Angelica (45 page)

“Good. If he keeps that down, we'll give him some more in a couple of hours,” Tirza said. “Let's take a look at the wound.”

She peeled back the blankets and studied the ugly burn for a few moments. She very gingerly spread its red edges
with a thick white paste, then just as carefully covered him back up. “Maybe that will help,” she said. “But it's going to take some time for a burn like that to clear up.”

“Is he going to die?” Miriam asked fearfully.

Tirza looked over at her. She'd lit four big fat candles and set them all around the tent. They didn't supply much warmth, and their light was unreliable, but it was enough for Miriam to see Tirza's face by. “I don't know,” she said. “I don't know how his body is built and how much he can withstand. I don't know how deep the burn went, or what vital parts of his body it might have wounded. He is alive now. So we will help him as much as we can.”

“You sleep first,” Miriam said. “I will watch him.”

Tirza nodded and lay on the second pallet. She had a gift that Miriam greatly envied, the ability to fall asleep within minutes, no matter what the hour or temperature or situation. True to form, she appeared to fall asleep instantly, her breathing as soft and regular as the stranger's breathing was uneven and cluttered. Miriam sat there, knees updrawn, body very still, listening to the interior sounds of the tent and the exterior sounds of the camp, until there were hardly any sounds at all.

She moved very little for the next couple of hours, only rearranging a ragged blanket underneath herself to keep away the chill of the ground. When the wounded man stirred, she leaned forward and squeezed a little more water down his throat. She thought his lips looked dry, so she fished a little container out of her pocket, filled with a balm made of fat and herbs that Anna had given her, and she smeared a little across his mouth. She laid her palm gingerly across his cheek and thought his skin felt hot. But maybe the heat was generated by the intense dark pigment of his flesh, a color so rich and deep it made her think of Manadavvi soil and the onyx quartz mined near Luminaux. She wondered if he had a fever. She wondered if there would be anything Tirza could do about it if he did.

After Tirza had been asleep for just over two hours, Miriam dipped her rag in the bowl of broth. It was harder to feed him all by herself, but she edged around in the small tent until she was kneeling at his head, and then she carefully
lifted his head and laid it upon her knees. She dripped a little of the broth down his cheek, but he took most of it, not seeming to cough or choke so much this time. She thought that was a hopeful sign.

Miriam had already decided she would not wake Tirza when her turn came, but the Edori woman woke on her own about an hour after that. “How is he?” she asked in a low voice, pushing herself to a sitting position and seeming to be wide awake on the instant.

“A little restless. I gave him more broth about an hour ago.”

“And he kept it down? Good.”

“And I just gave him a little more water ten minutes ago.”

“Excellent. Why don't you lie down now? I'll watch for a while.”

Miriam wanted to protest—she wanted to be the one to care for this stranger, this violent, helpless, unwelcome creature sent into their midst. But she was so tired she did not think she would be able to keep her eyes open much longer. She and the Edori woman traded places, Miriam snuggling with a certain sensuous delight into the blankets warmed by Tirza's body.

But before she closed her eyes, she had one more question. “Tirza. What happens tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

“When we move out. I don't think he's well enough to travel.”

“He's not. We'll make camp here for a few days.”

“Good,” Miriam said drowsily, and let her eyelids droop. But a new thought almost immediately flicked them open again. “But Tirza,” she said more urgently. “What if his friends come back for him? They might.
I
would. If we're still here, they'll find us for sure. They'll set the whole camp on fire!”

Tirza was running a wet cloth over the man's cheeks and forehead. Obviously, she thought he was too hot, too. “If they come looking for their friend, they'll find him right here in our tent. And I don't think they'll set us on fire if they want him back.”

“But Tirza—”

“As the god wills,” she said with calm certainty. “They will come or not come. They will burn us or not burn us. We cannot move until he is well enough to travel. Yovah will abide by his plan.”

Miriam closed her eyes, but she was not entirely reassured. This was the same god who had let other tribes be scorched to ashes. She was not convinced he was watching over all of them as carefully as he might. But Tirza was right. There was nothing they could do about it, tonight, anyway. She turned over on her side, put her hands beneath her cheek, and slept.

In the morning, Tirza looked exhausted and the stranger looked no better. His skin was so dark that it was hard to tell if he was either flushed or pasty, but somehow he did not look
right
. His breathing, which had smoothed out during the night, was labored again, and his skin was so hot to the touch that it was impossible not to worry about fever.

“You should have woken me,” Miriam said remorsefully as she looked at Tirza's weary face. “I meant to only sleep a couple of hours.”

Tirza shrugged this off. “I think we'll need some hells-bane to try to bring his temperature down,” she said. “I don't know who might have some. There is none in my stores, I know.”

“He needs plague medicine,” Miriam said.

Tirza smiled in a tired way. “Such as the angels pray for? I hear there are all different kinds and the god always knows what to send.”

Miriam shrugged. “He sends what you ask for. There are different prayers for different medicines.”

“Well, I suppose we could run up a plague flag and see if an angel drops by in response,” Tirza said. It was an attempt at humor; the Edori never asked the angels for help. “Though I don't know if they would be as willing as the Lohoras have been to aid an enemy.”

“No,” Miriam said, unable to think of a single angel from any of the three holds who would not view her with horror if she stepped out of an Edori tent here by the Galilee River. “We don't want angels here.”

Before Tirza could respond to that, the tent flap folded back and Anna stepped inside. “How is he? I've brought some mashed fruit. He might be able to eat that.”

“He might,” Tirza agreed. “He's done very well with your broth. But he seems worse this morning. I don't know that he'll be able to take anything at all.”

Anna's sharp gaze went from Tirza's face to Miriam's. “You two go back to your tent,” she ordered. “I'll sit with him this morning.”

“No,” Miriam protested. “I'm the one who said I'd watch him. I meant it. It's my duty.”

Tirza had already gotten to her feet, and now she picked her way past the sleeping man to place a hand on Miriam's head. “And it was a generous offer to make,” she said kindly. “But no one person can do all the nursing for a sick man. We will take turns. We always do. You can just take more turns than the rest of us.”

“Now go back and get some sleep,” Anna said gruffly. “You can come see him as soon as you're rested.”

They stepped outside into a dull sunlight that was still brighter than the murky tent, and Miriam had to squint for a minute until her eyes adjusted. The air was incredibly crisp, sweeping down from Mount Galo with fresh armloads of snow that it was considering dropping. Miriam took a few deep breaths, emptying her lungs of stale air and candle smoke.

“I'll come to the tent in a moment,” she told Tirza. “Right now I have to go down to the river and bathe.”

“You bathed yesterday, don't you remember?” Tirza asked with a tired grin. “You coming back from the river is what saved us all.”

Miriam smiled back. “Then I should bathe every day that we are here so that our luck holds just as good.”

She took a bucket with her (never miss a chance to gather more water) and a change of clothes. After she cleaned herself as quickly and thoroughly as she could, she washed out the dress she had worn yesterday and the day before. She was so tired that the thought of walking back to camp, wet bundle in one hand and bucket in the other, was almost more than she could bear. So she sat for a moment at the water's
edge, far enough back to keep from soiling her dress on the muddy bank, and stared at the muscular, impatient river charging past.

And then she began to sing.

At first she kept her voice soft, because this was not a song any mortal should know—certainly not a song any mortal should offer up to the god, expecting the god to hear. But she had learned in the last two months that the Edori felt just as comfortable offering prayers to Yovah as the angels did offering prayers to Jovah. She had been shocked the first few times she had heard the Lohoras beseech or thank the god as casually and as confidently as the angels addressed him—as if certain he heard them, whether or not he chose to reply. And why not? He watched over all of them, did he not? He graced every dedicated mortal with the mark of his favor, the Kiss; he did not reserve that particular honor only for angels. He cared about every one of them, angel, mortal, Jansai, Manadavvi. Perhaps he even cared for this violent and misguided stranger. He had saved the man, after all. Perhaps he would be willing to do even more to make him well.

So Miriam strengthened her voice, tilted her head back, and imagined the words of her song boring up through the heavy clouds and straight to Yovah's ear. They were so close to the Plain of Sharon, the place where, every year, the angels raised their voices in the Gloria. Surely, if the god could hear her anywhere in the three provinces, he could catch her voice from here. She came slowly to her feet, her voice even more forceful now, offering once more the simple, repetitive prayer that asked for alms of relief and healing. She could feel her thin soprano gain color and roughness as she sang the piece one more time, the notes rasping against her throat grown raw from too much music. But the song poured out of her, powerful and supplicating; her hands lifted of their own volition in a gesture of submission and entreaty. Her head was thrown back as if she would watch the sky for a sign of Yovah's mercy, but her eyes were closed. She could feel the weak sunlight against her eyelids, sense the movement of the sullen clouds, boiling above her as if to hurl down an insult of rain. She dropped her hands and finally
halted her voice, too hoarse to try for another note. But she stood still with her head tipped back and her eyes closed, as if asking to catch the first raindrops on her upturned cheeks.

And, indeed, something small and pelletlike hit her face and bounced away, and then another pellet, and then a small shower of them, needlelike and frenzied. She opened her eyes and instinctively crouched down, throwing her arms over her head to protect herself from the hail. But it continued to fall in quick, sharp bursts, a strangely colored blue outburst of precipitation—and it was, after all, not hail.

With a little cry, she began gathering up the small tablets, as many as she could find in the brown grass and the sticky ooze of the river mud, and tossing them in her shoulder bag where yesterday she had carried rocks. Yes, handfuls and handfuls and
handfuls
of drugs from Yovah—enough to heal the injured stranger and to allow the Edori to hoard them against sickness for months or maybe years to come.

As quickly as it had come, the shower passed. Miriam, on her knees in the dry grass, glanced up at the sky to see even the scowling clouds beginning to part and roll away. The thin winter sunlight streamed down to envelop her in a private circle of affection. She could not help herself. She lifted her arms up as if to ask for a hug, and then she laughed for the sheer joy of being alive.

N
ever a fan of surprises, Gaaron was far from pleased when Adriel and Neri showed up at the Eyrie one day, eager to meet his bride-to-be.

It had been a relatively calm week, holding no major crises, but he had been busy almost every minute. The Velora merchants had held a series of meetings to discuss a controversial new set of trading guidelines being sponsored by the Manadavvi and the river merchants, and they had found themselves in the strange position of being allies with the Jansai, who were heartily against the new regulations. So Gaaron's presence had been requested at all these discussions, and he had tried to devote his complete attention to the arguments and counterarguments that were presented. His best suggestion was that they bring in a contingent of Luminaux artisans and get their input, and that plan was instantly put in motion. Gaaron sent Enoch south to request a visit from a convocation of Luminauzi. He considered going himself, and swinging by a little Edori bakery to check on his sister. But then he decided against it.

But then he thought about it some more.

But he ultimately chose to let it go. When Miriam wanted to communicate with him, she would. He had, in fact, gotten
two scrawled letters from her, sent by some godlessly circuitous route via Jansai and Edori caravans. It was hard to tell when she had written them or how long the letters had been on the road, and he learned no real news from them. Just that she claimed to be well and happy enough. “Someday I will have much to tell you,” she concluded in one letter, and he read that a few times with a sense of foreboding. But he decided to take her at her word, and to believe that she
was
well and happy enough. That should be good enough for anyone.

By that criteria,
he thought with a certain unaccustomed wistfulness,
how am I doing?
Physically, he was well, of course; he was always healthy. But was he happy? Relations had continued to be strained between him and Susannah, though he could not put his finger on what was wrong. She always ate dinner with him, and shared his table at any other meal when he happened to be present (which was rarer and rarer these days). If he asked her a question, she responded immediately and thoughtfully; she was always gracious in conversation. But the feeling persisted that she was angry at him—or withdrawn from him—or mistrustful of him, and he did not know why, and he did not know how to ask her.

He was pleased to see that she seemed to have wholeheartedly accepted the gifts of fabric he had purchased for her in Velora. She had made a point of modeling for him a quite beautiful gown she had had made from the apricot silk, “though it is too fine for everyday wear,” she said with a sigh. “I shall have to wear it only on special occasions.”

The coral cotton she had made into a skirt and blouse, and these she wore several times, accenting them with a wide embroidered belt that he thought she might have made herself. The scrap of red she had worked into a quilted patchwork vest that was colorful and casual, and so she wore this most of all. And seemed pleased enough in the fabric of Gaaron's providing.

But she still did not seem entirely happy. Well enough, but not happy. He wondered what she would write to Miriam if she were to sit down and pen a letter to his sister.

He had not been able to come up with the words that would enable him to ask her if anything was wrong by the
time Adriel and Neri showed up, smug and pleased with themselves and entirely unwelcome.

They were blown in by a snowy wind that had cleared the outdoor plateau quite early in the afternoon and kept everyone inside the labyrinth of the Eyrie's corridors. The luckless souls who had signed up for harmonics shivered around a brazier set up in the open-air cupola; even their voices sounded frosty, drifting down through the star-chilled air.

The angels arrived as the dinner hour was just ending, strolling into the dining room with their faces rouged with cold, their wings fanned out to warm their feathers. They were both laughing.

“Gaaron! I hope you don't mind that we've decided to pay you a visit,” Neri greeted him with a gaiety contrary to her usual seriousness.

“I hope this is not a bad time for us to drop by,” Adriel added.

Gaaron came quickly to his feet, astonished to see them, not at once understanding why they were here. “Is something wrong? Do you have news?” he asked sharply.

Adriel shook her head. “No, all has been quiet for weeks now. Even on the southern shores. I think our unfriendly visitors are gone.”

“We've come here to celebrate,” Neri added.

“And to meet your bride,” Adriel said. “We grew tired of waiting for an invitation.”

Now Gaaron's face flushed as red as theirs. “You must forgive me for my rudeness,” he said, hoping that by using the word he would convey to them just what he thought of their own behavior. “Naturally I am happy to have you both here for however long you choose to stay.”

He turned with an assumed composure to include Susannah in the conversation. Susannah had risen to her feet as soon as the women started speaking—guessing, more quickly than he had, what was afoot. She was wearing today the coral outfit and the embroidered belt, and she looked both exotic and at ease. Her hair was braided back from her face, strands of gold and orange and red plaited into the black, and her dark, smooth skin showed no hint of a blush.

“Susannah,” he said as majestically as he could. “This is Archangel Adriel of Windy Point. A dear friend of mine and someone from whom I have learned a great deal. And this is Neri, leader of the host at Monteverde. Another good friend.”

Susannah smiled and held out her hand. “Gaaron has spoken of both of you quite often,” she said. “We have been discussing what kind of event we should have to introduce me to all the leaders of the provinces. But I confess I am not very comfortable around crowds of strangers, so it is so much better for me to have you drop by this way.”

Neatly said,
Gaaron thought in admiration, and he could see that Neri, too, thought it a very good speech, though probably a lie. Adriel seemed more focused on Susannah's face than her words.

“But you're quite lovely!” she exclaimed, putting her hands up to Susannah's cheeks. “Gaaron spoke of your insightful mind and your strength of character, but he did not say how attractive you were.”

Susannah, who could easily have been offended by such a remark, instead looked amused. “Perhaps he thought you would be more impressed by principles than by prettiness,” she said.

“I don't know. My Moshe is a thoughtful man, but I would not have married him if he was not good-looking,” Adriel said frankly, and they all laughed.

Gaaron gestured at the table, half covered with used dishes, which some of the kitchen girls were hastily clearing away. Esther had gotten one look at the exalted company walking in the door and hurried off to take care of things. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat? Sit down a while and tell me of your flight. And how you hatched your little plan to come calling,” he added.

In a few minutes, the four of them were seated at the table and the new arrivals were enjoying a meal. Susannah had asked for a cup of hot tea, but Gaaron had required wine, and he was sipping that.

“We met in Sinai and flew on together. Mahalah said she would come visit some other time,” Adriel reported.

“I must say, she has those girls remarkably well trained,”
Neri broke in. “When I go to Sudan, Isaac's boys are running around like ill-trained mongrels. But it is very calm and peaceful at Mount Sinai.”

“I don't know. I find her acolytes a little silly and—giggly sometimes,” Gaaron said. He was not sure why all the women at the table laughed at him.

“So, Susannah! Tell us a little about yourself,” Neri invited. “What do you think about life in an angel hold?”

“It is quite pleasant,” Susannah said promptly. “I particularly admire the water rooms, which are a grand luxury when you're used to bathing in the open river. My friend Keren—an Edori girl who is visiting me here—enjoys the benefits of the kitchen. We are used to finding and cooking all our own food, you know, which is sometimes a chore that can take all day, when there's snow on the ground and game is scarce. And the proximity to the markets of Velora is a daily delight for both of us.”

Neri looked fascinated, Adriel just a little repulsed. “You gathered and cooked your own food—yes, I suppose you must have,” the Archangel said in a faint voice. “I have never—but then, I suppose someone is out there slaughtering the meat I eat every day without thinking about it.”

“You have more important things to think about,” Neri excused her.

Susannah's smiled widened. “Although, trust me, when you're hungry and you've eaten the last of your dried meat and you can't even find a skinny rabbit to go in the stew, you do think there aren't many things too much more important than dinner,” she said.

“And so you've always been an Edori?” Neri asked, and then her face flamed as soon as she realized what a stupid question it was. “I mean—you've always traveled as the Edori have?”

Susannah nodded. “Yes, I have friends who have chosen to settle in Luminaux or one of the river cities—because it
is
a hard life, you know, and when you're older, or infirm, or simply tired, it is easier just to stay in one place. But this is the first time in my life I haven't been on the move.”

“That must be a relief,” Adriel said.

Susannah looked at her. “I miss it,” she said. “I miss the
intimacy of the seasons—feeling winter creep closer day by day, waking up in the morning and knowing, before I even set foot outside the tent, exactly how much sun I'll see before night falls again. I miss being in motion, always on the lookout for
something
—a good campsite, a patch of berries, deer tracks so we know we can hunt for game that night. I miss the constant awareness of the world. I miss being so thirsty that when I finally come to a stream and can take a drink, the water actually tastes sweet. And I miss being so tired that I can sleep the minute I lie down, and sleep the whole night through, and not wake even when I'm disturbed by unquiet dreams.”

She fell silent. The two women stared at her. Surely the poetry was deliberate, Gaaron thought, an antagonistic but lyrical response to the angels' smug assumption that their lives were so much more civilized than the Edori's. But it might also have been aimed at him.
You have wondered why I have not been happy in your household. Because these are the things you have taken from me.

Although he still had not asked her why she was not happy in his household.

“Well. I see. I have been told the Edori are all quite passionate about their lifestyles, and now I suppose I can understand why,” Adriel said. “You speak quite beautifully.”

“There is much more about the Edori life that is wonderful,” Susannah said calmly. “The camaraderie—the closeness of the clans—those things are impossible to describe. I have made good friends among the angels and their kin, but I have not found anything to equal the companionship I have experienced among the Edori.”

Adriel cast a quick, troubled look at Gaaron, and he read that as a question about the relationship between the Archangel-to-be and his designated bride. As well she should question it. Certainly he had not offered Susannah much camaraderie. Although he had thought she had managed to find that on her own.

“It always takes some time to settle in to a new place,” Adriel said, peering into Susannah's face with her kind, worried eyes. “You have only been here a few months. Do not
give up so soon on the chance to make lifelong friendships that matter deeply to you.”

Susannah's smile seemed a bright rejection of the Archangel's proffered concern. “Oh, I do not intend to give up,” she said. “I have committed my life to the course the god has chosen.”

“Yes, and that was one of the questions we had to ask you,” Neri spoke up. “When is the wedding to be? You must be married before the Gloria, you know, and that is only three months away.”

Even more tactless than he would have expected, even from the blunt Neri, Gaaron thought. But to this challenge, as well, Susannah was more than equal. “I am so glad you are here to help advise me on that very point!” she exclaimed. “The Edori do not marry, as you may know, so I am not conversant with the customs that are required. I have not particularly wanted to ask Esther's help, and Miriam is so extravagant I was sure I could not trust any of her suggestions. But while the two of you are here, perhaps you could give me some recommendations about what I should wear and what I am supposed to do. As for a day to choose—how much notice should we give? Who must be invited? You can help me with all those decisions.”

Adriel gave her a doubtful look, as if unsure whether Susannah's response was sincere, but Neri nodded briskly. “We'll be happy to. In the morning, maybe, we can get out a calendar and make some plans. I don't think you want to wait too much longer, but you're right, you must give your guests a certain amount of notice. We'll make lists for you. We can get it all in order.”

“Well, then, if that's settled—” Gaaron began. But before he could finish his sentence, Sela came up to the table and whispered in Susannah's ear. Susannah nodded and rose to her feet.