Archangel

by Sharon Shinn

  She gave her girlish laugh. “Sometimes I don’t think it’s so very harmonious even now,” she said.

  “No,” he agreed. “I feel that we daily slip farther and farther from the ideal of fraternity and interdependence that Jovah expects of us. There are factions among the Manadavvi, among the Jansai—and yet, how much worse would it be, do you think, if there were no fear of the god-at all? What would keep the Jansai from ravaging all of us? What would keep the Manadavvi from raiding each other, stealing land and serfs and gold from their neighbors? What would keep the angels from turning on each other or from using their powers to selfish ends? If I did not believe in Jovah’s wrath, could I not even now fly to Semorrah and tell Lord Jethro that I wanted all his gold and all his bolts of silk and linen, and the hand of his daughter in marriage, and that if he did not do my bidding, I would cause the river to rise and flood him and everyone who lived there? There will always be powerful men who are tempted to misuse their power, and the threat of a divinity with even greater strength is all that keeps them in check.”

  Her fine brows had drawn together as she attempted to follow his argument. “But you already have a wife,” she pointed out. “You could not marry Lord Jethro’s daughter. Although I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He grinned. Metaphorical and ethical speculation was wasted on the literal-minded Judith. “In any case,” he said, “I do believe in Jovah’s power, and so I try not to misdirect my own.”

  She smiled at him sweetly. “Oh, you,” she said with great affection. “You could never do anything bad.”

  He thought of the cadres of angels singing for rain, singing for drought, over scattered locations in Samaria. “Could I not?” he murmured. “I may be engaging in questionable practices even as we speak.”

  She asked the rare insightful question. “Really? Something to do with why you sent Obadiah to Breven?”

  “To Gaza,” he corrected. “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “No, Nathan went to Gaza,” she said. “Obadiah is in Jordana. I know because I asked him to bring me back a mother-of-pearl comb from Breven, and he said he would if he had time, but he didn’t think he would.”

  Gabriel was frowning blackly. “So. That’s why Nathan didn’t bother telling me he was leaving—This has got to stop.”

  “What has to stop? Nathan going to Gaza? He was just there for a month and you didn’t mind.”

  He shook his head impatiently. Impossible to believe she didn’t know the situation, since everyone did, but he was not up to explaining it to her if she really didn’t. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with him later, when he’s back. It’s one more thing …” He let his voice trail off and stared somewhat morosely before him. One more damn thing to trouble him. First Rachel leaving without a farewell, then Nathan sneaking off to conduct his desperate, doomed romance… .

  Judith had dropped to her knees and crept suddenly closer to the angel’s stool. She laid one hand on his knee and with the other hesitantly smoothed back his hair. “I hate to see you so sad,” she said in a low, anxious voice. “Don’t they all know how much you have on your mind? Nathan, Rachel—all they do is make things harder for you, when you’ve got so much worrying you already.”

  “Judith—” he said, half-raising his hand to brush hers aside. But now she had lifted both hands to his temples and was rubbing the bones of his forehead and cheeks. He was too tired to fight her, and the massage felt so good. He shut his eyes and let her smooth away his tension, let her fingers work their way slowly back across the rounded planes of his skull. She had edged even nearer; he could feel the heat of her stomach where it rested against his outer thigh. The smell of her perfume was stronger now and even more disturbing.

  When she kissed him, he was not entirely surprised. He even shut his eyes more tightly, knowing that the minute he opened them he would have to push her away, end all this. Her mouth was persuasive on his, incredibly soft; she nibbled his thin lips with her own full ones, brushing her mouth from side to side over his. Her fingers had traveled back to his face and now lay insistently against his cheekbones. He felt his clenched jaw muscles loosen, felt his mouth open under hers.

  And he pulled away, suddenly and completely, snatching her hands in his before she could fall forward or back, before she could grab for his shoulders or his face. Her eyes were huge with desire; she stared at him with naked want.

  “Gabriel,” she whispered, and tried to free her hands.

  “No,” he said. He made his voice as decisive as he could, though he did not feel as if he could infuse it with any moral indignation. “Judith, this must stop here.”

  “I love you,” she said, still whispering. “I always have.”

  “I feel great affection for you, Judith,” he said, still in that firm tone, “but there can be nothing more than that between us. None of—this.”

  She didn’t ask him why not. She knew. “But you don’t love her,” she said in that breathless voice. “She doesn’t love you. It wouldn’t be wrong for you to love me—”

  “It would be,” he said gently, “and we both know it.”

  Unexpectedly, she wrenched her hands free. She sat back on her heels and grew animated. “But I love you!” she cried. “I would do anything for you! I would not leave you when you asked me to stay—I would not shame you before your visitors—I would comfort you when you were hurt and feed you when you were hungry and love you every day—And what does she do for you? She flouts you, she laughs at you, she cares for nothing that you care about. Look at us, Gabriel!” She flung her arms wide, raised her chin so that he could better admire her sweet, even features. “I come from angel stock, I understand angel ways, I would be whatever you wanted me to be—and I love you. Think of her—half-slave, half-Edori, and all hateful. Which of us suits you best? Which would you rather come home to? Which of us could you truly love?”

  True, it was all true; and yet, as she had bidden him do, he conjured up a picture of the rebellious, furious, unpredictable woman he had married at the direction of the god. Judith was willing to give him everything, and Rachel had never indicated that she wanted to give him anything, and yet—and yet—Since the day he had met her, ragged and shackled and defiant, he had been unable to put her out of his mind for more than a few minutes at a time.

  “I don’t know that it’s a matter of love, Judith,” he said soberly. “It is something as immutable as any of the god’s laws. She belongs to me. Whether or not she chooses to accept me, I belong to her. There is no changing that. It simply is.”

  A moment more she stared at him, her face anguished and her whole attitude one of supplication, and then she jumped to her feet and went running from the room. Gabriel sat for a long time on the stool where she had left him, somberly watching the door as it swayed on its hinges, and thinking he must really rise to close it before someone else walked in. He was so tired that it was nearly an hour before he could make that much effort, and even then, after dropping the lock home, he rested a moment against the door frame until he had gathered enough strength to walk back across the room.

  That had been bad enough, but there was worse to come: Three days before his meeting, he had an unannounced visit from the Archangel.

  The two men had not met since the day of the wedding, and their last conversation, in Gabriel’s mind at least, was perfectly fresh. So it was with some constraint that he greeted Raphael in one of the larger reception rooms on the middle level of the labyrinth.

  “Angelo,” Gabriel said, nodding as he entered the room. The great gold angel turned to him and smiled warmly. The effect was of sudden sunlight after days of grayness; but then, charm of manner had always been Raphael’s strongest form of glamour.

  “Gabriel,” Raphael said, crossing the room to take his hand. Gabriel allowed it, but pulled away as soon as he could. “It is good to see you after so many weeks—But how is this? You look quite exhausted.”

  “Ill-considered use of my
time,” Gabriel answered briefly. “You’re looking well, of course.”

  Raphael laughed. Indeed, as always, he looked superb. The luxurious golden locks, the deep golden tan, the tawny eyes, the huge flecked wings—everything about him glowed with its usual rich radiance. And yet—

  “Preparing myself for a life of leisure,” the Archangel replied lightly. “When you assume my duties and the center of the world shifts to Velora.”

  “Velora hardly seems like a place designed to be the center of the world,” Gabriel said mildly.

  Raphael laughed again. “Does it not? These days we hear many stories of the stirrings afoot in your small city.”

  “Do you? I can’t imagine what.”

  “Your angelica,” Raphael said. “It seems she is making her imprint upon the city—or upon the city’s castouts.”

  Gabriel smiled slightly. Even less than he wanted to talk to Raphael did he want to talk to Raphael about Rachel. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Her school. She has only made a small start on it so far, but I believe she has great ambitions. I confess it seems a worthy cause to me.”

  “But entirely worthy! We applaud her from every city and enclave. Will she be traveling to set up similar institutions across the land?”

  “Once this one is stable, perhaps she will,” Gabriel said somewhat stiffly. “I don’t know all her plans.”

  “Could I ask her all the details? It is one of the reasons I stopped here today, to talk with her and learn what she could tell me.

  Worse and worse. “I don’t believe she’ll be available for the rest of the day,” Gabriel said.

  “No? Is she in Velora, perhaps? I could go to the school and meet with her there.”

  “No, she’s not in Velora.”

  Raphael’s voice took on a note of concern. “Is she ill, then? I hope not. Is it a fever?”

  “No, not a fever—I mean, she’s not ill at all. She’s just unavailable.”

  Raphael’s face took on a quizzical expression. “She has not been locked in her room, has she? Really, Gabriel—”

  Gabriel gave a short laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “She’s not here.”

  “Not here? Where can she be, with such a few short days remaining before the Gloria?”

  “She’s traveling.”

  “To?”

  “Places she wished to visit.”

  Raphael laughed lightly. “Really, Gabriel, you needn’t be so evasive. I am asking out of idle curiosity with absolutely no intended malice—”

  True, maybe; true, probably, and yet Gabriel stubbornly refused to give him the information. “She’s visiting friends,” he said. “She’ll be back in a few days. You can return then—or wait and address her at the Gloria, if you prefer, though I imagine all of us will be somewhat busy then.”

  “No doubt,” Raphael said. “You and Rachel at least will become quite industrious then. I, of course, will be the one who suddenly has excess time on his hands.”

  “I am sure you can find useful employment for yourself,” Gabriel said, aware that the words sounded unsympathetic but unable to come up with anything better.

  “Oh, I am sure of it,” Raphael said, looking at him in some amusement. “I look forward to the day you take on the duties of the office of Archangel.”

  “Then you have changed your mind considerably since the last time you were here,” Gabriel said bluntly.

  Raphael made a graceful moue which could, Gabriel supposed, be taken as apologetic. “We both spoke hotly and perhaps foolishly,” Raphael said. “But I am convinced we both have only the interests of our world at heart. Let us cry ‘friends’ and forget all that.”

  Gabriel toyed with the idea of saying, How could I possibly forget? but decided to be more diplomatic. “Very well. I don’t want to be warring with you—”

  “Warring with me!” Raphael murmured. “Gabriel—”

  “And I want the transition to go as smoothly as possible. I would appreciate your support.”

  “Of course you have it. If you would also care for my advice, I have a little of that.”

  “Certainly.”

  Raphael leaned forward, as if to whisper a secret. “Do not antagonize the powerful mortals,” he said. “You may not respect them, but if they are unruly, they can make your life difficult.”

  Gabriel drew back, frowning slightly. “I have set out to antagonize no one,” he said. “If anything, they have shown themselves far from willing to deal with me.”

  “And you have responded with threats and displays of temper! Gabriel, that is no way to ensure a smooth transition.”

  For a moment he was puzzled—and then, suddenly enlightened, he was reprehensibly amused. “Oho! So this is not just a chance social call you’re making as you happen to be in the vicinity of the Eyrie? Let me guess—Were you called to Breven or possibly even the Manadavvi holdings, by angry tales of storm and flood?” He flung his arms out to indicate clouds, rainfall, inclement weather. “And let me hazard an even more indelicate guess. After soothing whichever angry leader you spoke to, did you spring aloft and try to reverse the elements? Turn back the snow, or coax forth the rain? But you had no luck, did you, Raphael? It has been some time now since you have been able to control the weather, has it not?”

  Something ugly flashed across the Archangel’s face, an expression so fleeting it was hard to decipher. Fury, fear, hatred; one of those, or all. “At least I don’t waste my time and power playing stupid games with the clouds and raindrops,” Raphael sneered.

  “Then what is it you do waste your time on?” Gabriel said softly. “For I have it on good authority that you cannot call a thunderbolt from Jovah’s hand, either.”

  Now the expression was clearer—absolute rage. “I was making a point to Malachi of Breven, and it suited me to summon no lightning,” Raphael said icily. “You would be very foolish to extrapolate from that the idea that I could not call down the lightning if I wished.”

  Then do it, Gabriel wanted to say; but what he actually said was even worse. Still speaking in a soft, even voice, he said, “I find it difficult to understand why you are so reluctant to give up the trappings of power when no divine power actually courses through you. If you no longer communicate with the god, why do you continue to want to serve him?”

  Since there was no possible answer to that question, it was perhaps fortunate that at this juncture the door opened and Judith stepped inside. Gabriel had not seen her since that disastrous interlude in his room several days before, and he was surprised to see her now; but she bore a small tray of food and drink in her hands, and kept her eyes on the floor before her.

  “Hannah said the Archangel was here, and would need to be refreshed after a long flight,” she said in a monotone. “She told me to bring this tray to you.”

  Of the two angry angels, Raphael made the quickest recovery. “Thank you, dear girl,” he said, swinging round to face her and turn on some of the charm that had not worked on Gabriel. “I am quite thirsty indeed. Oh, it’s you, Judith,” he said, smiling at her as she came closer. “It’s always such a pleasure to see your lovely face.”

  The face was lifted to his and fleetingly lightened with a smile. Ariel had told Gabriel years ago that Judith was an angel-seeker, but he had not quite believed it. And a few nights ago she had convinced him that her regard for him was genuine. Yet she had always liked Raphael, and Raphael had never been known to discourage the attentions of pretty girls.

  “Do take your time refreshing yourself before you must leave,” Gabriel said, faintly stressing the last three words as he headed for the door. “If there is anything else you need, I’m sure Judith or Hannah can get it for you. Excuse me, now, however—I have much to do.”

  “Certainly—I have no wish to keep you,” Raphael replied. Judith did not even look up as Gabriel exited the room and closed the door behind him. He strode away as rapidly as possible, working off some of his tension and his own concealed anger. Only later did it occur to him that it might not
have been a good idea to leave alone in one room the two people who, at the moment, had almost no incentive to wish him well.

  It was only possible for Rachel to leave because Naomi had promised she would come to the Gloria. In fact, she told Rachel, a good number of Edori were planning to attend the Gloria for the first time in almost a decade, to see one of their own lead the masses.

  “Have you ever been to a Gloria?” Rachel asked.

  “No. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “But you do know where the Plain of Sharon is?” Rachel asked somewhat anxiously.

  Naomi laughed at her. “I know where every plain and mountain in the whole of Samaria is!” she exclaimed. “As do you, as does any Edori child. Have faith, allali girl, I will be able to find you.”

  “It’s just that—I hate to leave you—and I will be so busy at the Gloria. Will I have time to talk to you then?”

  “All right. I’ll come to you in Velora a few days before the singing. Will that satisfy you? And I’ll ride with you to the Plain of Sharon, and dress you, and braid your hair. You can sleep in my tent the night before the great day dawns, if you choose not to sleep with your husband. Will that please you?”

  Rachel hugged her. “Yes—it will satisfy me, it will please me,” she whispered into the dark hair. “But come soon. I am lonely already, and I have not even left you.”

  But eventually she was able to tear herself away. Matthew had already packed the black and the palomino—with lighter loads than the horses had carried from Luminaux, since Naomi and Luke had agreed to transport all their heavier and more awkward bundles for them. Rachel had wrapped the silver flute in five layers of silk and adjured Naomi numerous times to treat this bundle with special care, but the wooden demonstration pipe she had slipped in her own pocket to carry back personally. She thought she could while away some of the dreary miles of traveling if she learned to play it along the way.