Angelica (9 page)

Gaaron nodded, but secretly he was pleased that Zibiah had reached this conclusion on her own and had made all the other corresponding deductions—that she would have to be the one to carry the girl, and communicate with her, and essentially control the rest of this expedition. He spread his wings and extended his arm, then raised his eyebrows with a question.
Can you fly?
he meant to ask.
All the way to the Eyrie? Tonight?

Zibiah nodded and rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet, the girl in her arms. “I don't see that it will do us any good to wait,” she said. “And maybe she'll sleep through the flight. If we can get her to the Eyrie and put her in a room before she sees any more men, maybe she'll calm down a little.”

Now Nicholas waved his hands to get her attention, holding up his canteen and then mimicking eating a bite of food. Zibiah smiled.

“I'm not hungry,” she said. “And I have plenty of my own water. I gave her some, too, before she fell asleep. I think we're ready to go.”

So Gaaron nodded, the signal to ascend, and as slowly as their wings could manage the separation from the earth, they lifted themselves into the air. Gaaron waited for the howl of anxiety to come from the abandoned child, but she did not waken—or, if she did, she did not cry out again. Staying as near to the ground as he could so that the Jansai girl was not buffeted by cold air at the higher regions, Gaaron led them back to the Eyrie. Zibiah fell in place behind him to coast as much as possible on the drag created by his passing, and Nicholas flew behind her to be ready to offer assistance if she needed it.

It was the longest, slowest flight of Gaaron's life. He had never been so happy to see the serrated range of the Velo Mountains come into view, or to touch down on the wide, cool stone of the landing at the Eyrie.

T
he Lohoras had been traveling as fast as they could, northwest from Luminaux, when they fell in with the Tachita clan. As always when two Edori tribes came together by happy chance, there was great rejoicing at the opportunity to visit together, tell stories, and share campfires.

Susannah was particularly overjoyed to meet up with the Tachitas, and she spent that first evening at her brother's campfire, catching up on family news. Paul, her older brother, was looking so much like a settled man, so much like their father, that she could not help but laugh at him and tease him about the extra pounds he had gained. Linus, who was now nearly sixteen, she scarcely recognized, for he was taller than she was and could lift her off her feet with a strength he had not possessed even six months ago. Her nephews, aged two and one, at first were shy of her, but then consented to sit on her lap, both at one time, as long as she jogged her knees up and down and pretended to give them pony rides. The older one in particular was quick to respond to her voice and her laugh, and he readily tilted his little face forward when she leaned in to rub noses with him. She
thought maybe she should wait no longer; it might be time for her and Dathan to have a child after all.

“You all look so well and happy,” she said to Ruth, Paul's lover, who stirred the supper pot while Susannah amused the children. “I commend you for the care you have given all the men in my family.”

“They are easy to care for,” Ruth said, ducking her head shyly and smiling in a bashful manner. Susannah was not sure, but she thought she saw a thickening around Ruth's waist. Another baby on the way so soon? There must be a great deal of love in this tent. “They miss you, but there does not seem to be any other great sadness in their lives. Even your father is better these days. He is able to talk of your mother and tell me many happy stories about her. For so long, he would not even mention her name.”

“That is good to hear,” Susannah said. She absently leaned in and kissed the two-year-old on the top of his head. He squirmed in her lap and she let him jump up and run away, though she kept her eyes on him to make sure he did not wander too near the fire. “For Amariah is such a pretty name.”

“I have asked Paul, and he thinks it would be a good idea,” Ruth said, her soft voice rushing over the words. “If the new one is a girl—and I'm sure it is—he thinks we might name her Amariah. Unless it's the name you want for your own daughter, when you have one?”

Susannah laughed gaily, though she was a little amazed that Ruth had picked up on both her thoughts—that it was time for her to have a baby, and that Ruth herself might be pregnant again. “You're welcome to the name, for I'm still not sure when I might want a baby,” she said. “I think the news will make my father happy as well.”

Indeed, when the men returned a little while later, Susannah was deeply pleased to see for herself the truth of Ruth's words. For her father seemed whole again—older, a little slower, not quite as quick to smile—but not the hurt and grieving man he had been for so long after Amariah's death. He sat by her during dinner and described their wanderings since the Gathering, their sojourn in Breven, their camp at the Caitana Mountains not far from Windy Point. The
Tachitas rarely moved out of the Jordana province, having many contacts among the merchants and petty farmers there. The Lohoras, on the other hand, knew no boundaries and traveled pretty much where they would.

“We haven't been by the Caitanas for a year or more now,” Susannah said. “I might mention it to the others. That's pretty country and I'd like to see it again.”

Paul looked over at her from across the fire. “You've seen other interesting sights, and far less pretty ones, from what I'm hearing,” he said.

Susannah glanced at her nephews, not sure how much to say in front of them. Ruth, holding the younger one to feed him, nodded as if to say she could speak freely. “We came across a campsite burned beyond recognition,” she said softly. “We couldn't even tell if it had been Edori or Jansai camped there—or, who knows, a band of farmers traveling to Luminaux. It was a very frightening place, and we did not linger long. We moved our own camp out that very night, late as it was.”

“I wonder what could have caused such a thing? Bartholomew described it in a great deal of detail,” Paul said, glancing at his older son.

“And I wonder if any other Edori have seen something similar,” Susannah added. “You need to spread the word among the other clans you meet, and we'll do the same. Bad enough if it happened once, but what if it happened other times, in other places?”

“We'll pass along the news,” Paul said solemnly.

After that, the talk turned to happier things, campfires they'd shared with other clans since the Gathering, funny words the boys had learned to say. Linus offered to wrestle his older brother, to prove to Susannah how strong he had grown. Their father turned to reminiscing, recounting a tale that involved their mother and some ill-advised additions she had made one night to the cook pot. He had them laughing so hard that Susannah's stomach actually hurt. But it was good to laugh with her father and hear stories about her mother. The pain was welcome.

After the meal was over and the dishes had been done, they gathered up the sleepy boys and made their way through
the thicket of tents to the biggest fire outside Bartholomew's tent. Here the others were already taking their places, turning this fortuitous meeting into a mini-Gathering, a coming together of far-flung Edori souls. Someone passed around sweetbreads still hot from the fire. Dathan offered a skin of wine to Paul and other men of the Tachitas. Some of them accepted it; Paul did not. Her brother then turned a sideways look on Susannah. She kept her gaze on the fire and pretended not to see.

Most of them had shared their news casually over intermingled fires, so there was no need, as there was at the true Gathering, for clan members to get up one at a time and recite the events of the past few seasons. So after everyone was settled, and Eleazar had built up the fire a little more, no one moved or spoke for a few minutes until Claudia came to her feet.

“Greetings to you all,” she said formally, smiling around at the assembled company. “Praise be to Yovah for bringing you to our campfire tonight.”

And she lifted her voice in a simple song of thanksgiving that everyone immediately joined. The quick surge and rumble of voices filled Susannah with a deep and visceral satisfaction; she felt, if such a thing could be said to exist, a fierce contentment. She lifted her own voice in harmony, sliding her rich alto under the plain melody line. They sang it through twice before any of them were willing to let the song die.

Then Anna came to her feet and stood beside Claudia, and the two sang a traditional Edori tune in the old language that almost none of them used anymore, except when singing. After that, Linus jumped up, eager to show off his new tenor range, though his voice broke once or twice on the higher notes and caused Susannah to cover her face to hide her smile.

“Sing with me,” Ruth said, turning to Susannah. So the two of them stood before the fire and performed. The first year that Ruth had lived in their tent, before Susannah had left the Tachitas to follow Dathan, Ruth and Susannah had sung together all the time. They had perfected their pitch and their timing so that, on a few songs, at least, they could
produce amazing harmonies and dazzling leaps of interval. When they had finished their first composition, members of both clans called out for an encore, so they offered two more pieces.

“Susannah! Don't sit down! Come stand by me!” called another Tachita when Ruth was finished, so Susannah obligingly moved over a few paces. She had been the only reliable alto in the group, back when she lived with the Tachitas, so she had been in high demand on any song for which harmony was required. Which suited Susannah just fine. She did not particularly like to carry a melody line. She liked to listen to the music, get a sense of its tone and mood, and then make up her own harmonies, which often differed radically from the ones the composer might have intended. It was her only true musical ability.

But it was in demand, at least on this night. Keren was on her feet before the final notes had sounded in this latest duet, and she called Susannah over. Keren had a showy soprano that never sounded as good as when grounded by Susannah's reassuring low counterpoint, and the Tachitas praised her extravagantly when the song came to its conclusion. Throwing Susannah a droll look, Tirza then came to her feet, determined not to be shown up by her lover's vain sister.

“Susannah. That piece about the winding river. Sing that with me, won't you?” Tirza asked. So they launched into that one next, a wistful ballad about lost love and redemption beyond the grave. Everyone sighed when they were done, and no one leapt quite so readily to his feet.

“It seems all the clans have grown tired,” Bartholomew said in an amused voice. “Perhaps one more prayer to Yovah would be in order, and then it is time to seek out our tents.”

Everyone murmured agreement with this sensible plan of action, and the whole group joined in on the final song of the evening. Susannah's journey from singer to singer had brought her halfway around the fire, and not until then did she notice that Dathan was sitting quite close to a Tachita girl by the name of Cozbi. Neither one was singing this final prayer, which was scandalous in and of itself. They were talking in low voices, until Dathan paused to take a drink
from his wineskin. He spilled a few drops down the corner of his mouth, and Cozbi laughed at him, rolling her eyes.

Susannah did not think it was so funny.

Once the prayer ended, Susannah made her way back to where Ruth sat cradling her sons in her arms. “Let me carry the little one,” Susannah said, and took him carefully from Ruth's hold. Ruth rose a little unsteadily to her feet and smiled.

“It was so good to sing with you again tonight,” Ruth said. “Every time I offer a prayer to Yovah, I miss the sound of your voice next to mine. The Lohoras stole a greater treasure than they knew when they took you from us.”

“They did not take me—I chose to follow them,” Susannah said, smiling. “What have you been feeding this boy? He is as heavy as a sack of rocks.”

“We have been feeding him rocks,” Paul said behind her. “That is the best diet for babies.”

Linus came up on her other side. “Stay in the tent with us tonight, will you, Susannah?” he begged. “I want to wake you in the morning by tickling your ribs.”

“And what makes you think
you
would be awake first?” she scoffed. “Perhaps I would leave my dreams early just so I could tickle
you
.”

“Yes, stay with us,” Ruth pleaded. “All these boys in my tent every morning! I need a woman's calm voice next to mine to assure me that I am still sane.”

“She may tell you that, but that will not make it true,” Paul said, and Ruth freed one hand from her hold on the baby to slap him on the arm.

“You see what I mean?” Ruth said piteously. “I am friendless without you.”

“It had better be a girl you're carrying this time,” Paul said. “Or you will have no allies at all.”

Susannah thought of Dathan, leaning over Cozbi and smiling down into her speculative eyes. If she went back to sleep on her own pallet, she would know if Dathan came back late this night—or not at all.

“I would be happy to share your tent tonight,” she said. “But Linus has to sleep outside. I think it may rain tonight.”

They wrangled happily for the next half hour as they
disposed themselves on the tent floor and traded the usual insults. Susannah found herself wedged between Linus, who slept closest to the outer edge of the tent, and her older nephew, who lay in the middle. All around her, the breathing was deep and even, with the occasional questioning cry of a baby hushed to instant silence. She had forgotten the rhythmic sound of her father's quiet snoring, proof that he still lived. How she had listened for that sound in the days and weeks after her mother's death. How it comforted her now.

She lay awake longer than she wanted to, remembering Dathan's face and Cozbi's smile, and telling herself that it was just the wine and the excitement of new company that had planted Dathan so firmly at the pretty girl's side. She would not have thought Cozbi was the type to flirt so readily with another woman's lover, though. She had always seemed thoughtful and clear-eyed, back in the days when Susannah lived with the Tachitas. Well, everyone changed, she supposed; she herself certainly had. Why not Cozbi?

She finally fell asleep, and then quickly was dreaming.

She was back in the room of white and silver, moving effortlessly between the strange hard walls. The screens and tapestries stretched out before her blinked with a gorgeous array of lights, and she paused before each new vista, delighted at its marvelous, mysterious patterns. The voice that was so familiar, but so incomprehensible, seemed to call her from a distance, so she tried to find its source, stepping through unfamiliar hallways of smooth, arching white material and gleaming circular lamps.

“Susannah,” it called, and she paused before two doors, one on either side of the corridor.

“Where are you?” she called back. “I'm lost. I can't find you.”