The Alleluia Files (47 page)

“It would please me to see you dumped into the ocean,” she snapped, but then she burst out laughing about two seconds after he did. The laughter changed her face utterly, made her glow with an unsuspected radiance. This was Tamar as she was meant to be, he thought; how many times in her life had she had the chance?

After they strolled around the deck, Jared took her below to show her the theater, and then they investigated the game rooms nearby. These were half-full with passengers pursuing every imaginable entertainment. There were card games, board games, and athletic contests, and two harpsichords had been set up in a corner for those who wished to practice their music. There was a library for the readers, a buffet for the eaters, and a guided tour for the curious.

“What’s your pleasure?” Jared asked.

“I’ve never played any of these,” she said, eyeing the board games and their array of chips, marbles, and counters. “Are they hard to learn?”

“Oh, for dull, silly girls like you, they might be,” Jared said offhandedly.

“Fine! Then I won’t ask to learn!”

“No, no, only joking. Here, Devil’s Hand is one of my favorites. You start with ten colored marbles lined up on each end of the board—”

It was a game simple to learn, though nuanced with complex strategies, and Tamar delighted him by learning it rapidly. He had thought she might take to a game like this, for it required quick wits, a lively sense of self-preservation, and a streak of pure though theoretical ruthlessness which he’d had no doubt she’d be able to muster. On the fourth game, she almost defeated him; on the fifth one, she did.

“Oh, I like this,” she exclaimed. “Let’s play again.”

“Let’s make it more interesting,” he said. “Let’s play doubles.”

There were two older, unalarming men sitting nearby, playing their own round of Devil’s Hand. Invited to join the angel and his friend, they assented with alacrity, though they refused to play on the same team.

“I’ll take the young lady, though, if she’ll have me,” said one, smiling over at Tamar in a friendly way. Jared was relieved to see her smile back. “I’ve been watching you. You learn fast.”

“Well, I’ve never said no to an angel before,” said his friend. “I think we’re all set.”

So they played four more matches, splitting the victories evenly. Tamar was jubilant when they finally left the room, though Jared cautioned her not to be an unbearable winner.

“I will be if I want to be,” was her instant response. “Let’s go back and play tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow we’ll be on our way to Ysral.”

“Even better.”

Dinner was a little more of a strain. Mira and Tamar had a hard time covering their dislike of each other, though Mira made no ill-natured remarks and Tamar said almost nothing at all. But it fell to the men to make most of the conversation, a task they were not used to with pretty women at the table, so talk was disjointed and frequently clumsy. Everyone was just as glad when the meal was over and it was time for the angel’s performance.

The concert went well again this night. With Tamar in the audience, Jared didn’t mind singing a little longer, so he took the time to perform all the requests that listeners called
out to him. He enjoyed singing, and he felt a strange, liquid elation at the knowledge that Tamar was listening to every note, every word. It did not escape his notice that while he sang his Kiss hazed over with a muted golden light. He would have given a lot to be close enough to see if Tamar’s Kiss also reacted to the stimulus of his singing.

But, “You have quite an impressive range” was all she said as they finally headed back to their cabin.

“You liked the concert?” he couldn’t help asking.

She unlocked the door and preceded him inside. “I imagine everyone did,” she said.

This night, she insisted he take the bed while she slept on the chaise lounge, where, as she pointed out, her body was more likely to fit. He agreed only when she told him she would sleep there whether or not he lay on the floor, and he knew she was stubborn enough to do so. So he got a good night’s sleep, and she claimed that she did, and the next morning they resumed their interrupted trip to Ysral.

It was somehow more awkward and more intimate, this flight over the eastern half of the ocean. Jared had carried this particular bundle from Azolay to the Samarian coast, and from Marquet to the middle of the ocean without feeling quite this degree of self-consciousness. Maybe because, during those first legs of the journey, Tamar had been half-sick and fainting, almost oblivious to her surroundings—and now she was alert, interested, and very animated. It was hard to overlook or ignore her.

Not that he wanted to. But they were suspended over the ocean, by the god’s great grace, and she was completely helpless to free herself from him. It did not seem like the courteous time to begin a campaign of flirtation.

So he took her in his arms, cradled her against his chest, asked civilly if she was comfortable, and did not give in to the impulse to hold her tighter than necessary. And flew across the great, variegated sea with as much speed as he could generate.

She wanted to see everything; she Wanted everything explained. “Where’s that boat from? Why is the water different colors? Why is it so much colder up here? How fast can you fly? How many miles can you cover in a day? How fast do the boats go? Is that an island? Could we land there if we had to? When will we be in Ysral?”

She did not seem to be nearly as self-conscious as he was, so by and by his initial awkwardness wore off. And yet, despite the brisk ocean breeze, despite the mingled odors of salt and fish and seaweed that laced the heavy air, he never lost the fresh-washed smell of her hair or the sweet, unidentifiable scent that he thought must be the natural perfume of Tamar’s skin.

After an hour or two she fell mostly silent, speaking only at rare intervals, and eventually she began dozing with her head propped against his chest. Jared flew on more rapidly now that he could concentrate on the task, and he watched the miles melt away below them. The ship captain had told him they were only three hundred miles from Ysral; it would be an effort, but they could probably make it that far by early nightfall.

And then they must seek out the Jacobites and then … well, Jared had not thought beyond that. Getting Tamar to safety had become his only concern.

They were possibly another hundred miles from the coast (two or three hours’ flying time) when Jared became aware of Tamar growing limp and heavy in his arms. It was like she had crossed from sleep into coma, and her bones increased their weight and her muscles lapsed into elasticity. It reminded him of how she had felt on the first part of the flight, between Bethel and Marquet, and he was instantly alarmed.

“Tamar,” he called to her over the noise of the wind and his own wingbeats. “Tamar? Are you awake? Is your headache back?”

She did not answer, did not stir. Her mouth had fallen open and bruises seemed to have appeared, magically, under her eyes. Quickly, Jared dropped down, losing altitude, hoping the thicker air closer to the water would revive her, but she did not shift position. He tightened his grip, shaking her a little, but nothing made her respond.

Now in a virtual panic, he cruised as close to the water as he dared. He continued speaking her name in low urgent tones, hoping the sound of his voice would penetrate her guarded dreaming. He wished there was someplace he could land—the smallest rock, a mere foothold—so he could throw cold ocean water across her face and shock her awake. But there was nothing.

He must find a ship, and quickly. Jovah guide them, now as
never before, for this must be a safe ship, a place he could land with the sleeping Jacobite.

He altered position again, gaining a few hundred feet of altitude so he could command a better view of the sea. The sudden shift in pressure seemed to register on Tamar’s consciousness, for she tossed her head and drew her hands against her chest.

“Tamar!” Jared exclaimed in great excitement. “Tamar, can you hear me?”

“What?” she asked groggily. “My head hurts. Where are we?”

“Over the ocean. I’m looking for a ship.”

“My head hurts,” she repeated. “I just want to go to sleep.”

“No, talk to me. Stay awake. Talk tome.”

“I don’t feel like talking,” she said pettishly. “Why won’t you let me lie down? Why are you hurting me?”

“Hurting you? What’s hurting you?”

“My head,” she said, and then she began to cry. Sweet Jovah singing, she broke his heart. He could not even pause to comfort her; he could not squeeze her hand or brush away her tears.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, pushing his wings harder, trying to go faster, feeling the strain from the joint at his back to the very feather edge of the tip. “Tell me what you were dreaming.”

“I wasn’t dreaming,” she said, but then she began to recount for him a series of disconnected, fragmented tales and images. Jared did not bother listening closely. Was that a shadow on the horizon, a patch of cobalt blue against the ultramarine of the sea around it, or was it the outline of a ship a dozen miles away? He veered in that direction, silently praying.

It was a ship. And merciful Jovah, it flew the white falcon flag of the Edori. It was headed away from Ysral, not toward it, but that didn’t matter now. Jared’s arms tightened convulsively on the girl.

“And then the room changed colors, and somebody else was in the room with me and it was an angel but it wasn’t you—”

They were above the ship now and Jared circled once to make sure any lookout would have time to spot them. Yes, there were two men—no, three—on the deck, shading their eyes and gazing upward. One of them was waving his hand in a gesture of welcome, while another one headed toward the narrow doorway
that led to the lower reaches of the ship, presumably to tell the news. Angel overhead; company for dinner.

Jared landed on the pitching ship as gently as he could, coming to his knees. Almost without his volition, Tamar slipped from his hold to lie half on the deck, half in his arms. Her eyes were open but she gazed around unseeingly, and she seemed both bewildered and afraid.

“Where are we?” she whispered to Jared. “This isn’t Ysral.”

Most of the crew hung back from the new arrivals, but one, a dark good-looking young Edori, came over and gazed down at them gravely. “Your friend looks ill. What can we do to aid her?” he asked.

Jared was immensely grateful for the instant offer of help. “I think all she needs is a place to lie down. She suffered a head injury four days ago, but yesterday she seemed perfectly fine. I’m sorry to trouble you—”

“No trouble,” the Edori said. “I take it you were on your way to Ysral?”

“Yes, but I realize you were sailing west. Please don’t alter your route for us. All I want is a bed for the night.”

The Edori gave a brief, private smile and tossed his waist-length braid back over his shoulder. “I was not so eager to leave Ysral. I would not mind a quick return,” he said. “But we will see what the captain says. Where in Ysral are you headed?”

Jared laughed weakly. “I’m not sure where. I would like to return this one to her friends.” He hesitated, but the Edori were notorious sympathizers. He added, “Who are Jacobites.”

The Edori lifted his eyebrows, glanced at the angel’s wings which so obviously proclaimed him anything but a friend to the Jacobites, and nodded neutrally. “Many Jacobites have settled in Ysral,” was all he said. “I’m sure you would not find it hard to locate them.”

“I swear you can trust me,” Jared said. He had never been around so many people who regarded him with suspicion; as a rule, an angel had the entrée anywhere. “She will tell you so herself.”

“When she can speak,” the Edori said, sinking to his knees in one graceful motion. Tamar had turned on her side, facing toward Jared, and she seemed to be crying softly. “I have a little skill in healing,” the Edori said. “What is her name?”

“Tamar.”

“Tamar,” the Edori said in a firm, insistent voice impossible to ignore. “Tamar. I am Reuben. I will help you. Tamar. Turn and look at me, and say my name.”

To Jared’s surprise, Tamar straightened a little, seemed to pull all her bones and muscles back into their accustomed places, and shifted position to face her questioner. “Reuben,” she said obediently.

But now he was staring down at her as if an apparition had unrolled itself here on this ship in the middle of the ocean. “Yes, I can see you belong with the Jacobites,” he said softly. “And there is someone with them that you will very much want to meet.”

L
ife in Ysral was not, Lucinda had found, much different from life on Angel Rock. For one thing, the accommodations in both cases were comfortable but hardly grand; in the small town of Sahala, she lived in a modest six-room, two-story house that she shared with five other people. For another, the communities were both small and self-contained. Sahala was bigger, of course—about a thousand souls to Angel Rock’s twenty-four—but it had no greater level of activity or commerce. A few traders arrived every day, a few left, but the town’s core community of Edori and Jacobites remained basically unchanged.

Lucinda’s arrival had created an uproar.

The resident Edori had been the first to greet her with that unselfconscious warmth and directness that, in anyone else, would have seemed rude or overwhelming. “Look, Martha, it’s an angel!” “Well, look at you, child. Have you come to live in Sahala with us? I’ve never spoken to an angel before. I’ve never been this close to one.” “Jonathon, have you said hello to the angel? What’s your name, young lady, I didn’t catch it.”

So that had been odd enough, though Lucinda had answered as pleasantly and openly as she could, but then there had been the cold, strange greeting of the Jacobites. They had not come immediately out from their stone houses, but gazed at her from behind shuttered windows and half-opened doors. She could not blame them for feeling a profound hostility toward an unknown angel visitor, but still it made her feel awkward, humble, and lonely as she stood in the center of the small town, stared at by everyone.