Archangel (2 page)

“You have not given yourself much time to woo and win,” Josiah said.

Gabriel shrugged. The gesture caused his immense, immaculately white wings to flutter gracefully behind his shoulders. “These things are laid down by the law of Jovah,” he said. “If I have no choice about it, then neither does she. I do not know that it will be a courtship in the traditional sense.”

Josiah was watching him. “Nonetheless,” he said, “she may need some time to accustom herself to the idea. She has not had fifteen years, as you have, to dream about becoming the angelica.”

Gabriel smiled. He was a black-haired, blue-eyed man, with fair skin darkened to a perpetual tan from constant exposure to sun and wind. He was always striking, but never quite approachable until he smiled. “I thought all girls dreamt of becoming the angelica,” he said.

Josiah snorted. “Those who have not met you, perhaps.”

Gabriel looked faintly amused. “Well, at any rate, the girl handpicked by Jovah must be suited to me in all things, as I understand the theology,” he said. “So she will be eager to be my bride.”

Josiah regarded him, his small head turned a bit to one side. “She will complement you,” he amended. “She will know things you do not, have skills you do not. If you were an angry man, she would make you calm. If you were a timid man, she would make you strong. As you are an arrogant man, I must assume she will make you humble.”

“I am not arrogant,” Gabriel said mildly. “Confident, perhaps.”

Josiah smiled. “Well, then. We will let the god determine. Come sit with me while I ask him his will.”

They pulled up two chairs before the screen where Josiah had been working when the angel arrived. Gabriel settled himself carefully, spreading his wings wide so that they unfolded lavishly across the cold stone floor. Even among angels, his wings were remarkable—entirely white, exceptionally broad in span, and taller than he was by more than a head.

Not waiting for Gabriel to grow still, Josiah leaned forward and touched the glass plate in the wall. Instantly it came alive with a soft bluish light. Strange hieroglyphics danced across the screen, changing as Josiah pressed the knobs and buttons on a small shelf lying before the interface. Gabriel watched, fascinated. As often as he had seen Josiah communing with Jovah, he never failed to be impressed. A man or a woman must be trained since birth to understand the rituals of the god; mere mortals, even angels, could not understand the words of the holy language.

At length, Josiah completed his dialogue with Jovah, murmured an
amen
, and closed down the window between humanity and divinity.

“Well?” Gabriel demanded.

“She was born in a small village in Jordana, not far from Windy Point,” Josiah said. “Her parents are farmers, her family are farmers. She is twenty-five years old.”

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief.

“It is unlikely,” Josiah said, maintaining a serious expression, “that she has ever entertained thoughts of becoming angelica to the Archangel Gabriel.”

Gabriel found his voice. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “A
farmer’s daughter? From the wilds of Jordana? What do we know of these people? Are they educated? Are they civilized? Can they sing, by the love of Jovah? For in six months, this girl will need to stand beside me on the Plain of Sharon and lead the Gloria. Can she do so? Can she sing a
note
? Can she be taught? Six months, Josiah—!”

“Perhaps you should not have waited so long to seek her out,” Josiah responded.

Gabriel was on his feet. “No doubt! But I did not expect Jovah to have such a sense of humor! An untutored hill-farmer! I expected a girl from the gentry of the Manadavvi, or even a woman from one of the river cities—someone trained to take on the duties of a household such as mine—”

“You really have no one but yourself to blame,” Josiah said unsympathetically. “As it is, you still have six months. A lot can be accomplished in that time frame. Search her out immediately.”

“I will,” Gabriel agreed somewhat grimly. “What is her name? Or did Jovah seek to make my task harder by withholding that information?”

“No, it was part of the registry,” Josiah said. “She is called Rachel, daughter of Seth and Elizabeth. It is a small village in the shadow of the Caitana Mountains. There should not be many with that name and those parents.”

Gabriel was still angry—fruitlessly so, because it was of no use to rail against the god, and he knew it. “And if she has changed her name? Or refuses to believe me?”

Josiah nodded at Gabriel, indicating the small amber stud embedded in the flesh of the angel’s right arm. “There should be no mistake,” he said quietly. “The Kiss will react. You will feel heat, and its light will flare—yours and hers. There is no denying the Kiss.”

Automatically, Gabriel put his hand over the acorn-sized crystal in his arm. Like almost every child born on Samaria, he had been dedicated to the god when he was only a few days old— in fact, Josiah had been the one to perform the ceremony, although there were priests who did no work but this the whole year round. The Kiss of the God was embedded in Gabriel’s flesh, grafted to the bone, to remain there until he died, and to be buried with him. It was through the Kiss that Jovah acknowledged the existence of all his children, tracked them through their lives, knew if they were ill or unhappy or dying. At times, when he had
been most exhilarated or most afraid, Gabriel had felt the Kiss flicker against his skin, a slight sensation of warmth, a brief flash of light in the brandy-colored depths of the stone.

But. “I thought that was a myth,” he said slowly.

“What? That the Kiss shoots sparks of light when true lovers meet for the first time? No myth. Have you never seen it occur?”

Gabriel shrugged impatiently. “Among some couples who have been married a long time and who feel great mutual affection—yes, I suppose I have seen a glimmer now and then,” he said. “But—this business of recognizing your true lover the first time you meet—”

“Well, there should be some reaction,” Josiah said. “As you are only seeking to confirm an identity—”

“And as I am not looking for true love—”

“Perhaps the reaction will be slight. Go to this village. She should not be hard to find.”

Gabriel was still frowning. “I admit, it seems odd to me that she comes from a place so near to Raphael,” he said. “For Leah came from Jordana as well.”

“Jovah does not care about the angelica’s origin,” Josiah said. “He cares about her heart.”

Gabriel made a slight gesture of disagreement, but continued to brood. Well, it was true. The Archangel Raphael, who ruled the host of angels quartered in the bleak mountain retreat of Windy Point, had twenty years ago chosen a bride from among his own people. Her name was Leah, and she was a pale, silent woman of whom very little had been seen outside of the annual Glorias held on the Plain of Sharon. If Jovah did indeed look to meld opposites when he selected consorts for his Archangels, he had come up with a definite contrast here. Raphael was suave, smooth-spoken and self-assured. Leah was tongue-tied, shy and docile. Or so she seemed. Gabriel had not troubled himself to converse more than politely with her for the past twenty years.

The fact was, he did not care much for either Raphael or his angelica, though he had done his best to work with the older man during Raphael’s reign as Archangel. Harmony was, after all, the central tenet of their religion, and it was not for the Archangel-designate to cause dissension among the angels. But he had been shocked at some of the abuses that occurred during Raphael’s tenure—the growth of power among the city merchants, the gradual
impoverishment of the lowland farmers, the increasing violence directed against the nomadic Edori tribes. These were circumstances that were within the Archangel’s power to control, and Raphael had not controlled them. To Gabriel, it seemed as though the harmony of Samaria was out of tune—but Jovah had still accepted their singing at the Glorias, and so to Jovah, perhaps, all still appeared well.

His dark meditation was interrupted by a woman’s laughing voice. “Let me guess,” said the newcomer. “He is reviewing all Raphael’s misdeeds and vowing to do better during his term as Archangel.”

Smiling, Gabriel turned to meet the speaker. “Ariel,” he said. “Don’t you have your own oracle to consult up near Monteverde?”

“I do,” she retorted, crossing the stone floor to greet him. She was a tall, slender woman with lush brown hair, just now somewhat ruffled by the flight of her passage. Her wings—flecked with patterns of beige and gold—were folded tightly to her back, but the tips still trailed behind her on the floor. She led the host of Monteverde and was generally popular with the angels from all three realms. “I did not come for advice but for pleasure. You, on the other hand, are looking so unpleasant that you must have come for advice.”

“Which has not agreed with me,” he said.

“Advice seldom agrees with you,” Josiah observed. “Ariel, Gabriel, may I order refreshments for either of you?”

“Certainly,” Ariel replied. “Whatever you have on hand.”

“I’m not staying,” Gabriel said.

“I hope you’re not running away just because I’ve arrived,” Ariel commented.

He smiled briefly. “You would hardly be enough to rout me. No, I’ve got to attend to business—following Josiah’s advice.”

She gave a crow of laughter. “At last! You’ve come to seek the name of your angelica! No wonder you look so cross. Has he picked out someone you cannot bear?”

“Someone I’ve never met,” Gabriel said. “I imagine no one’s met her. She lives secluded in Jordana, not far from Windy Point. A farmer’s daughter.”

“A farmer’s daughter! But how quaint!” Ariel exclaimed, hugely delighted. “We’ll have to hope she is not overwhelmed by all the pomp and pageantry at the Eyrie—”

“Which is nothing to compare with the pomp and pageantry at Windy Point,” Gabriel said dryly.

“If she’s a hill-farmer’s daughter, it’s unlikely she’s been there,” Ariel pointed out.

“In any case, I do not have much time to waste. I’m off to find her, assuming she is where she is supposed to be.”

“She should be easy enough to locate. Farmers generally do not stir ten miles from the place of their birth,” Josiah said as he left to fetch refreshments. “Now, if she had been an Edori—”

“An Edori!” Ariel repeated. “Surely Jovah would not have chosen an Edori for the angelica. Why, most of them have not even been dedicated to the god! He has no idea that they exist.”

“He knows they exist,” Gabriel said evenly. “Jovah brought them to Samaria when he brought the angels and the mortals. Just because they do not all choose to receive the Kiss of the God does not make them any less his children.”

“Oh, don’t start again,” she said warmly. “About the enslavement of the Edori—I can’t bear it.”

“Well, it is wrong, whatever Raphael thinks. Or you think.”

“If Jovah objected, would he not have spoken by now?” Ariel demanded. “Gabriel, Jovah does not care about the Edori! At last year’s Gloria, there were no Edori singers—none! not one!—and there was no thunderbolt from the god in disapproval.”

“There was one Edori singer,” Gabriel said. “In my pavilion. I did not wish to risk the god’s wrath in such a stupid manner.”

Ariel shrugged impatiently. “Well, then, your virtue has again saved us all. But don’t you think—”

“I am not trying to parade my
virtue
before the whole of Samaria. I know you think I’m hopelessly self-righteous, but in the matter of the Edori—”

“My children, my angels,” Josiah interrupted, reentering the room with a tray of refreshments in his hands. “If there is not harmony among angels, can there be harmony among men?”

“When angels sow discord among men, no, I doubt it,” Gabriel said.

Ariel turned toward Josiah. “He’s going on about the Edori again.”

“His passion does him credit. We
are
all the children of Jovah,” Josiah said gently. “But you should not discuss it if it makes you both so angry. Come, Ariel, sit with me and tell me of happy things.”

Gabriel nodded to them both and turned to go, but Ariel, who had stepped away with Josiah, suddenly ran back to Gabriel before he could quit the chamber.

“Don’t leave angry,” she said, catching his arm. “I can’t bear the dissonance you create when you’re angry.”

He smiled briefly and touched her hand where it lay on his arm. “All right. I’m not angry. It was good to see you, Ariel—it always is.”

“Will I see you next month?” she wanted to know. “At the wedding in Semorrah?”

He raised his brows. “How could I miss it?” he replied sardonically. “Lord Jethro has practically made it a command appearance.”

She smiled. “Will you be there and in a good temper?” she teased.

“I will be there. I cannot make promises about my mood,” he said. “I bring Nathan with me.”

“And your bride?”

“If I have found her by then. If she is fit to be seen in company.”

Ariel choked back a laugh. “Gabriel, you’re horrible.”

He smiled. “Don’t start another quarrel with me,” he warned.

“I wouldn’t think of it. Fast flight to you, and sweet dreaming.”

Gabriel nodded again to the oracle. “Josiah,” he said, and left the room.

It was with some circumspection that Gabriel entered the realm of Jordana. It was not that Raphael would have—could have—any objection to his presence there, but still. Gabriel was not eager to explain to the Archangel that he had come here seeking his own bride, who would stand with him when Gabriel took over the position Raphael had held for twenty years.

Nor did he feel like admitting that his angelica was a hill-farmer’s daughter who had probably never heard his name.

Josiah had used a map of Jordana to show Gabriel the village where the girl had been born—
Rachel
, Gabriel reminded himself,
Rachel, daughter of Seth and Elizabeth.
It was half a day’s flight from Windy Point, outside the protective bulk of the mountains, but some distance from the rich farmlands that characterized
southern Jordana. They had probably eked out a spare existence for centuries, Rachel’s family and their ancestors, knowing little more than the turn of the seasons, the capriciousness of the climate and the stinginess of their rocky soil. None of this knowledge would translate well to the girl’s role as angelica.