Jovah's Angel (12 page)

Her voice was sweet and thin as drifting campfire smoke; she always pictured its spiraling sparkle wending its way toward the god like a trail of vapor. Odd people had been moved by her voice. Poets, madwomen, autistic children, angels who cared for no singers but themselves—these were the people who crouched at her feet when she offered prayers to Jovah. Most others merely listened, and nodded, and went on their way, unaffected.

But Jovah heard her. He always had. Almost, she could follow the disintegrating mist of her song as it glittered through the lowering clouds and arced through the layer of sunlight somewhere above her, then skittered past the coruscating stars straight to Jovah's ears. Like the lunatics and mystics, he heard her; her voice caught his wandering attention. She felt him start, as if he had been touched unexpectedly on the cheek, and then relax again as he realized it was only Alleya asking for a simple favor.
Yes, of course, happy to do what you ask
, she imagined him saying; and as she thought it, the air around her began to shift and lighten.

She stayed aloft another thirty minutes or so, hovering where she had prayed, and feeling the clouds shred away beneath her
wings. It was a glorious feeling to petition the god and have the god respond. No matter how often she tried it, Alleya was gratified beyond measure when she succeeded. She strove hard not to be vain about her ability, for, after all, any angel could do the same, but she could not shake the secret belief that her voice pleased Jovah when other voices angered him, or bored him, or made no imprint upon his indifference; and it was indeed a marvelous thing to be one who could charm the god.

When it was clear that the storm had ended—even now a few shards of sunlight were slicing through the clouds—Alleya shifted her weight, dropped a few hundred feet and began flying more purposefully toward southern Jordana. She had wanted to reach Luminaux tonight, but realized that she might have delayed too long, for she had one more stop to make before she could complete her journey. She needed to make a visit of strategic importance to the angel hold at Cedar Hills.

There were many who considered Cedar Hills the best of the angel holds, but for Alleya's taste, it did not have quite the majesty of the Eyrie or the quaintness of Monteverde. Built on an open, level plan, it seemed to her much more of a peasant village than a seat of divine power—which had been exactly the intention when it was built. However, the small houses, pretty shops and scattered angel dormitories seemed more like a campus for music students than a place where people gathered to confer about the god. Alleya landed gracefully in the well-trimmed patch of green, set aside specifically for angels to come to rest, and glanced about her at the bustling activity of the city center.

Micah, the leader of the Cedar Hills host, might be anywhere—if he was even here. She first tried the central compound, a four-level boxy stone building where most of the important functions of the angels were held—public meals, rehearsals, hearings with petitioners. He was as likely to be there as anywhere.

In fact, he was just leaving the building as Alleya approached it, and he came directly to her side as soon as he saw her.

“Well, this is an honor, angela,” he said, surprised but gracious. “What brings you to our humble hold?”

“Travel to Luminaux, mostly, and a desire to stay in touch,” she replied. “It seems I am rarely in Cedar Hills these days.”

“Well, you have much to occupy you in Velora,” Micah observed, leading her to a low, inviting building wrapped in the aromas of bread and coffee. “Let's have something to eat, shall we, and catch up on events?”

He got them seated in a private room, ordered tea and cakes, and proceeded to regale her with tales of Cedar Hills, lightly told. Alleya listened, trying to decide if he seemed nervous or merely guarded. The third time he mentioned the Manadavvi Aaron Lesh, she realized he was uncertain about broaching a delicate topic.

“So the Manadavvi have been here,” she said directly. “What were they asking for? Special favors for their distributors, or for you to use your influence on me?”

He smiled ruefully and stirred his tea. “Both, actually. And in fact, it wasn't the Manadavvi here, though it may as well have been. It was old Esau Heiver from Breven—one of the Jansai industrialists who deals with the Manadavvi.”

“Buying or selling?”

“Both. Buying raw material, selling finished products. You want luxury, angela, you go to Breven. You think you find it in the Manadavvi homes and the Semorran palaces, but they manufacture it in Breven. Unbelievable things—the silks they are weaving in those new factories are softer than a baby's cheek. And the gold—they are making plates and cups and furniture from gold faster than the Bethel miners can dig the stuff up. You should fly up there for a day just to look at what they're making.”

“Thank you, I avoid Breven whenever possible. I find the Jansai hard to love.”

“As do we all.”

“So why was Esau here? Complaining about the shipping problems along the river? I had a little dispute about that myself.”

“No, I think he's entirely willing to let the Manadavvi solve their own problems. What the Jansai are unhappy about are the restrictions on child labor—they don't want to give up the children. And, perhaps, in a few instances, they have a point. Children have smaller fingers, can reach into some of those wretched machines with more ease than adults can—but I have an innate distaste for the whole picture, those little bodies slaving away in those metallic coffins—”

“What did you tell him?”

Micah gave her his easy smile. He was a pleasant and likable fellow, but just a little lazy; Alleya did not always trust him to hold the moral line. “I told him I would discuss the situation with the Archangel, for I was sure you would have strong views.”

Alleya brushed a hand through her hair. It felt tangled and wind-blown, and no doubt looked worse. “Oh, I do,” she sighed. “I think the children should all be in school or playing happily
on their lawns, but we both know there are too many children who have no access to either.”

“Sometimes the children are the only family members able to work in the cities,” Micah said softly. “Just the other day, a family came here. The father had worked in one of those factories. Lost a leg when some big wheel came crashing down on him. The mother—pregnant again. Four children already in the family. What can they do? He can't farm. She has weaving and sewing skills, but with the factories working at top efficiency, the cost of a simple handmade garment is two or three times the price of one of those silk gowns. The children could work in some of those factories—although, give them credit, these parents were looking for something better. But many parents choose that option—and they weren't so happy when those age restrictions went into effect, either.”

Alleya nodded. “So what did you do? With the family?”

“Oh, gave the woman a job sewing feast-day outfits for the angels. I can't bring myself to wear factory-made clothes.”

“That was a good solution.”

“Yes, but I don't have that many jobs to offer. And it's an issue that needs to be addressed. You and I both know that unless we enforce the laws, there will be violations—and I don't have the manpower to patrol the factories of Breven every day.”

Alleya combed her fingers through her hair again. “Well, then. Let's amend the laws. What do the Jansai respect above anything else?”

“Money,” Micah answered without hesitation.

The Archangel nodded. “Exactly. Tell them they can employ child labor—but at double the rate of an adult worker, and for half the time. So that a child who works a half day receives a full day's salary. And that it must be documented. And that children who are short-changed should report it, and the errant factory owners will be fined. Everybody gets what they want, and those who abuse the system are exposed. No black market, no incentive to lie.”

Micah's brows rose, and he smiled. “I like it,” he said. “What about the age restriction?”

“Keep it at ten, for now. Let's see how many violations we have.”

“You realize, of course, it will ultimately send a wave of fury through the Manadavvi. Since costs will go up, prices will go up, and the Manadavvi are the buyers—”

“Cost of doing business,” Alleya said, smiling faintly. “If their prices go up enough, then women like your new seamstress will become marketable again, as expenses even out. Perhaps I don't have a head for business. It doesn't seem so bad to me.”

“You just don't like the Manadavvi,” Micah said. “It doesn't trouble you if they are unhappy.”

She was surprised into a laugh. “How insightful,” she said. “I am one of the common people, you know. I have their interests more at heart.”

“Well, and there are more of them,” Micah said lightly. “So we should all be watching out for their interests.”

She wasn't sure he meant it, but it sounded good, anyway. “Have you had other crises?” she asked. “What about weather? As I came across the Galilee, I flew through a rainstorm. Have there been problems?”

“The Galilee? Just south of Castelana?” he asked. She nodded, and he continued, “It never stops raining there. I have been there—I've sent my angels over—the clouds lift for a day or two, then they come piling back. Sometimes they don't lift at all. I'm worried about flooding down on the southern plains—all those croplands…”

They discussed storm systems for another twenty minutes, during which Alleya grew increasingly uneasy. In Bethel, the weather had stabilized during the past three months (
since she had become Archangel
, she thought, though she did not say it aloud), and she had not gotten many reports of exceptional turmoil in the other provinces. But here Micah was calmly telling her of the continuing gales sweeping from Breven to the river on an almost regular basis, of small towns given up and two mines abandoned because the wet ground gave way.

“But I was not aware that problems were so severe,” she broke in. “I thought—things have been calm enough in Bethel…”

Micah shrugged. “It no longer seems so bad. This has been the way of things for, oh, ten or twelve months now. So now, instead of a northern desert and a southern farmland, we have northern farmland and a southern marsh. We will adjust.”

Alleya was a little distraught. “But—Micah, don't you see?—the change in the weather is only part of the problem. What's alarming is that the angels cannot stop it. Does Jovah not hear our prayers asking for the storms to cease? If Jovah had decreed that it was time for Samaria to be remade—desert into farmland, as you say, farmland into swamp—I would abide by his commands.
But to lose the ability to whisper in his ear—”

“Maybe he has made his decree,” Micah interrupted. “Maybe he has not told us so, but he has decided to change our world. How do you know this is not what he wants?”

She stared back at him, for the thought had literally never crossed her mind. Could Micah be right? Every muscle in her body tensed in denial. “I don't think so,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I don't believe it. Because I hear him—he hears me. If he truly wanted to flood us all, he would not respond when any one of us prayed.”

Micah shrugged, then gave her a quick smile. “I bend more than you do, angela,” he said. “I take what the god sends, and I deal with the events handed to me. I don't fight what I cannot control. Tell me how to turn back the rains, and I will. But if Jovah has made up his mind, I do not see that we can reverse his decision.”

She was quiet for a long time, wondering if Micah spoke the truth, wondering if Jovah indeed had drawn so far away from his people that he would not care that their world turned upside down. “I suppose we could ask him,” she said very softly. “I suppose—perhaps the oracles could put the question to him.”

“He answers the oracles in roundabout ways,” Micah responded. “I have never gotten a reply that made much sense to me when I went to Job. But there would be no harm in asking. You have other questions to put to the god, I know.”

That caused Alleya to look at him sharply. “I? What do I have to ask him?”

Now Micah was smiling broadly, seeming without effort to put aside the solemnness of the last exchange. “Why, who will sing beside you at the Gloria, of course,” he said. “That is coming up in a few short months, you know.”

“Who will sing—but all the angels, of course.”

Micah laughed, genuinely amused. “Alleya, you must have been to dozens of Glorias in your life! You know they are always led by the angelica—or the angelico, in your case—your husband, dear girl.”

“My
husband
!” she exclaimed. “But I don't have—I don't even—” She felt her cheeks heat and her words tangle, so she fell abruptly silent.

“Exactly my point! You must know that Jovah always picks the one the Archangel will marry. The Archangel goes to his
oracle and asks the god to make his selection, always a mortal, of course—”

“I realize that,” she snapped. “I just didn't—This is impossible. In the next four months? To find a husband? There is too much else to do.”

Now Micah was sobering; his mood changes seemed to be instant and complete. “As far as I know, this is one tradition the god has never forsaken,” he said. “If you expect him to hear you at the Gloria, you need to sing it with your chosen angelico at your side. It will not be so bad—they say the god always chooses for you a mate ideally suited. But it must be done soon, Alleya. You should go to Job while you are here.”

“It is proving to be a strange journey, all in all,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing. I had intended to go to Luminaux first. But maybe you're right. Maybe I should travel to Mount Egypt and ask Job these difficult questions.”