The Alleluia Files (60 page)

She smiled at him, teasing him, deliberately provoking him. “And I thought you were Reuben sia Havita, great Edori adventurer. You’ve crossed oceans in a boat smaller than this bedroom. And you’re afraid to take one more journey, travel to a place no one living now has ever seen? Were your Edori ancestors afraid to sail for Ysral, never having laid eyes on it? Would you have been afraid to make that trip?”

Reluctantly he smiled back. “It is not the same thing,” he said.

“It is exactly the same thing.”

“I think we should wait till Conran returns.”

“You wait. I’ll go without you.”

“You are a very stubborn mikala. And you appear to be such a docile, even-tempered girl.”

“My aunt Gretchen always says much the same thing,” she replied serenely. “‘How anyone with a face as sweet as yours could be such an intractable child will be a mystery to me till I die.’ Her very words. Come with me or stay behind.”

“I’ll go with you. When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as we’ve returned the car to Sahala.”

A day later they took off for Samaria. They had left the Augustine school early in the morning, despite the fact that neither of them had gotten much sleep. They paused only to make a brief farewell to George, telling him honestly what they believed the paper said. He had listened with his mouth agape and his eyes bleached with disbelief.

“And this is true? It’s genuine?” he had demanded, choking the words out with some difficulty.

“As to that, neither of us can say,” Reuben had replied. “These are the words the documents contain. We cannot verify more than that.”

As they sped away in their little car, south toward Sahala, Lucinda had asked, “Do you think that was wise? Shouldn’t this secret have been kept a little longer? Or at least until we’ve proved it?”

“Not if it’s the truth,” Reuben had replied. “What if Conran and all his band are taken prisoner in Samaria? What if you and I perish in our flight across the ocean? Enough people have died for the Alleluia Files. If they exist, it is time the secret was revealed.”

“And if it’s a hoax after all?”

Reuben shrugged. “No harm done. A few engineering students make their way to Mount Sinai and cause the oracle great annoyance. And the watching god laughs. And the world spins on.

However, they did not, in Sahala, tell the Jacobites exactly where they planned to go. It would be too unwieldy, Lucinda
thought, to try to discipline a horde of fanatic rebels who would all want to cram into Mount Sinai at once to watch the miracle, No, best to send a small party first, and wait for news.

So they packed, slept, and took off early the next morning, giving only the vaguest information about their destination. The skies were clear, and Lucinda settled quickly into her most efficient pace. Reuben was one of the few men she had ever encountered who seemed to enjoy being carried by a woman, who took the opportunity to gaze around at the world from this unique vantage point, who did not worry that he was too heavy or too dependent.

Flying at top speed and barring any battering head winds, an angel could cross the ocean in two days. With a two-hundred-pound man in her arms and a couple of packs strapped around her waist, Lucinda wasn’t sure she could meet that goal, so she planned to attempt the trip in two and a half. Which meant they would have to find two friendly ships to shelter them overnight, which meant they had to look for Edori vessels, which meant they had to follow a more northerly course than the direct one between Ysral and Breven.

“And of course we can’t stop at Angel Rock for the night,” she murmured in Reuben’s ear. “That
would
create a furor. Aunt Gretchen would never let me leave the island.”

“Not a bad idea, perhaps,” he replied, but she merely laughed.

They were lucky the first night: They spotted an Edori ship almost the instant they decided to start looking. Lucinda Was not surprised, upon landing, to discover that Reuben was somehow related to the captain and one of the crew members. Even had that not been the case, she was sure they would have been welcomed just as warmly.

“Flying on to Breven, is that it?” the captain asked them over dinner. “We’d be glad to take you the whole distance, if that would suit your plans. No trouble at all.”

“Actually, I like the flying,” Reuben said with a grin. “I wouldn’t have believed such a thing was possible, but it’s even better than gusting through the ocean at top speed just a mile ahead of a storm.”

Plainly the Edori disbelieved him but, before the angel, hesitated to mock him. “Well, then,” one of the sailors replied, “that’s the favor I’ll ask from the god next.”

The next morning, they were on their way again before the first fragile light of dawn skittered across the horizon to their backs. And for the first few hours of the flight, the day passed much as the one before it had. The heavy heat of the sun was brushed away by the incessant spiral of wind rising from the restless sea; above them and below, there were only shades of turquoise, cobalt, and celestine. The rush of wind, the call of seabirds, the slap of water, and the beat of angel wings were the only sounds in a vast, immobile, empty world. The serenity was deeper than death.

And yet, as the afternoon advanced, painting both air and water with an overlay of gold, Lucinda felt her arms grow tired and her breath pull more laboriously into her lungs. She felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat skip and falter, and dread washed across her like a blush. She ceased replying to Reuben’s idle comments and put all her energy into gaining another mile, and another, without dropping her burden into the ocean and sinking after him like so much blond-and-alabaster stone.

It was not even sunset before she started searching the horizon for a ship that could take them in for the night, but it was another half hour before she spotted something suitable. And even then it was not ideal: an independent freighter out of Lisle, flying the green Gaza flag under the standard of its merchant owner. But as long as the sailors weren’t Jansai, Lucinda had little fear. No respectable tradesman would refuse to take in an angel.

And she was right, though the welcome here was civil as opposed to genuine, and there was a lengthy wait before the captain was able to clear out a cabin for their use.

“We ask a berth for just one night,” Lucinda assured him. “And we can pay you.”

“No, no, no payment is required,” he replied stiffly. “Of course, we would be happy to have you join us for dinner.”

“We have our own food, thank you,” she replied, earning a quick sideways glance from Reuben and a look of relief from the captain. “We will attempt not to trouble you again at all.”

In a few moments they had been shown to their room, a meticulously clean if astonishingly small chamber that probably belonged to the first mate or some other officer. Lucinda went straight toward the bed, stripping off the packs around her waist and letting them fall to the floor. She sat on the edge of the bunk and stared sightlessly at the porthole.

Reuben stood with his back against the door, gravely watching her. “Are you ill?” he asked. “Is the strain of the long flight too much? They will not like it, of course, but we could stay another day aboard this vessel, until you have recovered your strength.”

But she shook her head. The tumult in her head was so raucous that she almost could not hear his words, only the gray cacophony of panic and fear. Her whole body felt small, taut, braced for impact. She had never been so frightened in her life.

“Something’s happened to Tamar,” she whispered.

T
hey jounced along the worst roads in Bethel in the worst trucks ever soldered together, and not a single Jacobite uttered a complaint or a curse. All nine of them had been shoved inside the back of one of the big transport vehicles, which consisted of a metal base enclosed by an iron cage high enough for even Jared to stand upright. They were sharing a space about as big as a reasonably sized bedroom—but there were nine of them, and there was no padding, and there was no privacy, and there was death at the end of the road. Tamar, who had traveled a good deal, considered this the worst journey of her life.

The last journey of her life.

She could not quite believe it, although it was plain the others did. Jani and Loa huddled together in one corner of the cage, crying quietly, their arms wrapped around each other and even their hair wet with their tears. Horace, whose arm had been broken in a fast fight with one of their attackers, lay in a trancelike state on the floor of the truck, refusing water or comfort. Duncan, Sal, and Wyman spent all their energy examining every last joint of the bars and the truck, looking for loose connections, looking for paths to escape. When the vehicle careened around a particularly bad corner and sent them flying to the hard floor, they merely waited till they had caught their breath or their balance, and climbed back to their feet, searching, testing, hoping.

Not that it would do them a damn bit of good to pry the whole cage from the shell of the truck, since their prison car was being followed by two truckloads of Jansai, no doubt watching for just such an event. But that was a Jacobite for you: never any idea of when to give up and go home.

Of course, they couldn’t exactly go home. They could give up. But they wouldn’t.

Conran divided his time between all of them, exhorting Horace to attempt to sit up, cajoling the girls into weak smiles, slapping the men on the back and telling them they would solve it yet, he had faith in them. Supreme faith.

Tamar sat with her back to the pursuing Jansai trucks, and watched Jared.

He sat in the corner across from her, knees updrawn, hands linked around his ankles, wings considerately curled tight to his body so that he took up no more than his allotted space in these very small quarters. He seemed to be completely at ease, fully relaxed, concealing neither chagrin nor alarm. Certainly, he did not appear to be contemplating a gruesome death in two days’ time or ruing all the actions of his life that had led him to this regrettable end. So perhaps he did not believe they would all be killed, either—or at least, he felt certain he would be spared.

But Tamar had her doubts about that. The smiling Omar had said flat out that the angel could abandon the Jacobites or die beside them. He had made no provisions for people who suddenly recanted at the last minute.

Why had Jared passed up his chance to leave? Tamar could not get the question out of her head, and she toyed with her mother’s locket while her mind worried over the problem. Why had he crossed to her side, defiant but calm, and stared back at the Archangel’s son with absolutely no moue of remorse? He did not believe in their cause, did not care if the Alleluia Files were hidden for the next century or recited over broadcast wires to every ear in Samaria. Why had he joined them? Why would he sacrifice his life?

Well, she would die before she asked him those questions-die within the next two days, if Bael’s son told the truth. But she could not stop herself from staring at Jared and wondering.

The caravan stopped twice during that first afternoon to give the prisoners and their guards a chance to attend to personal needs. However, it appeared they were not to be offered food, even though the Jansai and Omar made a great show of eating their dinner in full view of the Jacobites. That was not a great concern; they had all gone hungry before. What was worse was the thirst, which, on this hot southern day, grew more and more
unbearable as the hours rolled on. Between them, the Jacobites had five canteens that had been slung over various shoulders while they prowled through Maretta’s house—but only three of them held any water, and that supply was low.

But then, if you were going to die anyway, what did it matter what you died of? Tamar ran her tongue across her lips and tried not to think of water.

After the second break, at what she judged to be about six in the evening, Omar approached their truck at a languid pace. He ran his eyes comprehensively over the occupants of the truck, noting who was weeping and who was scheming, and came to a halt just outside the bars where Jared sat.

“Are you enjoying your trip so far?” asked the Archangel’s son.

Jared turned his head slowly to look at him, examining Omar as thoroughly as Omar had examined them. “It would be more pleasant if you would offer us a few gallons of water,” he said.

Omar raised his eyebrows. “And why would I go to any extra trouble to make a few miserable Jacobites comfortable? Jacobites who are as good as dead where they lie?”

“Well, they are not dead now,” Jared replied coolly. “And any living creature in your care should be treated with decency, no matter how much you despise it.”

Omar laughed disbelievingly. “I’d water a dog before I’d water a Jacobite,” he said. “I hope you suffer the torments of the damned.” And he turned on his heel and stalked off. A few minutes later the trucks rumbled to life again, and they continued on their way.

North, to the Plain of Sharon.

Tamar forced herself to sit in her place for the next two miles, but after that she could stand it no longer. She pushed herself to her hands and knees, and crawled past Horace and Conran to Jared’s side. He looked at her with the same undecipherable gaze he had turned on Omar.

“There’s a little water,” she said. “In Horace’s canteen. And in some of the others. If you’re thirsty.”

“There’s not enough for us all,” he said.

“Well, we’re all sharing. No one would begrudge you a mouthful.”

He smiled at her strangely, almost kindly. Not an expression
of regret or hatred, but she still could not read his face. “More will be provided,” he said.

She doubted it, but she did not want to say so. Having made the effort to come to his side, after days of avoiding him, she found she could neither speak casually nor bring herself to move away. She could not talk to him and she could not leave him.

Just as well, then, that she would die in two days. She would not be able to endure this agony for long.

“Do you think he will really kill us all?” was the only thing she could think to ask. “Bael? Do you think so?”