Jovah's Angel (58 page)

“I could see you every day,” he finished. “Yes. That was my thought as well.”

She kissed him on the mouth, then turned away. “A good thought. But we first have the Gloria to get through, and much to do before that. Work before dreaming.”

But with those dreams he had been forced to content himself these past few weeks. Those dreams, and what diversions he could find. Once or twice he was able to pry Noah from his music lessons, and they made their way down the grand staircase to a friendly Velora bar. Noah seemed dazed but happy, a man whose fortunes had veered so often and so rapidly in the past few weeks that he was not entirely sure now which direction he faced.

“Once I get through the Gloria, then I'll start trying to reconstruct it,” the Edori told Caleb as they shared a pitcher of beer one night. “A few weeks ago, I'd expected to be halfway to Ysral at this point. And now I'm in Velora preparing to sing an unfamiliar mass before thousands of people, side by side with the
Archangel Delilah. Jovah moves with great mysteriousness to bring us to a state of wonder.”

“And how well have you learned your piece?” Caleb asked.

“Not well enough! We've chosen the simplest one in the repertoire, but it runs nearly two hours. My solos are only about fifteen or twenty minutes' worth of that, but it's formal music. Not campfire songs. I don't know how well I'll master the technique.”

“Jovah chose you,” Caleb said. “He must admire your voice.”

“Well, he has listened to my voice often enough these past months,” the Edori answered quietly. “For I prayed every day to see Delilah restored, and I prayed every day to keep her from those ships bound to Ysral. And he has answered my prayers. So he must love me even better than I had hoped.”

How to respond to that? Caleb thought about it while he lifted his beer to his mouth and swallowed half the glass. “I think Jovah loves us all equally,” Caleb said at last. “If he answers a prayer, he has his reasons for doing so—reasons that may seem obscure to us but which, in ten or fifty or a hundred years, make perfect sense. It is hard for us to think in those terms, but for Jovah, time is immaterial. He sees all life as one continuous whole, no beginning, no end. And the prayers that move him are the prayers that will restore the world.”

Noah was laughing. “Why, Caleb, you old atheist!” he exclaimed. “What philosophers have you been reading? I didn't think you believed in a god, let alone a god with a purpose—such as it is.”

Caleb smiled. “I am revising my thoughts somewhat,” he said. “I'll let you know when I've worked out all the details.”

“Do,” Noah invited. “I would be interested to hear
your
treatise on the divine principles. Though I doubt if I will agree with them.”

“But then, when did we ever agree?” Caleb mocked, and they settled into a friendly argument on engineering theories that had divided them in the past.

That was rare enough; even rarer was the chance to speak to the Archangel, who was never surrounded by fewer than fifteen people. Feeling as though he was lurking in the glowing hallways of the Eyrie, Caleb occasionally watched her from afar. She seemed alive, vibrant as he had never seen her; it was as if she had long languished on a sickbed and, suddenly cured, had been
restored to full exuberant health. Her dark hair was sleeker, blacker; her skin was pearlescent and flawless.

But there was, in addition, some subtle magnetism at work in her that was even more compelling than her physical beauty. Caleb saw how she could, with a twist of her hand or a sideways look, unfailingly draw people to her side. There was something about her joyousness and her intensity that was irresistible. More than once Caleb saw petitioners standing near her lift their hands as if they wanted nothing so much as to stroke her feathers or her skin. Most of them dropped their hands before they committed the sacrilege, but one or two simply could not stop themselves—and they touched her, and she turned immediately, and she smiled And they forever after adored her.

Even Caleb, who had considered himself inured to her charms now and then found himself longing for a brief moment of her recognition, a chance to stand within her radiant circle. It amused him, but it also discomposed him, and he thought it was just as well that she was too busy to notice him.

But late one night, as he read himself to a solitary sleep, he was surprised by the chime at the door. When he answered the summons, he was struck into incoherence by the sight of Delilah standing there alone.

“Ah—angela—she is—that is,” he stammered, “Alleya is not here. She's in Monteverde.”

Delilah gave him that familiar wicked grin. “I know she is. I is you I have come to talk to.”

“Me?” he said. “Well! Then—yes, come in.” And he stepped aside to allow her entry.

She strolled a few feet into the room, but her stance made in clear that she was here for only the briefest of visits. Still, she stalled for a moment or two, looking around the room as if to examine its few adornments. “You must think me rude beyond description,” she said at last, not quite facing him, “to have delayed so long in thanking you.”

“But you did thank me,” he said, “back in Velora.”

“Then I thank you again, this time as Archangel,” she said “Whose prayers carry more weight with Jovah.”

He hesitated, then shook his head and spoke the truth. “Had Alleya not been willing to cede you that title,” he said, “it would have been hard for me to rejoice with you now.”

“Oh, you would have hated me forever!” she exclaimed. “Just
as Noah hated poor Alleya! Don't worry—I don't hold it against you. It is one of your few virtues, in fact.”

“What, that I can muster resentment?”

She laughed. “No, that you have the wit to love the angel Alleluia. Though you are the last man I would have expected to win her staid heart.”

“Oh, and my friend Noah is just the man I had thought to see in your arms,” he retorted.

She laughed aloud. “True. We have mismatched ourselves, have we not? Still, I cannot find it in me to be sorry.”

Soon after that she turned to go, then paused at the doorway and turned back. Despite her gaiety throughout this visit, he sensed a seriousness in her, a familiarity with melancholy that would never completely evaporate. It led her, now, to give him a smile that was tinged with sadness, and to hold her hand out in farewell. “Thank you again,” she said. “I do not feel I can ever say it enough.”

“It was an honor,” he said, and took her in his arms.

“Stay well. Be happy,” he whispered in her ear. She kissed him on the cheek and disappeared into the corridor. He never had a chance to speak alone with her again.

And now he waited on the Plain of Sharon with ten thousand others to prove to Jovah one more time that harmony reigned on Samaria. From where he stood, in the inner circle with the angels, he could not see all the massed attendants, but he knew they were there: scores of Manadavvi, Jansai, rivermen, farmers, miners. Of Edori there were only a few, maybe a hundred, for Edori did not consider the Gloria a sacred event, and in any case, more than a thousand were gone from the continent already. Those who were present seemed happy and friendly as all Edori did, but Caleb thought he caught an uneasy bewilderment in their eyes from time to time. Maybe they missed their departed brethren, or wished they had not stayed behind, or wondered what the rest of Samaria had to offer them that would make up for the loss of so many.

Caleb glanced around once more, wondering how quickly the music would start, and forced himself to swallow a yawn. They had all risen quite early, since the Gloria was scheduled to begin an hour past dawn, and it was no easy task to arrange ten thousand people in their appropriate stations. Morning still seemed to have barely begun; the sky had a fresh-washed look to it and even the
air seemed to have wandered down, new-minted, from one of the encircling mountains. Only in one place was the Plain of Sharon unguarded by a high peak, and that was at its southernmost point, where once the mighty Galo Mountain had stood. One and a hall centuries ago, when the Gloria did not proceed as planned, Jovah had leveled that mountain with a single bolt, and even now the ground around it was blackened and disordered from the heat and force of that blow.

But there would be no such theatrics today. Even now a sigh of anticipation rippled through the crowd, for Noah, Delilah and Alleya had finally moved forward to take their position in the center of the angels. What conversation there had been came to a halt; nothing but the wind moved or breathed.

Into that utter stillness a low, clear voice sang the opening notes of a prayer of jubilation. Even Caleb recognized this piece, and he saw the angels around him exchange silent looks of surprise, uncertainty and then approbation. It was the simplest of the holy masses, the one taught to schoolchildren, and it was almost never used in any formal ceremony. Yet it was a joyous piece, celebrating the common delights of life and praising Jovah for his many goodnesses, and everyone knew the words to it. And it seemed, under the circumstances, appropriate, as Samaria prepared itself for a spell of calm contentment after a long season of storm.

Noah's voice rose and fell liltingly through the playful intervals of the melody, and it was plain that this uncomplicated mass was perfectly suited to his style. He seemed neither nervous nor afraid; he stood as he might stand at an Edori campfire, hands clasped before him, face upturned so that his words might flow directly from his mouth to the god's ear.

When Delilah joined with Noah for the first duet of the mass, Caleb initially thought the angel's magnificent voice would overpower the Edori's. But it was not so; hers soared and raved above his, but his full, steady tones seemed to tether her sublime ones to the earth. It was as if, without his voice in counterpart, hers would have disappeared in a celestial transport; he made a place for her to exist here on the Plain of Sharon.

The close of that first duet was the signal to the assembled crowd. They came in on cue with their choral response, a deep, rumbling sound issuing from so many throats. Even Caleb, who had not planned to sing, found himself joining in with the traditional, familiar words, the music that graced every mass no matter
how formal or complex: “Yes, there is love… yes, there is beauty… yes, we believe in the wisdom of our god…” Affirmation, exultation, absolute faith in the lightness of the divine.

And why not
? Caleb thought as he intoned the stately, majestic words.
Why not believe with your whole heart, never for a moment doubt the goodness of the god
? Jehovah the spaceship was not at all loving, though in its way it was beautiful and it was certainly wise; but that did not mean there was not, somewhere, as the Edori believed, a greater god who informed the entire universe and held all the stars and planets in place. The universe was grander than Caleb had ever thought to consider, and there might very well be room in it for a god. It was hard to know, but there might be no harm in scraping out a small foothold for belief.

The brief choral interlude ended, and now it was Delilah's turn to show off her ability. But she had amended this part of the mass; it was no longer her solo. Twining around the Archangel's voice like ivy around a flowering vine, Alleya's voice rose with Delilah's in such perfect harmony that it was hard to separate the bright voices one from the other. Clearly there was a dominant and a subordinate note, but they seemed indivisible, as if neither could be sounded unless both were. And the gorgeousness of that music! The sky seemed painted with it, the air was scented with it; Caleb felt himself inhaling it a breathless stanza at a time. This was true prayer, then; hearing this was what had made a machine divine. Caleb thought such music would have deified anything.

He completely missed the next choral entrance, so enraptured was he with the duet, and he was not the only one in the crowd who fumbled for the note. This time, though, he sang out more heartily; this time he was nearly won over.
Let there be a god, then
, he thought,
if this is the devotion he commands
.

It was more than an hour later before the last note of the mass was sung, a long, achingly beautiful “Amen” which Delilah had reserved entirely for her own. No one spoke or breathed or rustled for a full five minutes after her last note died away, and then the crowd of ten thousand erupted into pounding, whistling, ecstatic applause. Archangel and angelico held hands and bowed to their well-wishers; Alleya merely raised one arm and waved, though she smiled broadly. A tangible wave of euphoria swept through the crowd, moving people to spontaneous embraces and moments of giddy laughter. Another Gloria gloriously concluded; the wrath of the god averted, the friendship between men and angels reaffirmed. Truly, it was a day made for celebration.

And the following morning, Caleb left with the oracle for Sinai.

He had thought the morning would never come, for the day of the Gloria was endless, filled with music, filled with feasting. The formal mass was only the first of a long series of musical offerings—anyone from the highest angel to the humblest mortal could perform to the god's glory this day, and hundreds of people did. City choirs, Edori troubadours, angel trios—all took their turn before the appreciative crowd, lifting their voices to the god. Meanwhile, minor festivities went on around them, as people paused to eat, gossip, and play games at booths and tents across the plain.

Eventually Caleb tired of it and retreated to the Eyrie pavilion and the curtained room that had been set aside for his and Alleya's use. He was sleeping when, well past midnight, Alleya slipped onto the cot beside him. He felt her feathers slide with a foreign silkiness against his exposed skin; it was a sensation that never failed to make him shiver with a shocked desire. The bed was small for two people—especially when one was an angel—but it was manageable for a night or so. Certainly preferable to two separate cots.