to know this morning. I have to leave this afternoon at the latest, because I must be back at the Eyrie in a few days.”

  “What’s happening at the Eyrie?”

  “Well—” She sighed. “I have to prepare for a meeting in Semorrah in, oh, not quite three weeks from now. The Manadavvi and the river merchants and even the Jansai are unhappy with the state of the realm. I need to think of how to calm them.”

  “Maybe Delilah could help you,” he suggested.

  She smiled again, ruefully. “A good thought. I had it myself. But she—” Alleya spread her hands wide.

  “She won’t advise you,” he guessed.

  “Can’t, won’t, it’s hard to tell. I think she feels so betrayed by Jovah that she no longer trusts herself with men. Does that make sense? She was the most extraordinary politician ever. She could make anyone agree with her. But now that the god won’t listen to her, she thinks no one else will either. At least, that’s what I think I read behind her words last night. But I did ask her.”

  “Maybe, in time—”

  She rose to her feet. “Maybe in time the sun will shine again and all our worries will dry up and float away,” she said. “I see your friend Noah looking for you. You must have plans for the day.”

  Caleb glanced over his shoulder. It was Noah, all right, but he looked to be loitering much as Caleb had done earlier, and outside the same tent. A waste of time, of course; Delilah would not rise till noon. Caleb turned back toward Alleya.

  “Much to do,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want—I hate to see—I wish I knew when I would see you again.”

  She flushed but she did not seem annoyed. “I’m usually at the Eyrie,” she said. “If you’re ever up that way again.”

  “Then you wouldn’t mind? If I traveled there just to see you?”

  “Of course, I’m busy much of the time,” she told him. “And sometimes I’m not there. But no, I wouldn’t mind. It would be—sometimes I need to—I enjoy your company,” she ended, sounding almost as flustered as he had been. “It is hard being the Archangel,” she added. “It’s nice to talk to someone who’s not too impressed by that.”

  “I’m impressed!” he exclaimed. “I think you’re a wonderful Archangel!”

  Now she smiled freely. “You know what I mean.”

  He smiled back. “I know what you mean. I’m happy to think you feel at ease with me. When can I come see you?”

  She was flustered again. “When will you be done here? Of course, I’ll be in Semorrah in a few weeks, and I’m not sure how long we’ll have to stay—I don’t know, a month from now?”

  “A month! That’s too long to wait. Maybe I’ll come to you in Semorrah. How would that be?”

  “Well, I’ll be very busy in Semorrah,” she said demurely.

  “And I just remembered a project I have waiting for me in Luminaux when I get back,” he said, scowling. “It might have to be a month after all. But you could come to Luminaux when you’re done in Semorrah.”

  She laughed. “What would I be doing in Luminaux?”

  “Visiting me. Is that not reason enough?”

  She made a gesture of uncertainty. “If something brings me to Luminaux, I’ll let you know.”

  “It will be good to see you again, angela,” he said softly.

  “And you, Caleb Augustus.”

  He wanted to touch her—take her hand, maybe, although the thought of kissing her did for a wild moment cross his mind—but Noah chose just that moment to join them. Caleb had never been so irritated with his best friend; incredibly, Alleya was laughing.

  “I don’t suppose Delilah’s awake yet, is she?” Noah asked.

  Caleb snorted. “In your dreams.”

  “She said she would go with us to the docks this morning, and I told her we’d be leaving early,” the Edori answered.

  “She was awake when I got up,” Alleya said, “but I don’t think she was quite ready to join the world. If you know what I mean.”

  “We’ve seen Delilah in the morning,” Caleb assured her. “We know what you mean.”

  But the dark angel belied them all. Even as they were discussing her, she stepped languidly from the tent and looked about her with a disapproving eye.


  “Once again, the sun conspires to make me wretched,” she announced. “Surely it cannot be morning again so soon.”

  “Morning, and in less than an hour we’re on our way into Breven,” Caleb said cheerfully. “So you’d best hurry to make yourself beautiful, or at least passable, for our trip.”

  She gave him a look dripping with revulsion. “I strive to meet the level of my companions,” she drawled. “I could go now.”

  The men laughed, and the three of them exchanged a few more bantering remarks. When Caleb turned back to finish his goodbye to the Archangel, he found that she had slipped away, for he saw her on the other side of camp, deep in conversation with one of Thomas’ cronies. He could not help his sharp sense of loss, though it seemed ridiculous. What did it matter that he would not see her again for three weeks or more? She was a delightful woman, but he scarcely knew her. No need to feel like a heartsick lover on the verge of his last farewell.

  The short, uncomfortable trek into Breven did little to help Caleb shake off his unaccustomed depression. They had briefly considered driving the Beast into town, but the thought of attempting to negotiate Breven’s narrow streets with the unwieldy vehicle instantly dissuaded them. Since angels had notoriously bad luck attempting to ride horses, and Delilah had flatly refused to attempt such a feat, they had borrowed a cart and a couple of geldings to pull it, and jounced down a bad road into the industrial city. Thomas handled the reins and Caleb sat beside him on the front seat; Noah and the angel arranged themselves as best they could in the back. Riding in the unsprung cart was unpleasant enough, but the constant cold drizzle made the trip even more dismal. And Breven itself was enough to make the happiest man feel despondent. None of them talked much till they arrived at the teeming docks.