Breath of Angel (16 page)

Livia stepped out of the water, grabbed a towel, and turned around, drying herself. Melaia backed up.

“Oh!” Livia’s eyes widened.

Melaia felt her face go hot. “I beg your pardon. I thought it was raining.”

“No harm done.” Livia rubbed down her arms.

“Your wings—they’re beautiful.”

“And quite helpful when I wish to fly. But Erielyon must be extremely cautious about showing our wings, which make it quite obvious we’re angels. That’s why most of us live far north of the kingdoms, well away from the more populous areas. While I’m anywhere but Wodehall, I keep my wings hidden, which means I must ask you to keep them a secret as well.”

Melaia nodded and watched Livia slip on her gown. A slit down the back allowed her wings to be free. They folded in to fit close to her body. After she fastened a light cloak around her shoulders, she looked quite human, though her shoulders were broader than most.

Livia toweled off her dusky hair as she strode toward Melaia. “There is something you should know. The stairway in the Wisdom Tree existed not only for the Angelaeon but also for all beings in this world. At death, spirits are meant to cross the stairway into Avellan.”

“Where do spirits go, then?” Melaia thought of all the dying spirits she had seen thinning and sinking into the ground, and even as she asked, she knew the answer. She whispered it at the same time Livia responded. “The Under-Realm.”

“The blight, too, began when the Wisdom Tree was destroyed and we lost our connection to Avellan,” said Livia. “It will only grow worse. Your mother guarded the way for angels to bring bounty to the land as well as inspiration for the landscape of the heart—music and art of all kinds. We hope you will open the way once again.”

“But I was raised to be a simple priestess. I can’t free the entire world. How is that even possible?” Melaia headed for the door.

“Do you want to know what I would tell my daughter?”

Melaia turned in surprise. “You have a daughter?”

“Serai. Twin to Sergai. She’s your age.”

Melaia felt a pang of grief for Serai, who must have felt her twin’s death keenly. “What would you tell her?”

“Not to dwell on what she
can’t
do but on what she
can.
” Livia hung her towel on a peg. “Melaia, the longer you wait to give yourself to the task you were born to, the harder it will be to risk yourself.”

Melaia looked down at her dirty, bare feet. “And if I choose to return to Navia and the temple?”

“The Angelaeon won’t interfere with your free will. But can you truly return after all you know now? You were born for a greater temple: the earth, the trees, the sky.”

Melaia half smiled. “That’s a bit larger than what I’m accustomed to.”

“That means you’re moving toward your destiny. When you’re going the right direction, life always looks larger than what you’re accustomed to.” Livia nodded toward the splashing water. “Towels are in the nook at the side of the room if you decide to try the indoor rain.” She breezed out the door.

Melaia turned to the waterfall and watched the droplets form, gather weight, and splash down. Only in releasing itself to fall did the water offer its cleansing gift.

Melaia stepped to the nook and grabbed a towel.

T
he sun had set on the third day of their journey by the time Melaia and Livia climbed the trail to the entrance of the scribes’ cave high in the Aubendahl Hills. Jarrod had insisted on accompanying them, but he spent most of his time out of sight. More than once Melaia had startled to see him standing rock-still in the path before them or stepping out suddenly from a grove at their side. Now he was up the hill somewhere, distracting a pair of draks, and she felt edgy, expecting him to emerge abruptly in front of them in the glow of the waning moon. But they reached the wooden door in the hill without him.

As Livia knocked, Melaia gazed out into the chilled night. Stars seeded the sky above the dark valley, broken only by a twinkling of light from Dahl, a town at the eastern end of the foothills. She wondered if Pym was in Navia yet. What would Hanni say at his news of Navia’s chantress traveling not only to the Durenwoods but beyond, to the Aubendahl scriptory? Melaia inhaled the fresh night air. Never would she have imagined being here. She felt freer than she had ever felt in her life.

Until the distant scream of a hawk echoed through the hills and she remembered another height and the hands on her waist. She suddenly felt lightheaded. She sidled closer to Livia at the door, which was marked with the sign of the Tree.

Livia knocked again.

A peephole cracked open, and a brown eye glared out. “Who’s there?”

Livia held up three fingers. “I’m of the Angelaeon and roomed here not long ago. Might I presume upon your hospitality again tonight?”

The door scraped open, and an ebony man, dressed in the belted linen robe of a scribe, saluted with the sign of the Tree.

“May we see the Dom?” asked Livia.

The doorkeeper nodded, and they stepped into a broad cave bathed by the glow of lamps on stands. With only two stone benches as furniture, the room seemed to be a receiving area. Three tunnel-like hallways led deeper into the hill. The doorkeeper retreated down one of them with a lantern.

Melaia watched the light bob away, feeling as if the expanse of her world had shrunk around her. The sense of freedom she had reveled in outdoors was rapidly turning into a feeling of being trapped.

“You feel closed in here too?” asked Livia. “We’ll spend only one night if we find what we’re looking for.”

The doorkeeper returned with the Dom, a stooped, aged man.

“We were not expecting guests.” The Dom’s voice creaked like tree branches rubbing together. “But you are welcome.” He squinted at Livia. “I remember you. Certainly, certainly. You were here not long ago.”

“I’ve returned to fetch a book we think Benasin left here,” said Livia.

“Certainly, certainly. Benasin sent you?”

“Actually, Benasin has died,” said Livia.

“Dear me.” The Dom’s double chin wobbled as he shook his head. “There comes a time when the last word is scribed. I wish for our sakes that Benasin’s last had not been writ so soon. A fine man he was. Certainly, certainly. Always a welcome guest here, you know.” A smile crept across his face.

Melaia found herself bobbing her head along with him. “We’re gathering some of Benasin’s possessions,” she said. “The book we’re looking for is palm sized and has a wooden cover. Red brown wood, inscribed with the sign of the Tree.”

“I know of such a book,” said the Dom. “The first to be made here. At the request of a woman who wanted leaves of papyrus between wood. She insisted on scribing it herself and took it with her when she left. We’ve since made many
books but none like that first one.” He frowned. “Benasin said nothing about bringing such a book back home.”

“Do you suppose Benasin hid it here for safekeeping?” asked Livia.

A smooth voice broke in. “Perhaps he placed it in your archives.” Jarrod stood at the door, rebinding his long hair at the nape of his neck.

Melaia’s back prickled. She wondered how long he had been standing behind them unnoticed.

“Jarrod!” said the Dom. “Back so soon?”

“I’m traveling with these two,” said Jarrod.

“How fortunate for them.” The Dom bobbed his head again. “You may be right about the archives, you know. In any case guests cannot stay at Aubendahl without seeing our archives.”

The Dom led them to a spacious chamber where, at one end, scrolls peeked out of holes hewn into the cave wall and, at the other end, books lined shelves carved into rock. Three scholars glanced up from where they sat at desks, copying by the light of oil lamps. Then they bent back over their work.

With arms outspread the Dom waddled to the center of the room. “My domain.”

Jarrod held a lantern to each row as Livia and Melaia inspected books and shifted scrolls. Most of the books were larger than palm size, but they inspected them anyway. The Dom muttered, “Gently, gently,” whenever a book thudded back into place.

When the last shelf had been searched, Melaia slumped to a stone bench.

The Dom turned to Jarrod. “This book you seek. Might it be in your own collection?”

“Not likely,” said Jarrod.

“It would be worth a look,” said Livia, searching again through a stack of scrolls.

Jarrod rolled his eyes. “I know exactly what’s in my collection.” He handed the lantern to Livia. “I’m going to sleep outdoors where I can actually breathe.”

Melaia watched him go, feeling jealous. She would have loved to sleep outdoors, although not in Jarrod’s vicinity.

Livia slipped a scroll out of the stack and turned to the Dom. “May I take a few moments with this scroll?”

“Certainly, certainly.” The Dom bobbed his head. “I’ll ask the cook to prepare a small repast for you before you retire.”

Livia set the lantern on a table and rolled out the scroll next to it. “A timely discovery. I intended to ask Jarrod to show you a version of this from his collection. He keeps chronicles of the Angelaeon, the history of our time in your world, but he’s not ready to return to his scrolls.”

“Why not?” asked Melaia. “Why do you allow him to speak to you so rudely? It maddens me.”

Livia didn’t look up from the scroll. “Jarrod is grieving.” She motioned for Melaia to lean in.

Melaia scanned the faded script that spread like three fingers reaching down the page.

“This shows the order of Angelaeon,” said Livia. “Three levels.”

“Ranks of angels,” said Melaia. “Benasin spoke of ranks.”

“Did he? Did he explain the responsibilities entrusted to them?”

“Only the Archae, who oversee the elements, and the Erielyon. But I don’t see Erielyon here.”

Livia tapped the lower-right corner of the chart. “We’re messengers, a common rank simply called angel. The truth is, the highest orders—Cherubim, Seraphim, Ophanim—are not strictly angels, for they carry no messages. In fact, they rarely leave inner Avellan and the presence of the Most High. If you
were to see them, you’d wonder if they were living beings at all, for they appear quite different from anything to which you’re accustomed.

“On the second level are rulers in the heavens and governors over worlds to which they’re assigned. Kuriotes are lords of lower angels. Thronos are extremely humble; they’re living signs of the justice of the Most High. Archae are lesser rulers who bring gifts and inspiration into the world and guard the world’s elements.”

“Dreia was of the Archae,” said Melaia.

“Assigned to guard the Wisdom Tree.”

Melaia nodded, thinking maybe that was why many of the Angelaeon were suspicious of her. Her mother had failed to guard the Tree and the stairway leading home. The Angelaeon had cause to be wary.

Livia ran her finger down to the lowest row. “Exousia.” She tapped on the word. “Warrior angels and keepers of history. Like Jarrod. Then Archangels, who supervise kings and kingdoms and influence trade among nations.”

“What powers do angels have?” asked Melaia.

“We’re servants,” said Livia. “Messengers and protectors. Our powers lie within the sphere of the tasks we’re given when we’re assigned to the world. It has been almost two hundred years since our stairway to heaven was destroyed. Except for the Archae’s work, our tasks were completed long ago.”

“But you fly. That’s a power.”

“I suppose flight could be considered a kind of power. And compared to most earthly beings, we do possess heightened senses of perception. Some of us are strongly gifted in sight, others in hearing or touch. We certainly sense each other’s presence. But our greatest powers are wisdom, insight, strategy, even mercy. Most people don’t label such gifts as power.”

“Powers of the mind,” said Melaia.

“And heart. Such powers serve our purpose, which is to guide and protect the worlds.”

“But don’t you have to use physical powers to protect?”

“Wisdom goes a long way toward protection. But, yes, we can fight physically, and most of us are well suited for it. We can destroy ourselves if we’re not careful.”

Melaia read over the ranks again. “So my mother was of the Archae. I wish I knew who my father was.”

“Did you ask Esper?” Livia rolled up the scroll.

“She didn’t know.” Melaia sensed a presence and scowled. Jarrod. She turned to see him at the door. “Were you not able to breathe, even outdoors?”

Jarrod looked past her. “Livia, a runner has come with a message.”

Livia stepped to the door, where she and Jarrod talked in low voices. Then Livia turned to Melaia. “I must leave at once. Jarrod will see you safely returned to Wodehall.”

“You travel by night?” asked Melaia. “Who will see
you
safe?”

“I can fly by moonlight. I’m more safely hidden in the night sky.”

After a meal of barley stew, Melaia followed the Dom down a hallway with open cavelike doorways along one side. He ushered her through one, into a small chamber where a mat lay in a recessed ledge in the cave wall. “This is where Benasin slept when he was last here,” said the Dom. He set a lamp in a small storage niche carved into the wall. “These are our best accommodations, Priestess. I hope you find them suitable. Jarrod will sleep in the next chamber.” A bell tolled. “Our curfew. I bid you a good night.” The Dom bobbed his head and ducked out of the room.