by Sharon Shinn
Malachi stared at him incredulously. When he laughed, all the dangling gold at his throat and wrists jingled musically. “Call down the wrath of Jovah on us, do you mean?” he demanded. “On the whole city? On Breven? Fry us all with one thunderbolt from the god?”
“I would not like to do it,” the angel said ominously.
“You won’t,” the trader said with certainty. “The city’s only half Jansai, after all—and you aren’t the man to slaughter thousands of innocents just to prove a point.”
“I think I could ask Jovah to be a little more selective,” Gabriel said. Inwardly he was wondering how he had come, this early in the game, to be threatening with his direst weapon. “Certainly I could make sure that any lightning strikes precisely where you are standing—”
Malachi laughed again. “Gabe,” he said, “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t believe—?”
“When is the last time an angel called down a thunderbolt from the god? In Raphael’s time—in Michael’s—in the time of Ariel before that? Do you really think it can be done? Oh, yes, there are the weather intercessions and I have seen angels pray now and then for seed and it has fallen—but no one believes Jovah will strike us dead. No one believes the angels have that kind of power. Or, human nature being what it is, we’d all have been burnt up by now by somebody with a very edgy temper.”
Gabriel had thought that Rachel had taught him to be impervious to shock, but Malachi’s words left him utterly dumbfounded. That anyone on the planet should doubt the ability of the god to mete out punishment, and the ability of the angels to call it down, had never occurred to him before. It was as if someone were to tell him he no longer needed to breathe, that he would exist just as well underwater or buried beneath the earth. It was inconceivable.
“You are right to assume that I would be reluctant to invoke the righteous fury of Jovah,” he said slowly, “but I cannot believe you are sincere when you say you doubt Jovah’s power to strike you down. That is the foundation of our life upon Samaria—that is the tenet around which all other beliefs, all other actions, all other truths, cohere.”
“Prove it to me,” the Jansai invited. “We’ll go a ways out to the desert, and you can ask the god for a little demonstration. Ask him to burn up a tree or strike a rock with lightning. If I see it, I’ll believe it. And then we’ll discuss this Edori business.”
Gabriel shook his head slowly from side to side. “It is an awesome power to invoke for such a petty reason,” he said.
Malachi gave a great booming laugh. “You see? You’ve never done it either! You don’t believe it can Be done! Because, frankly, I don’t think this is such a petty reason if it has you soaring all over Samaria to try your plan before the merchants.” He laughed again, apparently amused at the continued look of blank astonishment on Gabriel’s face. “Don’t feel so bad,” he said kindly. “A few years ago, I was a true believer, too. Might have gone to my grave fearing the whiplash of the god if Raphael hadn’t set me straight. And if he says—”
Gabriel’s eyes had lifted quickly to the gypsy’s broad face. “Raphael told you—that the god had no power to strike you down?” he asked quickly.
“Swore it for a solid day and then took me to the desert to prove it. I read along with the words in the Librera while he spoke the curse aloud. No lightning. No thunder.” Malachi shrugged. “No god. Life has been a little easier for me ever since.”
Shock after shock; and behind the waves of disbelief, a rising tide of unanswerable questions. Did Raphael actually believe what he had told Malachi, or had he merely tricked the Jansai into believing something which was somehow convenient for the Archangel? Gabriel thought he himself could put on a pretty convincing show of seeming to call out to the god without really engaging in prayer; but why would an angel want to convince someone that there was no god?
Was that what Raphael believed? If so, why? Was the Archangel, in fact, incapable of enlisting Jovah’s aid—in punishing the wicked, in helping the hungry, in changing the weather? Was that why he had failed to bring rain to the Heldoras? Was that why he had allowed the merchants to gather so much power in the past two decades?
And if Raphael indeed had lost all ability to summon Jovah, who had guarded them for the past twenty years? Why were any of them still alive?
And even if the god no longer heeded Raphael, surely the god was still there—?
A few days later, Gabriel and his questions arrived at Sinai to pay Josiah an unannounced visit. The oracle, as always, was delighted to see the angel. He listened attentively to Gabriel’s account of the meeting with Malachi, but did not seem as sobered or alarmed as Gabriel expected. Gabriel said so.
“Why aren’t you appalled by this? Surely this is catastrophic news.”
Josiah gave him a quick half-smile. “Catastrophic, perhaps, but not exactly news. Perhaps not even catastrophic. For some time now, I have been—oh, uncertain about Raphael’s faith. Certainly he has been a bad Archangel. He—”
“Wait,” Gabriel interrupted. “You never said to me—never indicated in any way—”
“What could I have said? What good could it have done? You have disliked Raphael sufficiently on your own without dark hints from me. But he has hardly been the spiritual leader the country needed. An imperfect choice, and Jovah must have realized it from the beginning. That is why he selected you so early in your life—to prepare you more fully, and to let Raphael know, before he was very many years into his tenure, that his position was only temporary.”
“But—” Gabriel spread his arms. The implications were so vast that he found it hard to reduce them to comprehensible size. “If he does not believe in the god—and he has convinced others that there is no god—and he has been our advisor, led us in the Gloria, answered prayers, judged petitions—if he has done all these things for all these years, and we have believed him, and the god did not strike him down—then—the question must inevitably arise—”
“Not the question you fear most,” Josiah said imperturbably. “Not whether there is in fact a god, but why the god chose not to act.”
“I think,” said Gabriel, “both questions must be asked.”
Josiah regarded him with compassion, and not the fearful wrath Gabriel had half expected. “The great scholar Solomon taught that gods are created by our belief in them,” the oracle said. “That is, a man who believes in a god, creates a god. A culture which worships a god always in fact has a god to worship. Most people are not comfortable with this philosophy because the omnipotence of the god is the single greatest allure the divine can have. The one real reason to believe is to put your faith in something greater than yourself, and if you have yourself created a god it cannot be any greater than you. Still, you see, that without faith there can be no god at all.”
“Josiah.”
“I know, forgive me. It’s just that I rarely get a chance to debate theological principle … Failing faith, we have miracles to rely upon to prove that our god exists, and failing miracles, we have the small daily reminders. The seasons change, the sun rises and sets, babies are born and beauty lies all around us. These things must be the work of Jovah.
“You yourself have experienced repeated and personal demonstrations of divinity. When is the last time you called down a rainstorm or diverted a river? When is the last time you dropped to a small village overrun with fever, and prayed to the god, and had in answer seeds fall to the earth that were ground into powder and fed to the ill and resulted in cures? When you sing to the god, how do you feel? Elated, ecstatic, like a conduit of power? Or indifferent, uncertain, full of doubts? I know the answer to that one. Who but Jovah fills you with such deep emotion?
“As for myself, I have constant proofs of the god’s existence—I can touch the fingertip which he still lays upon the heart of Samaria. I can ask him a direct question and receive a direct answer. I can say, ‘Are you there?’ and he will respond, ‘Now and always.’ It is not possible for me to doubt h
im. He speaks to me.”
The gentle, persuasive words had an effect on Gabriel like music; they soothed him, they made him whole again. Yes, it was true; there were too many proofs, too many instances in which the god’s presence was incontrovertible. But then—
“Why does he allow Raphael to deny him? Why does he allow Raphael to represent him—for twenty years—acting as our Archangel, pretending piety, and slowly perverting the minds of those who should be devout believers?”
“In the life of Jovah, twenty years is a very small period,” Josiah said. “I expect that Jovah looks down, sees an unworthy Archangel and weighs his options. Is Samaria being harmed? Not really. Is the Gloria still being observed? Yes, every year. Are all peoples in harmony—”
“No,” Gabriel interrupted.
“No, but harmony can be restored quickly enough,” Josiah said serenely. “Jovah has read your heart and sees it is absolutely without malice, and he says, ‘I can wait a few more years till this one is ready.’ And he bides his time. And the time is almost over.”
“It could be. It may be as you say,” Gabriel said. An uprush of relief was flooding him, but he was still not entirely reassured. “And yet I now have on my hands Malachi and perhaps Elijah and Jethro and Samuel as well, who doubt the god’s power—and my ability to intercede with Jovah. If they refuse to abide by my decrees, and if they do not believe I can punish them for wrongdoing, what then? I confess that Malachi read me right. I am not a man to destroy a whole city merely to prove a point.”
“You do not have to loose the thunderbolts,” Josiah said, watching him closely, smiling almost. “There are other ways to convince them you are in earnest. You have already determined how to do so.”
Reluctantly, Gabriel smiled back at him. “I have given it some thought,” he admitted. “I have always been best with the elemental prayers—storm, sunshine, wind. I can turn Breven itself into a desert and raise the waters till they flood Semorrah.”
“It will not come to that,” Josiah promised. “A few weeks of rain, a few days of high winds, will convince them. They will see you have the ear of the god.”
It was true; it was almost easy. There was heavy going ahead, but it was not out of his scope. Gabriel felt as relieved as a boy reprieved from a beating. “You are indeed a wise man, Josiah,” he said.
The small man laughed. “And you are my favorite among angels,” he said. “Jovah did well when he chose you.”
“Jovah will not be so pleased with me when he ponders my doubting nature.”
“It is good for a man to doubt. It makes him think up proofs. It strengthens his beliefs. Jovah will not think ill of you for doubting.”
“Then he is gracious indeed.”
Josiah laughed again, and led him away for a meal. The unobtrusive acolytes served them, and the meal went at such a leisurely pace that it was quite late before it ended. Gabriel accepted the invitation to spend the night.
“Although I had planned to return to the Eyrie tonight,” he added. “It has been weeks since I was there.”
“How does your bride fare?”
“I don’t know. That is one reason I must return as soon as I can.”
“I liked her.”
“Did you? You are one of the few. When did you have a chance to speak with her?”
“After the wedding feast, while the singing was at its height. She asked me a question, for which I did not have an answer at the time. But I have it now. You must let me give you a letter for her before you go.”
“What was the question?”
“If she had thought you would have the answer,” Josiah said equably, “I’m sure she would have asked you.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows at the rebuke. “You have taken her part very quickly, I see.”
“I liked her,” the oracle repeated. “Hers is a fierce spirit. Not one you can easily control.”
Gabriel laughed with very little mirth. “No, indeed. I have considered that. Someone like Leah—a very biddable angelica. I could have controlled her with no trouble. Someone like Judith— easy to understand, easy to strike a bargain with if you’re willing to give her what she wants. Ariel, Magdalena—all the other angels, all the other women of my acquaintance—they might have a certain independence of mind, strong wills, a great deal of character, but I could handle them. I could persuade them, I could convince them that I was right. But not Rachel. I have her cooperation only if she chooses to give it. I have no influence over her at all, I’m not sure she would ever be willing to strike a bargain. She won’t even tell me the truth all the time. It is like bringing a live fire into your home and asking it not to burn.”
Josiah chuckled. “Well, Jovah picked her carefully and just for you. Perhaps he wanted to see your confidence shaken.”
“He has set me a wide range of trials, it seems,” Gabriel said with a certain grimness. “Between Raphael and Rachel, I have no peace left at all.”
“Only the strongest are put through the fire,” Josiah said. “And the forge creates things of great strength and beauty.”
“Then I shall be truly glorious by the time my tenure ends.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was early afternoon the next day by the time Gabriel finally made it back to the Eyrie. As was his habit, he attempted to identify the harmonic voices before his feet even touched the landing stone. One voice was definitely Matthew’s. The other, he thought, belonged to Esau. He listened a moment, his wings folded around him, coming for a brief time absolutely to rest. Then he shook off his abstraction and headed down into the residential tunnels.
Nathan, usually his first contact when he returned after a long flight, was still at Abel Vashir’s—or should be. Elijah’s anger with Gabriel could have spread to the other Manadavvi households, resulting in Nathan’s ejection. Gabriel hoped it wasn’t so. For one-thing, he needed Abel’s good wishes. For another, Magdalena was still at the Eyrie—or should be. Gabriel sighed. Yet another one of the trials with which Jovah had chosen to beset him.
“Truly the forge for me has been stoked very high,” he murmured, and headed directly to his own chamber.
A thorough cleansing in his water room restored his mood somewhat, and he changed into fresh leathers with his body still damp and his hair still wet. He supposed he should seek out Rachel, or Magdalena, or at the very least Hannah, and discover what had happened in his absence. A soft melody played on his door chimes made that unnecessary—someone had already come to him.
He was not best pleased, upon opening the door, to find himself face to face with the smiling Judith. She, on the other hand, seemed overjoyed.
“Oh, you are back! I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure— Gabriel, you’ve been gone so very long! I missed you!”
Without being invited, she stepped inside his room and sank to the floor on a plush red rug spread before his favorite chair. It did not seem worth it to be either cruel or rude, so he stayed, seating himself before her and allowing her to take his hand.
“Tell me everything,” she said. “Where you’ve been. Who you’ve seen. You must have flown all over Samaria to be gone three weeks.”
“Pretty much,” he said. “From Gaza to Breven and from Sinai to here.”
“And why?”
“I am to become Archangel in a few weeks. It seemed like a good idea to talk to some of the leaders with whom I will be dealing.”
“Was it pleasant?”
Sweet Jovah singing. Pleasant. “We talked serious business,” he said. “It was not designed to be entertaining.”
“Did you go to Luminaux?”
“I didn’t have time. I wanted to get back here.”
“You missed us,” she said happily.
“It is tiring to eat with strangers every day and sleep on their ill-designed beds,” he said.
“Did you go to Windy Point?”
He frowned down at her. “Why would I?”
“Well, you said you were in Jordana.”
&nbs
p; “I have seen quite enough of Raphael in the past few months, thank you.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t understand why you don’t like him very much,” she said. “He’s so handsome.”
He smiled. “That’s a reason that would appeal to a woman more than to a man. And good looks are not essential for an Archangel, anyway.”
Now she sighed. “I almost wish he would be Archangel forever,” she said.
His voice hardened. “Why do you say that?”
She appeared surprised. “Because once you become Archangel, you will never be here at all. I will never see you. But if you were just plain Gabriel forever—”
“I will be plain Gabriel,” he said. “I just will be plain busy Gabriel.”
He wished she would release his hand, but he did not like to draw it away from her. He walked a tricky line with Judith and he was never sure he walked it right. She was not the sweet-tempered ingénue she acted, yet her devotion to him had been unswerving since they were children, surviving every romance either one of them had had. Often he was tempted just to ask of her, “What do you want?” though the answer seemed so clear; she wanted him. Or perhaps she had wanted to be angelica. It was hard to know.
“So what transpired here while I was gone?” he asked, to head off any more questions about his own miserable journey.
“Martha had her baby—a mortal girl,” she said, answering the question before he could ask it. “Obadiah had an adventure rescuing some little boy’s goat in a snowstorm. It’s a very funny story—you should ask him about it. Magdalena and Rachel have gone into Velora practically every day and haven’t invited anyone else to go with them—except Obadiah, of course. He and Rachel even go down together when Maga stays here to sing.”
“Rachel and Obadiah? They’re becoming friends?” he asked doubtfully.
She was watching him closely, pretending not to. “Oh, yes!” she said, with deliberate emphasis. “They’re together all the time. I don’t believe Obadiah’s gone on any missions since that snowstorm thing. When they’re not in Velora together, they’re eating meals together or playing games. She taught him some Edori game that no one else would learn, and now he can even beat Matthew at it—”
