voices. At least, he has never unleashed destruction upon us after a Gloria.
“But the scriptures of the Librera are very strict,” he went on, his voice troubled. “It is written there precisely who is to attend every Gloria and who is to participate. There must be the Archangel, who is chosen by Jovah, and the angelica, who is chosen by Jovah. There must be angels from the three hosts; there must be Jansai and Manadavvi and Edori and Luminauzi. Representatives must come from every part of Samaria to join in harmony together, to assure Jovah that there is peace on the planet and good will among all peoples. And if the smallest part of this decree is overlooked, then Jovah will be angry and cast down thunderbolts, and he will destroy first the mountain and then the river and then the world itself.”
Gabriel stared at the oracle. Josiah’s voice had been flat, almost matter-of-fact, but his words were chilling.
“Then if I cannot find her—” the angel began.
“Then, if you cannot find her, we may all be in grave danger. I don’t know—it may be that Jovah will understand, and forgive, and listen to whatever voice sings beside you. He has forgiven these other lapses. But in each of those cases, the angelica was, in fact, the angelica. The Archangel had not capriciously chosen to install someone who had not been selected by the god himself.”
Gabriel rubbed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes. He was very tired. “Then I must find her, that’s all,” he said.
So he continued his search, but he had no luck. Samaria was too big for one angel to cover thoroughly—and the Edori were constantly on the move. He could spend the rest of his life hunting one mobile tribe and never catch up with them. He would have to enlist the other angels from his host, have them quarter the three provinces and speak to every last Edori clansman.
After the wedding, of course.
Mentally cursing Lord Jethro of Semorrah, his misbegotten son and the girl who was fool enough to marry him, Gabriel returned to the Eyrie a few days before the event to collect his formal clothes and his brother Nathan. As always, he felt a sudden sense of deep peace envelop him as soon as his feet touched the smooth stone of the landing point. It was beautiful, the Eyrie—three terraces of interconnected chambers and corridors all carved from the warm, rosy-beige rock of the Velo Mountains— but it was not just the physical beauty that gave Gabriel the instant emotional lift. It was the singing.
Night and day, at least two voices were raised in constant sweet harmony, the notes resonating throughout the whole compound. For weeks in advance, the angels and mortals who resided at the Eyrie volunteered to sing duets in one-hour shifts, then took their places in the small chamber in the highest tier of the compound. Night and day, entering the Eyrie—or waking, restless, in the middle of the night—or eating, laughing or brooding—this music came to a man’s ears and soothed him with the magic of harmony.
For a moment, Gabriel felt all his tension lift away. But even the sweet voices of Obadiah and Hannah could not make all his problems right this afternoon. Gabriel listened for a moment, then strode to the nearest tunnelway, and entered the Eyrie complex.
Candlelight and piped gaslight reflected back from the pale rock interior walls so that even at night and inside, the Eyrie glowed luminescent. Gabriel hurried through the tunnels toward the inner warrens, making his way through corridors that gradually widened into great halls and common rooms. Luck was with him; he made it safely to Nathan’s chamber without encountering anyone he had to greet with more than a nod and a smile.
And he was still lucky; Nathan was there.
“Gabriel! I thought I would have to leave tomorrow withoutyou,” his brother exclaimed, rising up from his seat at a narrow desk. Behind him, Gabriel spotted white scrolls covered with black notations. Nathan was
“But the scriptures of the Librera are very strict,” he went on, his voice troubled. “It is written there precisely who is to attend every Gloria and who is to participate. There must be the Archangel, who is chosen by Jovah, and the angelica, who is chosen by Jovah. There must be angels from the three hosts; there must be Jansai and Manadavvi and Edori and Luminauzi. Representatives must come from every part of Samaria to join in harmony together, to assure Jovah that there is peace on the planet and good will among all peoples. And if the smallest part of this decree is overlooked, then Jovah will be angry and cast down thunderbolts, and he will destroy first the mountain and then the river and then the world itself.”
Gabriel stared at the oracle. Josiah’s voice had been flat, almost matter-of-fact, but his words were chilling.
“Then if I cannot find her—” the angel began.
“Then, if you cannot find her, we may all be in grave danger. I don’t know—it may be that Jovah will understand, and forgive, and listen to whatever voice sings beside you. He has forgiven these other lapses. But in each of those cases, the angelica was, in fact, the angelica. The Archangel had not capriciously chosen to install someone who had not been selected by the god himself.”
Gabriel rubbed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes. He was very tired. “Then I must find her, that’s all,” he said.
So he continued his search, but he had no luck. Samaria was too big for one angel to cover thoroughly—and the Edori were constantly on the move. He could spend the rest of his life hunting one mobile tribe and never catch up with them. He would have to enlist the other angels from his host, have them quarter the three provinces and speak to every last Edori clansman.
After the wedding, of course.
Mentally cursing Lord Jethro of Semorrah, his misbegotten son and the girl who was fool enough to marry him, Gabriel returned to the Eyrie a few days before the event to collect his formal clothes and his brother Nathan. As always, he felt a sudden sense of deep peace envelop him as soon as his feet touched the smooth stone of the landing point. It was beautiful, the Eyrie—three terraces of interconnected chambers and corridors all carved from the warm, rosy-beige rock of the Velo Mountains— but it was not just the physical beauty that gave Gabriel the instant emotional lift. It was the singing.
Night and day, at least two voices were raised in constant sweet harmony, the notes resonating throughout the whole compound. For weeks in advance, the angels and mortals who resided at the Eyrie volunteered to sing duets in one-hour shifts, then took their places in the small chamber in the highest tier of the compound. Night and day, entering the Eyrie—or waking, restless, in the middle of the night—or eating, laughing or brooding—this music came to a man’s ears and soothed him with the magic of harmony.
For a moment, Gabriel felt all his tension lift away. But even the sweet voices of Obadiah and Hannah could not make all his problems right this afternoon. Gabriel listened for a moment, then strode to the nearest tunnelway, and entered the Eyrie complex.
Candlelight and piped gaslight reflected back from the pale rock interior walls so that even at night and inside, the Eyrie glowed luminescent. Gabriel hurried through the tunnels toward the inner warrens, making his way through corridors that gradually widened into great halls and common rooms. Luck was with him; he made it safely to Nathan’s chamber without encountering anyone he had to greet with more than a nod and a smile.
And he was still lucky; Nathan was there.
“Gabriel! I thought I would have to leave tomorrow withoutyou,” his brother exclaimed, rising up from his seat at a narrow desk. Behind him, Gabriel spotted white scrolls covered with black notations. Nathan was
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