Angel-Seeker (17 page)

“I will,” she said, setting down the glass and straightening up. “I hope you feel very much better in the morning.”

And as she stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her, she realized that she had never been so happy. Frail, helpless, and fevered he might be, but the angel Obadiah had thanked her by name. She had been right to come to Cedar Hills after all. This was the place she was meant to be.

Elizabeth was quite a celebrity that night in the dining hall as she recounted her tale of Obadiah's arrival and her role in caring for him. Everyone else had heard of the angel's fall and rescue, of course, for the story had been talked of on every street in Cedar Hills, but no one else had firsthand information about the disasters that had beset him. She was pelted with questions, for Obadiah was a newcomer to Cedar Hills, and not much was known about his looks or his personality.

“He seemed very sweet—he thanked me more than once—and he has the prettiest smile,” Elizabeth said. “But I think he was embarrassed to be seen like that. He said he must seem contemptible.”

“He's one of Magdalena's favorites,” Shiloh said.

“Oh? And just how do you know that?” someone asked skeptically.

Shiloh tossed her long blond hair. “I hear things. They have been close since the days she lived in Monteverde and he resided at the Eyrie. She's the one who wanted him brought to Cedar Hills.”

“Well, heavens, I suppose she can have friends if she wants to,” Faith said. “And who else are the angels friends with except each other?”

Shiloh shrugged. “But they're
close.
”

Faith rolled her eyes and turned back to Elizabeth. “So what else did he say? Why wouldn't he say how he got injured in the first place?”

They went over the same material three or four times, everyone chiming in with her theory as to what might have brought an angel down from the skies over Breven. Elizabeth was happy to speculate along with the rest of them, but she doubted they would ever find out.

She had not counted on being in the invalid's room the following day, just as Magdalena and Nathan arrived.

She had presented herself to Doris as soon as she arrived in the laundry room, and the old woman had grunted at her, “You're wanted up in the angel's room.”

Elizabeth's heart gave a little bounce. David had come looking for her, realizing that he had missed their tryst? Or—“Which angel?” she asked.

Doris glanced over with a look of wry amusement on her face. “That's true, how would you know, in a houseful of angels, once you'd gotten cozy with one or two of them?”

Elizabeth felt her face flame. “I haven't—”

Doris shrugged and waved her toward the door. “I meant the hurt one. Obadiah. The healer's back this morning and stopped by to ask if you could be spared to help her with the rebinding. Well, I knew you had your heart set on soaking the shirts this morning, but I said to myself, just this once, she can tear herself away from her true calling to help out a soul in need.”

It was the most humorous speech Elizabeth had ever heard the dry Doris utter, and she couldn't help giggling. “Thank you, ma'am,” she said. “I'll be back as soon as they're done with me.”

She flew up the stairs and knocked only perfunctorily before entering Obadiah's room. He was sitting up on the bed, his wings spread out behind him like some kind of grand robe of royalty. He
looked remarkably improved, even cheerful, though he was wincing away from the healer even as Elizabeth walked in. “Ouch! Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

“A little,” said the woman, who was bent over his wounded leg and slowly peeling back the bandages. “But I've never had the bad fortune of getting caught in the crossfire of some scorching weapon, so I can only speculate.”

“It's not like I did it on purpose,” he said indignantly. “But if I—Elizabeth! Good morning! Mary says I am much better today.”

Mary must be the healer's name. The woman glanced briefly in Elizabeth's direction. “Good. I need to rewrap all the wounds this morning. I was going to leave them for a day or two, but I want to try a new salve.”

Elizabeth stepped up to the bed and smiled shyly down at the patient. “You look better,” she said. “How's the pain?”

“The pain comes and goes,” he said. “But the fever has waned. I told Mary how good you were to me.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I only handed you a pill.”

Mary smiled at her. She appeared to be somewhere in her mid-fifties, though thin blond hair and a fair complexion gave her a look of sustained youth. “Sometimes it's just knowing someone is there to hand you that pill that makes all the difference. How long can you be spared from your duties?”

“As long as you need me.”

“Good. Let's get started.”

But they had barely finished unwrapping the bandage on Obadiah's leg before two more angelic forms came marching in. Elizabeth had only seen Nathan a few times before, and never close up, so she watched him covertly a few moments. He was a well-built, dark-haired, serious-looking angel with quite a magnificent wingspan. Magdalena swept in beside him.

“Oh, so you've finally deigned to come visit me, miserable creature that I am,” Obadiah greeted the host of Cedar Hills. “I've only been here—let's see, one whole day—and not a word of comfort or condolence do I hear from you. I think I'll pack my bags and head back to the Eyrie. I'm sure
they
would not leave a wounded angel to rot by himself in agony.”

Nathan had reached the side of the bed and was smiling down at Obadiah. Elizabeth could see why Faith was so infatuated with him. His brown eyes added seriousness to a clear-cut and somewhat haughty face, but the shape of his mouth was kind, and there was a general air of pleasantness about him. “I came by last night—twice—but you were sleeping. Probably pretending to sleep,” the leader added. “I had been told not to wake you, since sleep would do you more good than a rambling, inconsequential conversation with me. But had I known I would be abused for neglect, I'd have shouted in your ear and shaken you from whatever dreams you were enjoying, just for the pleasure of my company.”

“You look better,” Magdalena said. “How are you feeling?”

They discussed the state of his health for a few moments, while Mary and Elizabeth continued to work on the wounded leg. Elizabeth had glanced over at the healer, expecting that the two of them would remove themselves while the angels visited, but Mary just kept on working, cleanly and methodically, and Elizabeth said nothing. It wasn't as if she
wanted
to leave.

Nathan glanced around the room, then hauled two narrow-backed chairs to the bedside. “Now. Tell us what happened. Maga says you were secretive last night.”

Obadiah shrugged. “With a roomful of gossips, it seemed the best course. But I think this is news Gabriel needs to hear.”

Elizabeth concentrated on making herself invisible so she would not be dismissed at this interesting juncture.

Obadiah continued slowly. “I was only a couple of hours outside of Breven when I felt a sudden pain in my wing, and then a second one on my leg.”

“You were airborne?” Nathan interrupted.

“Yes. Flying relatively low. I didn't see where the shots came from, but there were definitely weapons of some sort and aimed deliberately at me. And, Nathan, they felt like fire.”

“The wounds they've left behind certainly look as if they could have been made by flames,” Magdalena said.

“Did you see any projectile—an arrow, a rock wrapped with some kind of flammable material?” Nathan asked.

“No. I saw nothing. I just felt fire. I managed to land and make it
to an oasis, where I stayed for a couple of days until I had recovered enough to attempt the trip back.”

“Which you were obviously not well enough to make,” Magdalena said.

He smiled over at her. “No, but I was fortunate to fall in with friends. Fall in—a joke, you see.”

“Not funny,” she murmured.

A little silence settled over the room. Nathan appeared to be thinking something over, and the other two angels were lost in their own thoughts. Mary had finished retying the bandage on the wounded leg—much improved, Elizabeth thought—and had now turned her attention to the broken fingers. Elizabeth doubted these really needed to be rewrapped at this point, but she could appreciate Mary's motives; neither of them wanted to leave the room and miss a word of the conversation. The cloth came away oh so slowly from first one finger and then another.

“This weapon,” Nathan said at last. “It just shot bolts of fire?”

“So it seemed,” Obadiah said apologetically. “I know it sounds impossible.”

“There was a weapon like that,” Nathan said, “in Raphael's hands. Shortly before the mountain came down.”

“I don't remember that,” Magdalena said.

“No, I don't either,” Obadiah said.

“But there was. Raphael and a few of his followers had these—sticks of fire—and they brought these with them to the Plain of Sharon on the day we were supposed to sing the Gloria. They were fairly powerful weapons. They could be aimed from a hundred yards away or more, and send a tree or a bush up in flames. Everyone was afraid of them.”

“Where would they have gotten weapons like that?” Obadiah demanded.

Nathan shrugged. “Left behind when the first settlers came to Samaria five hundred years ago?”

“The settlers brought no weapons with them at all,” Magdalena said. “They wanted to leave war and violence behind.”

“So we've been taught,” Nathan said. “Who knows what one or
two of them may have smuggled to a new land along with their clothes and their copy of the Librera?”

“And you say Raphael had these weapons?” Obadiah said. When Nathan nodded, he continued, “Then perhaps he left some of them behind with his Jansai allies. Malachi, perhaps.”

“Malachi perished on the mountain along with Raphael.”

“He might have bequeathed his—his firesticks to a nephew or a son.”

“So then you think it was Jansai who shot you from the sky?” Nathan asked.

“I was not two hours from Breven. Who else travels that desert and bears a great hatred for angels? But I didn't see them. I can't prove anything.”

“Jansai would be my first thought, too,” Nathan said.

“But the question would be,” Obadiah said softly, “why did they not come after me to make sure I was dead? If I had wounded an enemy, I would follow through on my spite.”

“They thought you
were
dead,” Magdalena said. “If you fell some distance, hurt and alone in the desert, they would not have expected you to survive. They don't realize how great an angel's regenerative powers are.”

“Even so, I should have died,” Obadiah said. “It was sheer luck I was close enough to water to drag myself there.”

“Gabriel has to know,” Nathan said.

“Yes,” Obadiah said, “but then what? We are already at odds with the Jansai. Who can we accuse, and what good would it do? I don't believe Uriah set any of his cohorts after me. Though it was clear from my visit there that any number of the Jansai would like to bring the three holds down, not just one random angel.”

“So the mood in Breven was unfriendly.”

“To put it mildly.”

“And Uriah was hostile?”

“No, Uriah was welcoming. I think he liked the idea that I would bargain with him, though I can't say we got very far. The first word out of his mouth was ‘Edori,' and that's not negotiable. But we might be able to strike a deal. I don't know. At any rate, he seemed to like
the thought that I would return to Breven and discuss alliances. That was the only real outcome of our conversation.”

“I can't send you back there in this condition.”

Obadiah laughed. “No, but I'll be well in a day or so. A week at the longest.”

“But if someone in Breven has a grudge against you—”

“What I think? Some bad-tempered, vengeful Jansai traveler had his hands on an exotic weapon, and he saw the shape of an angel flying overhead. More in a gesture of hatred than in any real attempt to do harm, he lifted the stick and aimed. He was probably as surprised as I was when the bolt struck home.”

“Two bolts,” Nathan said. “That argues intent to harm.”

“I still think it was—fortuitous, if you will. He got lucky. I got unlucky. I don't think he knows my face or was particularly hoping to bring me down.”

“But don't you think,” Magdalena said in a soft voice, “that he might start to worry once he thinks things over? A dead angel—surely that's something we would notice. Surely that's something we would avenge. He must be starting to dread the consequences, no matter how lucky he felt at the time.”

“Maga has a point,” Obadiah acknowledged. “And I don't think Gabriel's the only one who needs to know about this. If Uriah really does want an alliance with us, he won't be condoning—what would you call it?—angicide.”