Jovah's Angel (28 page)

After spending hours poring over the incomplete genealogy records of the angel Gabriel and his offspring, Alleya reluctantly concluded that she would never be able to track down all of the great Archangel's progeny through such limited resources. Against her better judgment, almost against her will, she decided she must consult an oracle—or rather, work through an oracular interpreter, to ask Jovah himself.

Job would have been the logical choice, since he already knew why she was seeking the sons of Jeremiah, but Mary was closer and somewhat less intimidating. Actually, Sinai was even closer, and Alleya debated the idea of entering the empty caves and attempting to ask Jovah the questions without benefit of an intermediary. She almost thought she could do it. During nights of studying the old histories, glancing at the original text alongside the modern interpretations, she'd become fairly adept at comprehending certain words and phrases in the forgotten tongue. In fact, one night she had rather painstakingly gone through a long chapter of the history before she realized she had read the entire thing in the old language, having somehow turned her eyes to the wrong side of the open pages when she first took up the book. The discovery chilled her (how could she do such a thing
accidentally
?), but elated her at the same time. She had the true scholar's love of knowledge, any knowledge; acquiring a lost language held intrinsic appeal for her.

Lately she had even begun dreaming in those strange, unfamiliar words. At first those dreams were cramped, uncomfortable episodes in which she sat at her desk, hunched over an open volume, laboriously interpreting various passages in books that
she had never seen before. In the mornings when she woke, she could remember what she had read, and she remembered it in the old language, and she knew what it meant in her own lexicon. Mostly the phrases were simple, even laughable—“The beautiful tree cries its autumn tears” or “What child laughs in the other chamber?”—but she found it fairly marvelous for all that. She had never heard of anyone learning a language from dreams.

More recently, however, she herself strolled through her dreams talking in this ancient tongue. Sometimes those around her understood what she said and seemed to display no amazement at her new skill; more often, they gaped at her uncomprehendingly, and she was filled with a nightmare's frustration at being unable to communicate. She woke frequently in the middle of the night, tense and angry, with her fists clenched and her face furrowed in a frown.

But Caleb Augustus, when he appeared in her dreams, always understood every word she said; and he appeared in her dreams almost nightly. But there was no use spending every waking moment analyzing
that
.

In any case, because of her growing familiarity with the language the oracles used in communicating with Jovah, Alleya suspected that she could head straight for the interface at Mount Sinai and talk to the god without assistance. Except… the interface itself. She was not entirely sure how it was used, what buttons to press and when, how much time she should allow between a question and a reply. And if either of the oracles ever found out what she had done, they would never forgive her.

Although what could they do to her, really? She was the Archangel. It was not as if they could order the priests to shatter her Kiss and tell Jovah she had been removed from the lists of the living. The thought gave her a faint pleasure. She was unused to having any advantages accrue to her from her high position.

But she was also unwilling to risk the experiment—what if it was Jovah she angered by her inept questioning?—and she needed information only an oracle could supply. So she told Samuel she would be gone for a day, perhaps two, and she packed a travel kit for a short visit to Gaza.

Mary worked in a stone retreat quite close to Monteverde—in the same mountain range, in fact, though Mount Sudan was at a much higher, colder altitude than the angel hold, and it was much harder to get to. For anyone who was not an angel, at any rate. Alleya coasted in to the narrow, flat landing place that was instantly
swallowed by an overhang of rock, and made her way inside the caverns where Mary did her work.

As was the case at Mount Egypt, Mount Sudan had a small cluster of acolytes and petitioners moving through the outer rooms. A respectful silence muted all voices, even kept footsteps to a cautious, hollow tiptoe. Alleya practically whispered her request to the acolyte who came up to ask her business (“I would like to see the oracle Mary as soon as she has time”), and then waited as quietly as the rest.

Naturally, it was not long before the acolyte scurried back to escort her to Mary's inner sanctum. The oracle was standing by the blue interface, her hand resting on the keyboard, her eyes watching the door.

“Angela,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “I'm honored by your visit. What can I do to serve you?”

It was strange to receive such a respectful greeting from someone only five or six years older than she was—especially someone like Mary, a sharp-featured, sharp-tongued, no-nonsense woman.

“First, do you have time to spare for me? This is not an emergency, and I know you have much to do,” Alleya said.

Mary smiled faintly. “The work of the Archangel is the preservation of the realm, and the task of the oracles is to support the Archangel,” she said didactically. “Even your small questions carry weight for us.”

“Actually, it might not be a small question,” Alleya said. Mary indicated two rolling chairs arranged close to the glowing screen. Alleya came forward, and they both sat. “Some weeks ago, I was in Mount Egypt and I conferred with Job about troubles in Samaria. We asked Jovah if he was angry with us, why he sent so much storm, who he—” She hesitated, then plunged on. “Who he had selected as my angelico. To every question we asked, Jovah replied, ‘Ask the son of Jeremiah.”'

Mary nodded. “Job mentioned some of this to me. He wanted to know if I was familiar with any Jeremiah who might have caught Jovah's attention. I had to confess I was not.”

“Jerusha reminded me that Jeremiah was the name of Gabriel's father. And we thought perhaps, since Jovah was speaking so vaguely, he might mean one of Gabriel's descendants living today.”

“But which descendant? There must be a hundred—”

“And not all accounted for,” Alleya finished. “I checked records at the Eyrie, but they scarcely list anyone except the angelic
offspring, and even those erratically. But if, as I believe, Jovah tracks all the sons and daughters of everyone on Samaria—”

“Everyone who has been dedicated,” Mary said automatically.

“Then perhaps he could tell us where all of Gabriel's ‘sons' are today. And this man
must
have been dedicated for Jovah to know of his existence.”

Mary nodded briefly, not as if she agreed, but as if she was thinking everything over. “But if he has been dedicated,” she said slowly, “why will Jovah not call him by name?”

Alleya spread her hands. “I don't know. I don't understand why Jovah does many of the things he does. But since Jovah seemed to think this man held so many keys, I thought it behooved me to try and find him. If, that is, there is a way to phrase the question to Jovah.”

“Well, we can certainly ask,” Mary said, swiveling around to face the blue interface. “I cannot promise that he will answer. These days—”

“I know,” Alleya said. “It is the same with me.”

The angel pulled her chair closer to the oracle's and watched intently as Mary played her fingers over the keyboard. Ah—it was so simple—the buttons that Mary pressed were marked with the letters of the foreign alphabet; and after she had framed a polite question (which appeared on the screen before her), she pressed a square green key which, apparently, signaled to Jovah that her message was complete. Alleya could not believe how straightforward it was. All these years of mystery solved by a single textbook!

It was still impressive, she had to admit, when Jovah's reply materialized in glowing blue letters on the pale screen. Mary's inquiry had been a repeat of one of Job's questions: “Who should be the angelico to the Archangel Alleluia?” This time Alleya did not need to guess at the reply; she could read the words for herself. “The son of Jeremiah.”

Mary glanced over at her. “Well, at least it's the same answer.”

“I thought it would be. Ask him about Gabriel.”

Mary typed in: “Is the Archangel Gabriel the son of Jeremiah?”

Jovah replied almost immediately in the affirmative.

“This is where it gets interesting,” Mary remarked, and entered her next question: “Can you tell us the names of the children of Gabriel who are living today?”

This time there was a lengthy pause between the query and the response. “Why does he wait so long to answer?” Alleya asked. She found herself speaking in a low voice, almost in a whisper, as if she were afraid of disturbing Jovah while he meditated.

“The more complex the answer, the longer it takes.”

But a few minutes later, the requested information filled the screen. There were fewer names than Alleya had expected and most of them were women.

“It looks like this generation didn't breed many sons,” Mary said, voicing aloud Alleya's thought. She skimmed the list rapidly, tapping her finger next to a few of the names. “I know this boy—he's a Manadavvi heir who is about eight years old. Not the one you're looking for. And this one—he's in his eighties, at least.”

“But—perhaps that does not matter to Jovah. Perhaps the god does not think of age as a relevant factor, as it would be for those of us who are human—”

Mary shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the screen. “He
always
considers the age factor,” she said. “We oracles have come to believe that Jovah makes all of his marriage selections based on some kind of genetic desirability that none of us has been able to understand. He never chooses a wife who is not of child-bearing age, never chooses a husband who is not from a virile line. That must be more than mere coincidence.”

“Then if we eliminate those two—and I know that one. He's an angel at Cedar Hills, and so is his brother. Clearly they are not eligible. But this man—I don't know him.”

“I don't know him either,” Mary echoed. She touched her finger to a knob on the side of the screen, then drew her fingertip across the name of the man they had both failed to identify. To Alleya's astonishment, a glowing grid formed around the name, then the entire list blinked away.

“What did you
do
?” she exclaimed.

“Hush. We can retrieve it,” Mary said absently. Even as she spoke, new words came to life on the blank screen and Mary read them out loud.

“Paul, son of Abel, born in Castelana five hundred and eighty-seven years after the glorious day of the founding of Samaria… Why, he's sixty-three years old!” she exclaimed.

“Not my angelico?” Alleya asked.

“Not even close.”

“Who else was on the list?”

Another touch on that peripheral button, and the original catalog of names reappeared. There was only one male name that they had not eliminated and could not identify. But when they checked the screen which carried personal information about his background, Mary made a small
tsk
ing sound of irritation.

“He's too old, is that it?” Alleya asked, for she was having trouble reading the small text over Mary's shoulder.

“Possibly not. He's only fifty, although in general Jovan would choose a younger man. But it notes here that he had a son by an Edori woman thirty years ago.” Mary swung around to stare at Alleya. “Which would make him approximately your age.”

“What's this son's name?”

“It doesn't say. Probably he was never dedicated. Edori children most often are not, you know.”

“Yes, I know. But then how does Jovah know this man exists? I thought he was only able to track those who have been dedicated.”

Mary nodded. “I suspect that an oracle who knew this man or met him one day simply supplied Jovah with the information. See, Jovah does not even list that son as being alive or dead, of even having a name. Jovah knows nothing about him.”

“Except that he was born.” Alleya felt her voice come from a constricted, hollow place behind her heart. She should no doubt be feeling a certain blushing excitement at the thought that, with a little effort, she would be able to locate the man that her god expected her to marry. Certainly she was curious and she did not feel apprehensive, exactly, but she would have to identify her foremost emotion as reluctance. She was sure she would not like this unfamiliar Edori, this man so far removed from the god that Jovah did not even know his name. Actually, until Job had mentioned it, she had given no thought at all to the notion that she must marry, or at least find a man to stand beside her when she sang the Gloria in a few months. She did not want to marry, that was the truth of it, certainly not a stranger selected for her by another. Jovah could not know, he could not read her heart; how could he choose for her better than she could choose for herself?

But that was sacrilege; that was a degree of doubt she could not allow herself to feel. He was her god, he loved her. He would not lead her astray. If she did not trust him to do right by her, there was nothing she could trust in her world at all.

“What is this man's name?” she asked, still in that small, scraped voice. “This man who mated with an Edori woman.”

“Cyrus. And the woman is of the Cholita tribe of the Edori.”

“I wonder where they might be found?”

“You could wait till the Gathering and ask among all the Edori then.”

Alleya shook her head, attempting to shake away some of her bleakness as well. “That is only weeks before the Gloria. I must surely find him before that. I suppose I could travel to all the sanctuaries, although some Edori never go there, I know—”