The Alleluia Files (35 page)

“And you have been oracle—how long now?”

“For nearly thirty years.”

“You must have been fairly young when you assumed your duties.”

She nodded. “No one expected Deborah to die as she did, so quickly. She was nearly eighty, of course, but she had always been in good health. But then—she had a partial failure of her heart. One day she was fine, the next day she could not speak or walk, though it was clear that she could still understand— and think. Her last few days were terrible to witness. It was obvious that there were things on her mind—things she wanted
to tell—and over and over again she asked for me to come to her room. And I would come, and I would send everyone else out, and she would take me by the hand and draw me down to the bed. And no words would come from her mouth, though she tried and tried to speak. She moved her hands in that strange language of the deaf—which I did not know—but when I brought her pen and paper, she could not write a word. I stayed with her as much as I could, hoping she would regain the power of speech. But three weeks later her heart stopped entirely, and she died in the night. It made me very sad.” She paused, shook her head, and smiled away the ghosts. “But it also made me very busy! For I had overnight become the new oracle, and there was much to do.”

“I wonder what it is she wanted to tell you,” Jared said.

“So do I, sometimes. But no great mysteries have arisen that I could not solve—no locked cabinets that I could not find the key for, no dreadful events that she could have forewarned me about. I think she was afraid, and looking straight into the face of death, and wanted the assurance of the god’s love. And that I gave her. So I don’t worry about it anymore.”

“Do you think—” Jared began, but was stopped by a small, speculative touch on his arm. He turned instantly to find Annalee smiling up at him with a wistful, plaintive expression.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” she said in her soft, exclamatory whisper. “I didn’t realize you were still talking.”

“What is it, Annalee?” he asked with an edged calm.

“It’s just that, after dinner, I know Mariah is going to ask for entertainment. And I thought—if you had no objection—you would be willing to sing a duet with me? Something simple, of course, I know my voice is no match for yours, but Mariah made me promise that I
would
get up and sing, and I am shy to be singing by myself in front of all these strangers. But if you were beside me, well—”

He let her go on for a few more tangled sentences, mentally consigning Mariah to eternal damnation, before nodding sharply three times. “Of course. I am happy to serve as Mariah’s amusement,” he said. “Did you have a song in mind?”

Well, she had several, all silly love songs with preposterous lyrics, and all equally distasteful to him. “Choose what you will,” he told her. “I am familiar with each of them.”

As soon as he could, he turned back to finish his conversation
with Jecoliah, but she had become engrossed in a discussion with the miner on her other side and showed no indication of ending it soon. In frustration, he addressed himself determinedly to his food, not looking up till he had cleaned his plate and finished his third glass of wine.

As he had expected, the soiree following the meal was even worse than the dinner itself, highlighted by his own performance with the wispy Annalee. He did his best not to make eye contact with Bael, Mariah, or Richard Stephalo while the painful duet was in progress, for he could not bear to see the satisfaction on their faces; likewise, he could not look at Isabella, because he knew she would be laughing. The applause that followed the song was extravagant, but not enough to make him agree to an encore, and he swept the assembled company a bow before stalking away from the pianoforte. He went straight to the servant holding a tray of wineglasses.

“You’ll be too ill to leave in the morning, if you keep drinking all night,” Isabella murmured in his ear, and he turned to give her an idiot’s grin.

“Nothing will make me too ill to leave in the morning,” he informed her. She took the glass from his hand, deliberately sipped from it, and handed it back. He added, “I’m considering making my exit now, in fact.”

“But you’ve been so gracious all evening! You can manage another hour or two.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“I hope you plan to be in a better mood when you arrive at Cartabella in a few weeks.”

“I hope you plan to provide me better diversions.”

She stretched to her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Oh, yes!” she murmured in his ear. “And if you don’t like the youthful ones, I’ll amuse you myself, in any way you care to name.” She drew back and favored him with a brilliant smile. “Now how’s that for a rash and breathless promise?”

He wished suddenly that his head was clearer; but surely she was just flirting. “I think I’ll find myself tolerably well amused, thank you very much. I’m looking forward to the visit, in fact.”

The smile still lurked in her eyes. She could probably read every thought in his head. “You’re not,” she said. “But I assure you it will be better than this.”

“I’ve no doubt of it. In two months, then.”

“In two months.”

He stayed till the first of the guests began filtering out, and then he made his farewells to Mariah and Bael. He slipped up to his room, fell instantly into bed, and slept the sleep of the reprieved man. In the morning, he was up with the dawn, packed in five minutes, and hurrying through the corridors before anyone else was awake. At the public landing space on the Eyrie’s highest level, he flung himself from the mountaintop as if he was fleeing from doom, his wings working mightily, his face straining toward the skies. He could not get high enough fast enough; he flew at top speed, straight north from the Eyrie, for as long as his wings could bear the exercise.

He would never go back to the Eyrie as long as he lived.

“W
ell, Jared, it doesn’t sound so awful to me,” Mercy said mildly three weeks later. “You had two boring dinners and half a dozen conversations with people you didn’t like. No worse than your average Gloria.”

Christian was laughing. The three of them had come together, unexpectedly, in Semorrah, and the merchant had insisted on taking the two angels out to dinner. So now they were seated in the well-appointed dining room of a quiet little inn called the Berman House, sharing one of the best meals it had been Jared’s privilege to eat in a long time. And the company was better than he had had since he left the Eyrie, too.

Jared had only been back in Monteverde for a couple of weeks before he had felt compelled to leave again. He had wanted to apprise Christian of the results of his quest so far. And Monteverde had been so peaceful that he did not feel he needed to stay—and so chilly that he did not want to. Mercy’s presence in Semorrah had been a delightful, unplanned bonus.

“Well, I commiserate with him on the Annalee Stephalo question,” Christian said. “I don’t know what it is about her that is so off-putting, for she’s a pretty enough girl, and her manners are for the most part acceptable.”

“She’s stupid, but she’s harmless,” Mercy said briskly. “And I wouldn’t want to see Jared entangled with her, but he’s a grown man, after all! He ought to be able to have a civil conversation with someone he doesn’t much care for, and not let it ruin his life. I hate to say it, Jared, but it’s time you grew up and acted like an adult.”

“And this is the reason I was so happy to see you when I arrived in Semorrah,” Jared said, smiling at her lazily. “Because
you always make me feel so good about myself.”

“Nothing like Mercy’s tender love,” Christian agreed. “She spent the morning telling me I was a wicked father, and that if I didn’t intend to raise my own sons, I should marry a woman who’d do it for me.”

“Matrimony seems to be the theme on everyone’s mind,” Jared murmured. “I know the nicest Bethel girl. She’s currently staying at the Eyrie as the guest of the Archangel—”

“I didn’t say you were wicked,” Mercy informed Christian. “But you are neglectful. And your boys are adorable creatures whom you should enjoy spending time with.”

“I do enjoy them,” Christian said mildly. “But by all means come to Semorrah as often as you like and we can parent them together. They like you. They’d be overjoyed to have you around more.”

“It’s not
me
they need more time with, Christian, but you.”

“I give them as much time as I have. And I think I’d prefer to discuss Jared’s failings, if you please.”

“I’d prefer to discuss Bael’s,” Jared said. He nodded over at the merchant. “I don’t know how much Christian has told you of what he discussed with me last time I was here,” he said to Mercy. “But from him I learned that Bael has undertaken a systematic plan to eliminate the Jacobites from Samaria. Frankly, I didn’t believe him—but Bael all but confirmed it for me while I was there. It was very chilling. All this time I have merely believed him to be obstructive and narrow-minded. But now I think he might be—” He paused, searched for a word, and reluctantly found it. “Evil.”

“Oh, come now, Jared!” Mercy exclaimed. “Misguided I’ll allow, but nothing stronger than that.”

“I agree with Jared,” Christian said coolly. “I think Bael has misused power, and done it deliberately, and knows that his motives would not bear close examination.”

“His motives! The safety of the realm!” Mercy replied. “I am not one of these radical thinkers who believes that every lunatic with some view to propose deserves to have his hearing in the public market! Like Bael, I believe the Jacobites present some risk to us and to our society—”

“But would you have them murdered out of hand?” Christian demanded.

She stared back at him. “Well, no. I would perhaps try to
reeducate them—and I would not willingly allow them a forum for their views, but I … Well, the Librera tells us that every life is sacred. I would not take one without the direct mandate of the god.”

“I believe Jovah has given Bael no such mandate,” Christian said.

There was a moment’s silence while Mercy glanced uncertainly between the two men. Christian and Jared had agreed before they set out for the Berman House that they would not discuss the validity of the Jacobite claim with Mercy—she was too devout to entertain even a philosophical doubt about her god—but they had felt reasonably secure in discussing the fate of the rebels themselves. They were sure Mercy would not consign anyone to a brutal death.

“What is your proof?” she asked suddenly. “What is it you have seen or heard that makes you think he is actually committing executions?”

Christian nodded at the other angel. “I believe Jared has the most recent firsthand knowledge.”

So Jared told them about his adventure in Ileah and his conversation with Bael at the Eyrie, and saw Mercy’s face grow lined with worry and Christian’s mouth grow taut with anger. “I cannot believe it,” Mercy said, more than once, but it was clear she was beginning to. And then Christian filled her in on rumors he had heard about the Jansai, in Breven and in Luminaux, sweeping through on the Archangel’s orders to flush out Jacobites and bring them to justice.

“Some of this I had heard, but not the details—I thought they were just being harassed, relocated—” she murmured.

“Relocated where?” Christian demanded. “If he wants to eject them from Samaria and will not allow them to emigrate to Ysral—”

“And yet—they
are
a danger. They
do
put Samaria at risk,” she said faintly.

Christian threw his hands in the air. “Then we are done with this conversation! You clearly side with Bael—”

“I do not! I believe his principles are right but his methods are completely wrong!” she fired back. “If he is truly doing these terrible things, he must be stopped! And we must pray to Jovah that whoever succeeds him as Archangel can solve this riddle in a more humane fashion.”

The men exchanged glances. “But who will replace him as Archangel?” Christian said softly. “The god has not spoken. And Bael has his own ideas.”

“What can you possibly mean?” she asked sharply.

“It’s no secret he’d like to hold on to power,” Jared said. “How better than through his son? Find a compliant angel to wed with Omar, convince the god that this angel would be a suitable candidate, and—” Jared snapped his fingers. “That quickly she takes over his post. That quickly Omar steps into his father’s shoes. And believe me, the son adheres to his father’s teachings.”

Mercy stared at him. “But that’s absurd. There are no compliant angels. All have minds of their own.”

“Do they?” Jared said a little grimly. “I can think of half a dozen young angels who might be the suitable age to marry Omar. And all of them are half in love with him already. He’s an attractive man, is Omar. More attractive if he can offer someone that kind of power.”

“But he can’t! Jovah has never named an Archangel at the behest of the angels before.”

“How do you know? How do you know how he picks his candidates? The god exists to offer counsel to men, but how do we know he doesn’t appreciate a little advice from mortals now and then?”

“Jared. That’s blasphemy.”

“All I’m saying is, Bael seems to think he can convince Jovah that his son should wed the next Archangel. And I wonder why Bael thinks that if he hasn’t done a little research and discovered some compacts that were worked out in the past between the Archangel and the god.”

Mercy rubbed her temples with her fingers. “But if that’s so … Then what are we to do? How can we stop him? From killing the Jacobites, from putting Omar in his place? What can we possibly do?”

“Well, first, I think we must spread the information around a little,” said Christian briskly. “You and Jared must let your angels know what Bael is doing, and that you don’t like it. You must talk with the Manadavvi and your privileged land holders—and even, if you’re up to it, Mercy, to the Jansai—and let them know that Bael’s actions do not meet with your approval.”

She was frowning at him. She looked anxious and a little
afraid. “It will cause no end of dissonance,” she said hesitantly. “When there is disagreement among angels—”