Angelica

by Sharon Shinn

  “I would be happy to share your meal,” he said formally. “I regret that I have nothing to offer to share.”

  The Edori laughed. “Your company, angelo, your company! And, if you choose to stay afterward, your voice as we sing around the campsite tonight. That would be a splendid gift.”

  Was he serious? Did he really expect the Archangel-elect to lead a few Edori ballads after the meal was over? Then again, perhaps none of these people recognized him. It was a fact he’d never seen any of them before. “My name is Gabriel Aaron, and I lead the host at the Eyrie,” Gaaron said. “People generally call me Gaaron.”

  “Then that is how I shall introduce you,” the other man replied. “I am Bartholomew of the Lohoras. I am eating with friends tonight. Let me take you to their fire.”

  So Gaaron followed Bartholomew to a big fire where there seemed to be a dozen people gathered together, all cooking and talking and trying not to stare at the angel in their midst. Bartholomew gave all their names, but Gaaron only caught one or two, and could not have assigned them to the relevant face if he had been quizzed five minutes later. One of the women was named Susannah, and for a moment his heart leapt up, but she was holding a baby that looked like her, and she was here with the Lohoras. Gaaron did not think Jovah would have chosen for him a woman who was already wife and mother.

  “Sit, please, Gaaron, and someone will serve you. Will this chair do for you? No, I suppose not. I do not know how you can be comfortable with those wings dragging behind you, but I suppose—ah, yes, thank you, Eleazar, that stool looks like just the right thing—”

  In a few moments, Gaaron was seated on a rickety stool before the fire, a battered metal plate on his knees and a circle of smiling Edori faces watching him from around the fire. Someone sang a quick prayer of grace, and then they all began eating. The food was surprisingly good.

  “I would compliment the cook, whoever she is,” Gaaron said to the young woman sitting beside him. She was pretty and smiling, and he wondered if all Edori sat so close to their friends around the fire, or if she had deliberately drawn her own chair as near to him as she could get.

  “I am one of them,” she said with a sideways look and another smile. “I like to cook. What do angels generally eat? I can make almost anything.”

  “Oh—we eat what I imagine everyone eats,” Gaaron said. “Meat and vegetables and bread. Cakes and pastries.”

  “I love pastries—those wonderful, sweet cherry-and-nut breads that you can get in places like Luminaux,” she said wistfully. “You have to live in the city to get such luxuries.”

  He could not help but smile. “And do you like luxuries?”

  “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. “Every single one of them.”

  “Keren is a Luminauzi at heart,” said a woman on the other side of the lovely girl. This one, he was pretty sure, was the one named Susannah. “She loves beautiful things. Craves them.”

  “I would live in Luminaux if everybody else would,” Keren said, something of a pout on her full lips. “But no one else will stay, and I do not want to be the only Edori in the Blue City.”

  Susannah lifted a hand to stroke Keren’s fine black hair. At a guess, Gaaron would put the young Keren down as a vain and shallow flirt, but this Susannah seemed to feel a genuine affection for her. “And what would we do without you if you chose to stay in Luminaux?” Susannah asked her gently. “You must live with the Edori always, and pick up such luxuries as you may upon the road.”

  Keren wrinkled her nose, then smiled and turned her attention back to the angel. “What kinds of luxuries do you have in the Eyrie?” she wanted to know. “Do you eat little pastries every day? Do you dine on plates of gold or silver? Do your women dress in silk?”

  Involuntarily, Gaaron looked across Keren’s head and met Susannah’s gaze. The other woman smiled and raised her shoulders in a tiny shrug. What are you going to do with the envious young? she seemed to say.

  “We have some extravagances, I suppose,” Gaaron said. “Though we are nothing like the Manadavvi. Have you ever traveled north to Gaza? There some of the wealthy own so much land that a man cannot walk from one end of his property to the other in a single day. I have seen Manadavvi who use diamonds as buttons for their shirts. And, in fact, at a Manadavvi household I have eaten off of gold plates. But not at the Eyrie. We are too busy working to concern ourselves too much with niceties.”

  Keren seemed disappointed by the conclusion of Gaaron’s remarks, though she had been enthralled with the description of the Manadavvi. Susannah stirred and looked more interested, though. “What kind of work do the angels do?” she asked. “I admit, I am not used to considering you engaged in hard labor.”

  He grinned at her over Keren’s head. “Well, sometimes by the end of the day I feel that is exactly what I have been doing,” he said. “But mostly I am just talking. The merchants and the farmers come to have me settle disputes. Sometimes there is a disagreement about who owns what land, sometimes they need a mediator to help them reach some kind of trading arrangement. The Archangel and the leader of the host at Monteverde send me news and questions. The oracles tell me of pronouncements Jovah has made. And, of course, any number of people can visit the Eyrie to ask for a weather intercession—”

  But he had lost her attention. “ ‘Jovah’,” she repeated. “I have heard that is how you angels name the god.”

  He was utterly confused. “That is his name.”

  “We call him Yovah. All Edori do.”

  It was as if someone had told him his sister’s name was not Miriam, or his own name was not Gabriel. He could not at first credit it. “That is—but how can you call him by a name that is not his?”

  Susannah was smiling. Keren, on the other hand, looked completely bored. “I imagine Yovah has many names,” Susannah remarked. “I imagine people see him in many different ways. But he is wise, and he knows who calls on him and what they need from him, and he never fails to answer a prayer no matter how he is addressed.”

  “To me the god has always been direct and unchanging,” Gaaron said a little stiffly.

  Susannah smiled again. “To the Edori, very few things are simple or unchanging,” she remarked. “I am sure our way of life would be very strange for you—and your way of life very strange to us.”

  “I wouldn’t mind learning the angel way of life,” Keren interjected. “Even if you do work all the time. I would still like to see what the life is like.”

  “Would you?” Susannah asked softly. “I don’t think I would like it at all. I would miss my family and my freedom if I were living in one of those stone holds. I have not been to Monteverde, but I have seen Windy Point. From a distance. From below. It is so high up you can barely view it from the ground. And it looks so cold and so unfriendly that it makes me shiver.”

  “Windy Point is placed rather inhospitably,” Gaaron acknowledged, “though it is a welcoming enough hold once you get inside it. And, like Windy Point, the Eyrie is hard to reach, for an angel must fly you up to the very top. But it is quite a beautiful place, full of warmth and music. You might like it better than you think.”

  Keren had turned her big eyes on Susannah. “Not that you are any more likely to go to either one of those places than I am,” she scoffed.

  “True,” Susannah said. “I just want to less.”

  Before Gaaron could think of an answer to that, the people sitting around the campfire began to shift closer together. He looked up and noticed that others were joining them from their smaller fires. Keren edged even closer to Gaaron, then smiled up at him when her arm brushed against his.

  “What is happening now?” he asked her.

  “Oh, everyone is coming together to sing,” she said. “We have done so every night that the clans have traveled together. You could join in, if you like,” she added naively. “Everyone’s voice is welcome.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and dared not look at Susannah at that point. But he could feel her smiling again. Or st
ill.

  Bartholomew was escorting the others over to Gaaron for their own introductions, so he rose to his feet and said polite hellos to a collection of men and women he would never recognize again. To their credit, he thought, they did not make much fuss over him. They treated him with the casual friendliness they might extend to anyone who happened to wander up to their campfire at night, angel or no. He could not decide if he found the lack of ceremony refreshing or just a little annoying.

  The others reseated themselves, but Bartholomew stayed on his feet. “Let us thank Yovah for his many gifts this day,” the Edori said. He offered a prayer in a language that Gaaron did not know, but he listened appreciatively to the simple melody and the fine voice that delivered it. A chorus of Edori voices came in on the amen, much as angel voices might have in the same situation, and Gabriel appreciated that as well. Perhaps he would have something in common with his Edori bride after all, if they both loved music.

  Keren had jumped to her feet, tugging on Susannah’s arm. “Sing with me,” she demanded, and Susannah obligingly stood beside her. “That song that Ruth sang the other night. I will start it.”

  Keren’s voice was high and full of emotion, though not particularly strong, and Gaaron settled himself more comfortably to listen to it. He did not know this song, either, but at least this time he could understand the words. And the melody was not difficult. By the time she had sung it straight through twice, he would have been able to match her on it, note for note, had he been so inclined.

  But then she skipped into the next verse, and Susannah’s voice joined to Keren’s, and Gaaron lost all inclination to do anything but listen.

  Susannah had a rich alto voice, and it wrapped around Keren’s sugar-sweet voice like a decadent layer of cream. The song was a tale of lost love, found love, everlasting love, and the twined voices made the story seem tragic and then triumphant. Keren’s thin soprano was given extra depth and texture by Susannah’s smooth alto, though the lower voice never intruded on the brilliance of the higher, just filled it out and made it glorious. Gaaron listened, amazed. He hoped the song would never come to an end.

  It did, of course, but instantly someone else called for Susannah to join in a duet. This time her partner was a young boy, maybe fifteen years old, whose reedy baritone could never have sustained any song all on its own. But Susannah, singing the harmony above the melody line, drew the other voice upward, lent it strength and range. Everyone around the campfire applauded heartily when the piece was over, leading Gaaron to suspect that this was one of the first times this number had been done in public, or at least successfully.

  “Linus! One more!” someone called out, but the boy shook his head and quickly took his seat.

  “Susannah! Over here!” a woman called, and Susannah stepped a few paces over. This new piece was more lively, and the other singer’s voice was almost as strong as Susannah’s, so it was quite dizzyingly beautiful to listen to. Their voices were nearly matched in range, so the harmonies were close, and at times the two lines became unison. The effect was of a length of bronze velvet folding and unfolding, revealing first one rich layer, then two, then just a single unbroken swatch of gorgeous color.

  They finished the song on a few quick key changes, then burst into breathless laughter at the end. As before, the performance was greeted with acclaim, and the two women bowed at the crowd, then at each other, then at the crowd again, clearly enjoying themselves.

  Gaaron turned to Keren as casually as he could. “Your Susannah appears to be much in demand,” he said. “Of course, she has an excellent voice.”

  “Oh, everyone likes to pair up with Susannah, because she makes even the worst singer sound good,” Keren said carelessly. “At the Gathering, all the old women with their cracked voices and all the little girls who can hardly hold a note, they all want Susannah to sing with them. I don’t know what they do for harmony the rest of the year.”

  Bartholomew, who had moved to the angel’s other side, now spoke up fondly. “Yes, the Lohoras can hear that lovely voice any night they choose, but the Tachitas must wait for happy fate to unite them again with their daughter.”

  “Tachitas?” Gaaron said sharply. “What do—are the Lohoras friends of the Tachitas? Do you travel together often?”

  Bartholomew shrugged. “When we encounter them, which we do from time to time. It makes Susannah happy to be again with her brothers and her father. And her nephews. So we travel with that clan when we can.”

  “Susannah—she is originally of the Tachitas?” Gaaron demanded, feeling his face heat and his bones seem to swell. His tongue, too, had expanded, and made his words thick and stupid. “And—you say—she has nephews? No children of her own?”

  “Not yet,” Keren said softly. “But we all hope they will come soon.”

  I must speak with Susannah, Gaaron wanted to say. I must tell her of the life in store for her. But that sounded lunatic; he could not make such an announcement to Bartholomew. Sweet Jovah singing, he could not make such an announcement to Susannah herself. What would he say to her? He had given this particular conversation no thought at all in the past weeks.

  “Susannah!” a lazy voice called out, and a beautiful young man came to his feet. “Sing with me.”

  His mind busy with his problem, Gaaron still had attention to spare for the drama going on before him. Was it his imagination, or did Susannah hesitate a moment before moving through the circle to stand at the side of this handsome creature? Did her face lose its smiling look as she gazed up at him? Was his own smile coaxing and hopeful?

  Was this the man Keren hoped would someday father Susannah’s babies? Who was he? Who was he to Susannah?

  They began to sing, and for a moment, Gaaron forgot all his questions. Clearly these were two who had sung together often, for they caught each other’s cues and line breaks. They laid voice against voice like palm to palm, with an equal, steady, pleasurable pressure. The man’s voice was nearly as rich as hers; he sang like a sybarite, one who enjoyed any delight presented to him, the more physical the better. As they sang, the young man watched Susannah, teasing her, wooing her with his eyes, lavishing her with attention. Susannah tried to duck her head, to turn away, but that small smile reappeared around the corners of her mouth, adding a gaiety to her performance that the song, quite strictly, did not require. It was a courtship clear enough, and Gaaron felt a peculiar and unpleasant sensation curl through his stomach as he watched.

  Why had Jovah chosen as his bride someone who loved another man?

  When that song ended, Susannah sat down and steadfastly refused to sing again, though she had many additional offers. Other singers rose to their feet, alone or in pairs, and the music was agreeable, but not particularly memorable. Not only that, everyone was getting tired. Children had fallen asleep in their mothers’ laps, and lovers were drowsing in each others’ arms. Even the final singers sounded exhausted.

  Bartholomew rose to his feet and a stir went around the campfire. “I’m for bed,” he announced and the others murmured their agreement. “I will see you all again in the morning, my brothers and sisters.”

  Everyone rose and stretched and said good nights. Keren and a stern-looking older woman came to Gaaron’s side. The older woman eyed him with a measuring look.

  “I would like to be able to offer you the hospitality of our tent, but I’m not certain you would fit,” she said truthfully. “We are crowded as it is, and if Susannah joins us tonight—”

  “Though she might stay with Paul again,” Keren piped up.

  “And she might not,” the woman snapped. “And if she sleeps here tonight with Dathan—”

  Gaaron spared a moment to wonder how many men Susannah might be sleeping with at any one time.

  “Then we would have no room for the angel, who, it seems to me, might need more space than we have to offer.”

  Gaaron grinned. “I do not want to be any trouble,” he said. “I have slept out in the open before. If you have
an extra blanket, I can make myself comfortable.”

  “Or we can have Eleazar pitch a tent for you,” the older woman said. “We have a spare and it is no bother.”

  “Yes, but he does not want to sleep all alone,” Keren objected. “Maybe Eleazar or Dathan would share his tent? Or Amram, even, he would be happy to.”

  What was this? Now he would have to take the overflow from this overfull tent into his own little shelter? Why did they not pitch enough tents to begin with, if they had spares lying around?

  “Bartholomew, if we had thought to ask him,” the older woman said thoughtfully. Then, to Gaaron, she said, “How many are you used to sharing your pallet with? I am sure we can find that many willing to spend the night at your side.”

  Gaaron opened his mouth, closed it, considered, and spoke carefully. “I am very sure you are trying to do me honor,” he said gravely. “I don’t entirely understand your customs. I am used to sleeping alone. I have two rooms in the Eyrie that are mine, and no one is there except at my invitation.”

  The two women stared at him as if he had said he usually painted his body blue. Actually, that statement might have earned him less shock. “You sleep alone—always?” Keren said at last. “By choice? But aren’t you—how can you—but aren’t you afraid in the night when you wake and hear no one breathing? When you cannot put out a hand and touch your sister or your lover or your friend? Don’t you worry that there is no one in the world alive but you?”

  “Such fears have not occurred to me,” Gaaron said kindly. “But I am supposing that you all sleep together in bunches? For comfort?”

  “Because that is how people sleep,” Keren replied, and the woman beside her nodded.

  “I appreciate your concern for me,” Gaaron said. “I will happily sleep alone. If you wish to set up a tent for me, I will sleep there. Otherwise, I am quite content on a blanket before the fire. I would prefer that, in fact, since it is late and everyone is tired.”

  The two women exchanged glances, and then the older one shrugged. “I will get you a blanket,” she said. “Tell Keren if there is anything else you require.”