Quatrain

by Sharon Shinn

  For a moment I stood frozen on the threshold, staring at Raphael. He had lit only three or four candles, and their soft, buttery light lavished him with adoration. He absorbed that light and burnished it and exuded it back again, redoubled in intensity and tinged with gold. He was wearing practically nothing—snug leather trousers and his magnificent wings—and it was impossible to look at him and not be staggered by his sheer male gorgeousness. He was literally the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

  And I quite simply hated him.

  “Sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said, taking a step backward.

  “Don’t go,” he said sharply, and I froze to the spot. He smiled and repeated his words in a more caressing tone. “Don’t go. I would so much enjoy a chance to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” I said, but I didn’t move. It was hard to do anything else when Raphael issued a direct order. So I stayed.

  He glanced around the kitchen as if assessing the worth of the whole compound from this one room. “So this is where you went to ground,” he said. “Have you been in Jordana all this time? At this very farm? What a very bucolic lifestyle for such a cosmopolitan girl.”

  “I’ve been here the past ten years,” I said.

  “And before that?”

  I shrugged. “Different places.”

  “I would have expected to find you in Luminaux,” the Archangel went on. “Indeed, I did expect to find you there. I looked for you every time I was in the Blue City, but I always came up empty. But a farm? You never struck me as the agricultural sort.”

  “Maybe you never knew me as well as you thought,” I answered.

  He laughed at that, a low, indulgent sound. “Oh, I think I knew you very well indeed,” he replied. “And the instant I saw that girl’s face tonight—what’s her name, by the way?”

  “Sheba,” I said, my throat suddenly tight. Of course he had recognized Sheba. I should have thought of that before now.

  “The instant I saw Sheba’s face, I knew you must be nearby,” he continued. “Never did a girl look so much like her mother.”

  I took a short, swift breath. “She is my sister’s child, not mine,” I replied.

  He looked unconvinced. “How old is she?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Yes, and seventeen years ago—I remember quite distinctly!—you were pregnant with an angel’s child.”

  “It was eighteen years ago, and my baby died,” I said flatly. “Don’t you remember? A stillborn angel boy. I gave birth to him at Windy Point.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Of course I remember. But I thought you managed to get pregnant a second time.”

  “No,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Right after that, I gave up on angels altogether.”

  He responded with a light laugh. “And what a loss that was to all three angel holds!”

  “I’m sure you could find plenty of other angel-seekers to take my place.”

  “Oh, dozens of them—hundreds of them,” he agreed negligently. “But there was always something about you, Salome. A brilliance. A hard shine. I always thought you would have made a spectacular angel, if the god had thought to give you wings.”

  “From what I know of angels,” I replied in a polite voice, “I am pleased that he chose to make me mortal instead.”

  Raphael laughed again. “So this Sheba—this niece, as you call her—she was your sister’s child? Was I acquainted with your sister?”

  “Sheba is not your daughter, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said.

  He looked amused. “Well, it would be helpful to know that in advance,” he said. “In case, for instance, certain circumstances ever arose.”

  “If you ever try to take Sheba to your bed, I swear I will make you regret it.”

  Now he laughed even harder. “I don’t think it’s very wise of you to threaten the Archangel,” he said.

  “Sheba is going to stay clear of angels forever. She’s not going to make the mistakes that I made.”

  “And that her mother made? Am I right in guessing that her father was an angel—even if that angel was not me?”

  I was silent.

  “So it’s true,” he said. “And your sister—what was her name? I simply cannot place her. Does she look like you?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Very well, then, did she look like you?”

  “Somewhat. Ann was more fair in coloring. A little shorter. Her eyes were brown.”

  “And was fair Ann an angel-seeker as well?”

  I was silent for a long moment, but he waited with unshakable patience, obviously determined to learn the answer. “Ann wasn’t an angel-seeker, haunting the holds to find a lover,” I said at last. “As far as I know, she took only one angel to her bed. Sheba was his child.”

  “And the name of Ann’s angelic paramour?”

  I had to whisper. “Stephen.”

  Raphael threw his head back and laughed. The sound was so loud that I expected half the household to wake and come running to the kitchen. Little though I wanted to be caught having a private meeting with the Archangel, I thought I would relish the interruption. I wanted out of this conversation now.

  “Oh, but that’s rich,” the Archangel exclaimed. “Your sister stole Stephen right from under your nose! And bore his daughter! If Sheba had been an angel child, your humiliation must surely have been complete.”

  “Trust me, Raphael,” I said grimly, “it was complete nonetheless.”

  “We miss Stephen, at Windy Point,” Raphael said.

  I tried not to let my sudden sharp interest show on my face. I had had no news of Stephen for eighteen years. It had not occurred to me he might have relocated to some other hold. But I knew Raphael would withhold details if he thought I wanted them, so I pretended that I was not eager for every scrap of information he might let fall.

  Raphael continued, “He left for Monteverde—oh, twelve or fifteen years ago. Practically an insult, Saul says. I can understand wanting to join Gabriel at the Eyrie, for there is some honor in being in the Archangel’s entourage. But what is there to draw anyone to Monteverde?”

  “It is pretty enough,” I said, my voice indifferent. I had spent less time at Monteverde than at the other two angel holds, because I agreed with Raphael on this point. It was a much less exciting place, far from the exhilaration and commotion that swirled around any venue that the Archangel called home.

  But I rather thought Stephen had had his fill of excitement and commotion. I sometimes thought he would have been glad to leave Samaria altogether, if such an option existed.

  “It is pretty and dull and overrun with petitioners who find Monteverde entirely too easy to access,” Raphael replied. “Any petty Manadavvi landowner with some imaginary grudge can stride up to the hold and demand Ariel’s attention, and she has no choice but to listen politely. At least at Windy Point, we are safe from the intrusions of mortals. No one steps inside the hold without an angel’s invitation.”

  Very true—Windy Point was one of the most inaccessible settlements in all of Samaria. The hold was nestled inside an inhospitable mountain peak; if anyone had ever climbed it on his own two feet, I had never heard the story. An angel must fly you up there if you wanted to get in—and an angel must fly you down if you wanted to get out. When I was younger, it had never occurred to me that the second situation might someday be more urgent than the first.

  “You might have been a different kind of Archangel altogether if you had ruled from Monteverde instead of Windy Point,” I said. “I don’t think it would have harmed you any if you’d been forced to develop a common touch.”

  He seemed genuinely amused. “My dearest Salome, no accident of geography could ever have rendered me common,” he replied. “And I always had as much touch as I needed.”

  Suddenly I was so weary I didn’t think I could continue this edged conversation for another minute. If he was not going to talk about Stephen, and he was not going
to promise to keep his distance from Sheba, there was nothing else Raphael could say that held any interest for me whatsoever. Stepping carefully, so I did not brush against those silky golden wings, I pushed farther into the kitchen and grabbed the food items that were closest to hand. A half loaf of bread and a handful of dried fruit. You would have thought the conversation had turned my stomach, but I was still hungry. I had long ago been forced to give up the luxury of squeamishness.

  “I’m sure Thaddeus would tell you to make free of anything in the kitchen,” I told him. “Breakfast is always served very early in the morning, so you won’t have to linger long before setting off for Windy Point.”

  He was still smiling. “I hope we see you in the morning before we go. No doubt Saul would like to renew his acquaintance with you.”

  “No doubt he would,” I said dryly. “Good night, Raphael.”

  “Good night, Salome. I have enjoyed our little visit.”

  He probably had, I reflected, as I escaped out the door and up the stairs, munching as I went.

  If I had any control over the matter, it would be the last conversation I would ever have with the Archangel.

  With any Archangel.

  In the morning, trying to be unobtrusive about it, I lurked in the kitchen and the gardens, once again avoiding the dining area where everyone else gathered to make a fuss over the angels one last time. There was a great deal of laughter and excited conversation over breakfast, interspersed with snatches of song as our visitors offered prayers and praise for the meal. The weather, as one would expect after angels had been called in specifically to control it, was glorious—full sun, deep-dyed blue sky, the faintest whisper of wind.

  Perfect weather for flying. The sooner, the better.

  Finally the meal dragged to a close, and essentially the whole household emptied onto the front lawns to see the angels off. I crept around the side of the house and stood in the shadows, impatiently waiting for the angels to take wing and actually leave this place. I was pleased to note that Sheba was behaving extremely well this morning, standing a little apart with Eve and the older women, smiling at the visitors but not looking devastated at the thought they were about to depart. Ruth, on the other hand, was clinging to Hiram’s arm, practically forcing him to drag her through the mud as he strode to the middle of the field, looking for enough room to launch into flight. She was weeping; her face was blotched with what had to be a couple hours’ worth of tears. Neri, though she displayed a bit more decorum, also ran after the angels, calling out some final farewell. Saul turned to her and made a laughing reply, but he did not slow down or stop.

  Raphael didn’t even seem to notice that half a dozen women trailed behind him, inches from the feathers sliding so sinuously over the matted grass. He simply marched on a little faster, achieving a half run. The great wings spread, then began to flutter, then drove down hard in a swift, powerful spike. Suddenly he was airborne. For a moment, the sun was filtered through his golden wings and the whole world took on a delicious brightness; then he rose higher, and the sky was once again a stiff and empty blue. Shapes circled around him as Hiram and Saul flung themselves aloft, and the three angels quickly fell into a triangular flying pattern.

  “Good-bye! Good-bye! Come back to us!” the girls cried out, waving even more furiously and wiping tears from their cheeks.

  The angels flew higher, then performed a showy maneuver, sweeping around in formation and diving toward the ground again, merely to bedazzle the mortals watching. But they plummeted so rapidly and skimmed so close to the lawn that a few people shrieked and most of them scattered, ducking their heads and covering their eyes. I heard the windy, ruffled sound of their wings beating in perfect time.

  When they lifted themselves skyward again, one of them had acquired a burden. Saul had snatched Neri up in his arms and was carrying her with him, back to Windy Point.

  Three

  The weather continued exceptionally fine for the next two weeks. Like everyone else, I made excuses to get out of the kitchen, into the gardens or even all the way to the nearest field, merely to inhale that rich, dense, fertile green smell of growing things. Untroubled by clouds, the sun was exuberantly warm—uncomfortably so at times—but no one complained of the heat. No one complained about the aggressive, oversize insects that burst out of the dried mudslicks and feasted on livestock and humans alike. The rain had been chased away. What else mattered?

  Neri’s dramatic departure had been a source of endless speculation for the first week after the angels’ visit, and I supposed it would continue to be a topic among the younger girls for the rest of the year. On the part of the older women, sentiment was almost evenly divided between shock and envy, though I had the sense that even some of those who professed shock secretly experienced a little envy. To have snared the attention of an angel so completely that he could not bear to leave you behind! To have been claimed by an angel in such a public fashion! Surely Saul was infatuated with our Neri. Surely he would shower her with all sorts of gifts and lavish upon her an intense and poetic affection.

  It was impossible to live in our society and not be aware of the fact that angels were notoriously inconstant lovers, and no one, not even Neri’s mother, voiced the hope that Saul had found a soul mate whom he would cherish for the rest of his life. But surely he would treat her well, for a time at least, and she would live in idle luxury among the angels at Windy Point. Perhaps she would have the supreme felicity of bearing an angel child, an event so rare and so longed for that to accomplish it would elevate Neri’s status forever.

  I said nothing during all these discussions. But I knew that Saul did not love Neri, that he would not treat her well, and that if she managed to get pregnant, she was far more likely to die in childbirth than to bear a living angel infant.

  I thought it probable that none of us would ever see Neri again, and if we did, we would hardly recognize her because she would be so changed. Beaten down and used up and nervous and hopeless and disappointed and ashamed.

  That was how most angel-seekers ended up, and those who spent any time in Windy Point were the most broken-down and wrung out of all.

  I was glad when the common conversation in the kitchen began to turn toward the festival in Laban, which was now only a week away. Hope Danfrees and her family were not the only neighbors who were planning to attend. It turned out that Thaddeus’s whole family would be going, and he had made it known that any of the farmhands were welcome to take a short holiday as long as enough people were left behind to care for the crops. Maybe a dozen of the laborers and kitchen staff had decided to undertake the half-day trek to Laban, and now there was a great deal of jockeying for a place in one of the carts and wagons that would be pressed into service. David had already secured Sheba’s promise to ride with him. He was one of the few young men I trusted, and so I would not insist on sitting in the wagon with them for that whole long ride, but would accompany Hope as I had originally planned. That would leave room for Ruth and Hara—and perhaps a couple of their young men—to join David and Sheba. All in all, it was shaping up to be a most agreeable outing. Even I was looking forward to it.

  “Do you suppose there will be dancing at the festival?” Hara asked one afternoon as nine of us worked in the kitchen on baking day. Someone had asked this question every day for the past five.

  “Surely there will be dancing,” a girl named Adriel replied, as someone had replied every day. “There’s that big central square in Laban. Surely they’ll turn it into a dance floor.”

  “I’m going to buy red ribbon,” Sheba said. “Narrow ribbon and wide ribbon and ruched ribbon. And I’m going to make a white dress and cover it with red bows.”

  “I’m going to find a bakery,” Lazarene said. “I want one of those sweet cakes with the creamy filling.”

  “I want to buy a necklace,” someone else said.

  “I’m going to get scented cream. Look at my skin—you’d think I was harvesting crops with my bare hands
.”

  “Do you suppose Jansai merchants will be in Laban?”

  “Do you suppose there will be Edori traders?”

  “Do you think any angels will come?”

  I looked up at that last question, not sure if Ruth or Adriel had been the one to ask. Laban was not all that far from Windy Point. I didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before that angels might fly down from the mountaintop to enjoy the festival.

  “Maybe there will be dozens of angels in Laban,” someone else said.

  “Maybe Neri will be with them.”

  So then, of course, the conversation returned to our missing friend. I wonder what Neri is wearing today. Do you suppose Saul has bought her rings and necklaces and beautiful new dresses? I wonder what Neri is eating. I bet Neri doesn’t have to work in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables and frying the meat! Maybe Neri is reclining in a chair, and Saul is singing to her, and someone is brushing out her hair, and someone else is rubbing lotion onto her hands and feet. . . .

  I don’t know what came over me, but suddenly I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had been sitting at the huge center table, rolling out pie dough, but now I came to my feet and swept the whole room with one irritated glance.

  “You think it is so romantic to take an angel as your lover,” I said. “You imagine being caught up in an angel’s arms and carried all the way to Windy Point. Have you ever been at the angel hold? Have you ever been picked up and flown halfway across the province? Do you know what it’s like? No?”

  I stepped up to Adriel and, grabbing a handful of her long brown hair, I whipped it around her eyes and face. “When you fly with an angel, he clutches you tightly against his chest because he would not want you to fall several thousand feet to your death. He’s holding you so close that it’s hard to breathe—but you’re afraid to protest because you don’t want him to let you go. He flies so high above the land that you’re utterly freezing. You can’t feel your toes and your face is streaked with tears and you can’t wipe your nose because you can’t get a hand free, and you know you have never looked so ugly in your life. But you don’t care, because you’re so terrified you can scarcely think. You can’t look down or you would start screaming. The world is so far away and the wings holding you aloft are so fragile. You cannot imagine that you will survive the flight.”