Archangel (11 page)

“You have meetings here?” Rachel said. “Isn’t it cold?” It was late autumn, and she was freezing.

Hannah smiled. “Not for angels. They are never cold. In the summertime, and even in the spring, it is a delightful place if the sun has warmed it all day.”

“Well, it’s nearly winter now,” Rachel said, hugging herself for warmth.

“During winter there is generally a central fire, and perimeter fires all along the edges. See where the braziers are set up? I prefer the winter sings, actually, because I like to exist by firelight.”

“You are a Manadavvi,” Rachel said. “How did you come to be here?”

Hannah was silent a moment. She looked surprised and, unexpectedly, sad. “How did you know that?”

Rachel unwrapped one arm and raised it in a gesture of inevitability. “I was Edori. I traveled through Gaza and saw the great homes of the Manadavvi. One of your houses would have made the whole city of Semorrah look small.”

Hannah turned away. “That was a long time ago.”

But Rachel felt a certain kindred interest in the story of anyone else who had been brought, willy-nilly, to the high reaches of the Eyrie. “How did you come to be here?” she asked again.

“My father was a Manadavvi landowner of some importance,” Hannah replied. “When I was a girl, my sister married, and angels from the three realms attended. One of them was Jeremiah.”

“And he brought you back with him? Did you want to come?”

Hannah was recounting the tale slowly, as if she did not want
to tell it at all. “I was nineteen. He was nearly thirty. He already had a wife, although she had not yet borne him children.”

Rachel frowned. “Yes? And? He fell in love with you?”

“He—the Kiss on his arm leapt with light the first time he saw me. My own Kiss was like a live brand burning against my arm. I could not sleep for pain the whole time he was in the house. I had been told,” she said a little more rapidly, “that this was how Jovah allows true lovers to know one another. Samaria is wide and filled with many people. Those who are meant to be together often do not find each other, or recognize each other when they come face to face, and so Jovah has devised this system for revelation. I did not really believe it,” she added with a faint smile, “because it had never happened to anyone I knew. It is a fable young girls tell each other when they dream of the men they will marry. I did not believe it would ever happen to me.”

Rachel felt heat rising in her cheeks as the mystery of her own experience was now explained to her. The Edori for the most part were not dedicated, so this had not been a story told among the tribes. “So you returned to the Eyrie with him.”

Hannah shook her head. “He had a wife,” she said. “I did not go.”

“But—” Rachel frowned. “You go where your heart leads you,” she said. “And the heart changes. There is no disgrace or dishonor in that.”

Hannah gave her a quick, painful smile. “Is that the Edori way? I have heard you do not believe in marriage.”

“The Edori do not believe in bindings of any kind,” Rachel said. “The Edori know that the only permanence is Yovah. It is better to bow to the dictates of the wind than to try to chase or chain it.”

“And the Manadavvi believe that a promise once given is sacred, and that to come between a man and his wife is a crime exceeded only by taking another man’s life. I did not go with him.”

“But—” Rachel said again. She was trying to remember something Gabriel had said, which she had been too angry to consider carefully at the time. “Among angels—what do the vows of marriage mean?”

“The angels tend to be more flexible,” Hannah said, and her voice was a little dry. “Some do not marry at all, though they have lovers and they bear children. Some marry, and have lovers
anyway. It is not encouraged, exactly, but it is not forbidden. After all, it is desirable that they have children. So if their hearts take them to more than one lover, Jovah is pleased.”

Rachel was cold, and she wanted to go inside, but she also wanted to follow this conversation to its conclusion. She tightened her arms around her body and kept asking questions. “Why is it desirable for angels to have children?”

“So there will be more angels, of course. Only an angel can sire—or bear—another angel. And angels are only born from a mix of divine and mortal blood—two angels together produce monsters, demons, lucifers. And not every union of angel and mortal produces more angels, and there is no way to know until the child is born. And even if an angel and a mortal have one child who is angelic, the next child may be mortal. There is no way to know. And so angels love where they will, and Jovah permits it, even though to the Manadavvi such license appears to be a crime.”

“And so Jeremiah wanted you to return with him, but you wouldn’t. But then his wife died, and you came to the Eyrie. Is that how it went?”

“More or less.”

“And you loved him.”

“Oh yes, I loved him.”

Rachel studied her. “But he did not make you happy.”

Hannah started. “I miss him.”

Rachel shook her head. “You were sad before he died.”

Hannah gave a light laugh. “The Manadavvi are a stern people. It is just my habitual expression. You must be cold. Let’s go back inside.”

Unwillingly, Rachel followed her back into the labyrinth. Surely there was more to that story than she had been told—at a guess, Jeremiah’s fickle attention had wandered again, and no doubt that was a tale Hannah would never relate to her. Still, Rachel had acquired some useful information, some of which she could turn to good account. Angels loved where they would and no one minded. She had not loved anyone for a long time. If she was not required to love the man she was required to marry, it might not be so bad after all.

Another thing had been made clear to her during this tour of the Eyrie. She was expected to sing—at Gabriel’s side at the Gloria and any time she might be moved to beforehand. She felt
the old defiant stubbornness rising, pouring through her bones like so much wax into a mold. And if she didn’t care to sing—?

Before their interesting detour to the meeting plateau, they had come to a hallway buried deep in the lower level of the Eyrie. The top level, Hannah had explained, comprised the living quarters. The middle level was made up of kitchens, dining areas and common rooms. The bottom level was given over to storage, schoolrooms and music. Mostly music.

Perhaps twenty small rooms opened off either side of one central corridor. Each room was small, but high-ceilinged and exactly proportioned. Once the door was closed, the acoustics became perfect; even a whisper resonated from side to side with undiminished clarity.

“Recital chambers,” Hannah told Rachel as they entered one of the rooms. “For anyone who wants to practice singing. They are completely private, and soundproof. Here the angels spend much of their time before the Gloria. Whenever one is available, you are welcome to use it.”

Rachel crossed the room slowly and listened to the
shush-shush
of her gown echo to the ceiling and back. “And no one can hear you unless they’re in the room with you?”

Hannah smiled. “No one. So your mistakes and your wrong notes are not witnessed by anyone.”

“How long can you stay in one of these chambers?”

“As long as you like. Whoever arrives first has possession.” Hannah crossed to a glass and metal plate built into the far wall. “Look. Some people think this is the best part of the recital chambers.”

Rachel followed her, to be mystified by an arrangement of steel knobs and eerie, glowing lights. “What is this?”

“It is something no one truly understands,” said Hannah. “It is music sung by the dead.”

Rachel started back, unnerved, but Hannah motioned her forward again. “No, it is not the dead singing. It is— To teach us certain songs, hundreds of years ago, Jovah provided a way for us to forever capture the sounds of the first angels singing. But their voices can only be heard on these machines, in these chambers—and in chambers like them at Monteverde and Windy Point. There are hundreds and hundreds of pieces here, all the great works that we still sing at the Glorias today. Of course, there has been much beautiful music composed since then, and
we can preserve it in written form, but we have no way of recording it the way these songs have been recorded. Would you like to hear one?”

“Yes,” Rachel breathed.

Hannah touched an illuminated dial. “My favorite,” she said. “It is called the ‘Ave Jehovah.’ ”

“Yovah?”

“Jehovah,” Hannah said again. “Perhaps a variation on the pronunciation? You yourself say the god’s name differently than I do.”

“The Edori call him Yovah,” Rachel said. “So that is how I say it.”

“Listen,” Hannah said, and touched the dial again.

Instantly the chamber was filled with the liquid sounds of a coloratura soprano effortlessly caressing trills up and down the scale. Rachel threw her head back and closed her eyes. The music sifted into her brain, it wrapped itself around her head like a scarf bedecked with sequins. It crowded out thought and took the place of emotion. She had never heard such a beautiful voice in her life.

When it ended, she opened her eyes and looked at Hannah in wonder. The older woman was smiling. “You liked that,” she said. Rachel could only nod. “That was Hagar, the first angelica. Hers was a voice that”—Hannah shrugged—”we will never hear the likes of again.”

“Are there other—recordings? By Hagar?”

“Oh, yes. Maybe fifty. Maybe not quite so many. Most of them are part of choral arrangements, you know, and duets. Some of her pieces are truly impossible for anyone else to sing, but her recordings of the classics are probably the ones you should study the most.”

“I should study the most? Why? I just want to listen to them.”

Hannah regarded her with a somewhat troubled expression. “How much do you know about what the angelica does?” she asked.

Rachel felt the scowl rise, and tried to discipline it. “Almost nothing. I know I’m supposed to be there at the Gloria—”

“You’re supposed to sing at the Gloria,” Hannah corrected. “In fact, you lead the Gloria—that is, you are the first to sing. You choose the music. Do you know nothing about Gloria music?” Rachel shook her head. Hannah sighed.

“There are perhaps a hundred Gloria masses—and all the angels know all the masses by heart. Each one opens with a solo by the angelica—or the angelico, if the Archangel is a woman— and is immediately followed by a duet with the Archangel. Then come the small chorales, in which the angels sing. Then more solos, more duets; then large chorales sung by all the mortals who have been brought to the Plain of Sharon for the event.”

“And do all the mortals know these hundred masses, too?” Rachel demanded. She was feeling sick with apprehension at the vision conjured up. How could she learn a hundred masses in five months? How could she learn one?

“The parts for the large choirs are all the same, from mass to mass,” Hannah said, smiling. “It is easier that way for people who are not accustomed to singing.”

“So which mass do I choose?”

“That is up to you. Traditionally, the angelica knows there is some trouble to be addressed in the realm—perhaps there has been famine, or plague, or violence against one people by another …” Hannah’s voice trailed off as she saw an ironic expression cross Rachel’s face. “There are masses that have different moods, that introduce different prayers. There are masses that are simply prayers to Jovah for kindness in the coming year, and masses that thank him for past months of bounty. It is clear to the angelica by the time of the Gloria which piece to choose.”

“Then no one advises me at all?”

Hannah made an ambiguous gesture with her hands. “According to tradition, you do not even tell the Archangel which mass you will sing. He learns it as everyone else learns it, standing beside you on the Plain of Sharon. But that is a tradition often dispensed with these days, and in your case, I would think you and Gabriel might want to rehearse together as often as possible. Since you have never had a chance to hear each other sing.”

Rachel was silent a moment. “I heard him sing,” she said. “At the wedding. There were six voices, but—I knew which one was his.”

“Some say, when he was young, Raphael’s voice rivaled that of Uriel, the first Archangel,” Hannah said. “And he does sing with great beauty. But Gabriel—he could melt the mountain with his voice. He could bring Jovah to earth, with his voice. What could he pray for, that Jovah would not grant? There is nothing.”

Rachel gave her a quick, twisted smile. “He could pray for an angelica he did not dislike. Would that prayer be answered?”

Hannah frowned at her. “Don’t talk that way. Jovah brought you to Gabriel for a purpose. It is right that you be together, though neither of you may recognize it now.”

“And is Yovah never wrong?” Rachel asked, her voice sarcastic. Hannah remained serene.

“He has a purpose for everything,” the older woman said, and opened the door and ushered Rachel out.

Only three of the people Rachel met during their tour of the Eyrie made an immediate impact on her, though she was sure she had made an unfavorable impression on most of the angels and mortals to whom she was introduced. Well, she couldn’t help it. She could not feign a gladness and a graciousness she did not feel, so all these people who were eager to exclaim over the new angelica were treated to her cool stare, her short greeting and her brusque manner. She saw a few raised eyebrows on the human faces, some supercilious expressions on the angel faces, and she did not care.

“Jovah knew what he did that time,” she heard one angel remark to another after she and Hannah could have been considered to be out of earshot. “She’s as bad as Gabriel himself.” Which was not a remark likely to improve Rachel’s attitude.

The first person to whom she felt any reaction at all was a young woman about her own age, who was so beautiful that Rachel could not stop staring at her the whole time they talked. This despite the fact that she instantly and comprehensively disliked the young lady, introduced by Hannah as Judith.

“I’m so glad Gabriel has finally found you,” Judith said, smiling up at Rachel. Small and dainty, Judith had doll-like features, a heart-shaped face, curly black hair, gray eyes, and a sweet smile. “I worried about him so much these past few months—he had so much on his mind already, and then he couldn’t find you. I hope—I hope you realize how special Gabriel is. There’s just nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”