by Sharon Shinn
“But everybody goes to the Jansai camp,” Nate said, frowning.
“Yes, but I was trying to talk some of their children into coming to the school. I guess they didn’t like that.”
“Not their school,” Katie said with a scowl.
Rachel regarded her. She was feeling a little lightheaded, but slightly euphoric as well. Saved by her schoolchildren. Something about that appealed to her. Surely three children couldn’t have frightened off grown Jansai warriors; it must have been that they couldn’t afford to draw attention here in the streets of Velora. “So you don’t think the Jansai children would fit in? You think it would be a bad idea to invite them to live there?”
Katie nodded emphatically. The two boys, watching her, copied the motion. Rachel said, “But what if the Jansai are mean to them? Beat them—starve them? Shouldn’t they have someplace safe to go, like you do?”
“Get their own school,” Katie said distinctly.
Rachel gave a weak laugh. “Well, maybe you’re right. In any case, I don’t feel strong enough to go back to the camp to try again. Maybe in a year or two, when we’re a little more established—”
“You’re bleeding,” Nate observed.
Rachel glanced down at her leg. “Yes, I know. I probably need to get that taken care of.”
“Can’t you stand up?” Kate wanted to know.
“I can. I’m sure I can.”
“I’ll go get Peter,” Sal offered.
“No,” Rachel said, quickly, without thinking. The three children regarded her with interest. “No,” she said a little more slowly. “I don’t want Peter—or Matthew—or anyone else knowing about this. You see, some people aren’t so sure the school is a good idea. They might tell me it’s dangerous if they hear about this. I don’t want them to tell me to shut it down.”
“No,” Nate said positively.
Katie said, “Maybe they’ll just tell you not to go to the Jansai camp.”
Rachel laughed. “Well, they’ll certainly tell me that. And they’re right, and believe me, I’m not going to try it again. But I don’t want anyone being even a little bit worried. So I don’t want anyone to know about this. Will you promise me not to tell? All of you—will you promise me?”
Nate agreed promptly. Katie had to think it over, but when she gave her word, Sal followed suit. “Good,” Rachel said. “Now, somebody please help me up.”
They hauled her to her feet and insisted on walking her to the tunnel car when she said she didn’t want to go back to the school for first aid. Katie even helped her tie her scarf around her hips so that it concealed most of the bloody tear in her trousers. Rachel handed the girl the bag of new yarn to carry to the school.
“But you’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you?” Nate asked anxiously.
“Oh, I’m sure I will. All I need is a bandage and I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, then,” he said. They all watched her board the car and shut the gate, waving goodbye as she pulled the lever and rose out of their sight. Hoping to return unnoticed to her room, this once she deliberately neglected to ring the Eyrie chimes that would alert Matthew or Gabriel or Hannah to her arrival.
And she was successful, managing to slip down the cool hallways without attracting more than a casual glance from anyone she passed. Safe in her room, she swung the door shut and collapsed suddenly against it, sliding to the floor. Now, half an hour later, reaction was setting in. She trembled alarmingly; tears started coursing down her face and she could not stop them. Still pressing her back against the door, she made herself as small as she could, drawing her knees up to her cheeks and wrapping her arms tightly around her ankles. She wept so long that the room grew dark before she finally stirred and imposed some semblance of calm on herself. Painfully, she forced herself to stand and limped over to the water room, where she spent an hour bathing all traces of the dreaded Jansai touch from her body.
She was sore for two days, and the gash on her leg was ugly, but there did not appear to be other ill effects. Well, she was a little subdued, perhaps, but very few people here knew her well enough to notice that. Obadiah was out on a three-day mission, Maga of course was in Monteverde, and she hadn’t seen her husband in more than a week. Matthew did inquire, late that third day as they left Velora, how she was feeling.
“Because you’ve seemed a bit jumbled lately, like you’ve things on your mind or a headache,” he said. “It’s not such an easy thing you’ve taken on, this school—”
She smiled at him as they headed back toward the mountain at a rather sedate pace. She had told him, the day before, that she had twisted her ankle falling in the water room, to explain away the slowness with which she was walking. “Peter does all the hard work,” she scoffed. “And you. You’re surrounded by the mikele day in and day out. I just sit around weaving, which I’d be doing anyway. It’s not so difficult.”
“Weil, I was just asking. Because it occurred to me there might be something else clamoring in your brain that you haven’t had the sense to ask someone about.”
His phrasing made her laugh. “And what would that be?” she said, but she knew before he answered that he had scanned her mind.
“You can read a calendar,” he said. “You know what happens this time of year. You wouldn’t be thinking of attending the Gathering, now would you?”
She came to a halt, facing him in the middle of the road. She put a hand on his arm, half to steady herself, half to hold him in place. “You know I am,” she said quietly. “It’s been five years, Matthew. I can’t tell you—you can’t guess—”
“I can guess,” he said. “It’s to be held outside of Luminaux this year, did you know that?”
“Yes.”
“A long trip. Have you thought how you would make it?”
She began to feel a rising stubbornness. She had not expected Matthew, of all people, to offer opposition. “You can hire horses in Velora, I suppose. I know how to pack a saddlebag and where to find water—”
But he was smiling at her. He had been teasing all along. “Edori should not travel alone,” he said. “Seventeen years I’ve made that journey by myself, to wherever the Gathering was held. Sure I was thinking it would be a fine thing to make that trip with one of the people at my side.”
She laughed, and gave him a quick, hard hug. They resumed their slow progress toward the mountain. “Yes,” she said, “please come with me to the Gathering. I am so excited, and so afraid, I don’t know if I can make it on my own.”
They discussed the journey for the rest of the walk. Matthew even agreed to ride up in the tunnel car with her (though he didn’t much like the cramped quarters), seeing as there were no angels in sight. Rachel tugged on the bell-cord and Matthew set the cage in motion. She was still bubbling over with plans. Matthew continued to listen in amusement.
Some of her enthusiasm faded when, arriving on the upper level, she stepped out of the cage to find Gabriel awaiting her in the hallway. In the half-light of the back tunnel, he looked almost phosphorescent, his pale skin distinct against the darkness, his huge white wings aglow behind him. The expression on his face was unfriendly.
“Rachel,” he said, and his voice matched his face. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you. Could you come to my room immediately?”
She glanced at Matthew and nodded goodbye, then silently preceded her husband down the hallway. She was very aware of him following closely at her heels, and she was a little sorry when Matthew turned down the corridor leading to his own quarters. Gabriel said nothing until he had ushered her inside his room and offered her a seat.
“Let’s see what you have to say first, and then I’ll decide if I need to sit,” she said sharply. Not a very amiable opening remark, but he did not make her feel amiable; in fact, it was clear she was in trouble for something. She was on the defensive.
Gabriel was too agitated to take a seat himself. Indeed, he was so disturbed that it seemed he didn’t know how to begin. He circled the room once, taking gr
eat strides and careless of how his wings brushed against the furniture, before coming to a sudden halt before her.
“What happened to you?” he demanded. “Hannah came to me and said she found clothes of yours in the laundry—covered with blood.”
It was totally unexpected; Rachel felt an entirely inappropriate blush coming to her cheeks. He went on in a hard voice. “Naturally, she came to me, concerned, wondering if you needed help—and I had no idea how you might have been wounded. As I never have any idea of what has happened in your life. It was not just a little blood, she said. It covered the whole leg of one pair of your new trousers.”
She dropped her eyes, uncharacteristically contrite. “It was nothing—a scrape,” she murmured. “I’m sorry to worry her—you—”
He stalked away from her to stare out his own small window into the gathering blackness. “I knew you would say that,” he flung at her over his shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t tell me, even if it was something simple and harmless like the fact you had fallen and hurt yourself. So I ask myself. What can it be? Some bizarre Edori rite, self-mutilation? Would Matthew tell me—should I demean myself by going to him and asking? Maybe it’s something else—your tunnel car broke and crashed into the rocks, and you’re afraid that if you tell me, I’ll forbid you to use it. That would make sense, but the car seems to be in perfect working order. Then what? One of your schoolchildren beat you? Wild dogs in the streets of Velora attacked you?”
He whirled around to face her, but came no closer. “And then I ask myself—why? Why am I asking myself these questions? Because my wife doesn’t trust me enough to tell me anything—good things, bad things, anything—and even if I ask her, she will not give me the truth.”
Usually just a glimpse of his anger was enough to ignite her own, but now, inexplicably, she felt moved and apologetic. She took a few steps toward him, half-extended her hand before letting it fall.
“Gabriel—I’m sorry,” she said, the unaccustomed words coming haltingly. “I’ll tell you—but it will make you furious—which is why I didn’t tell you before. And it was my fault, and I know better now, so don’t tell me I can’t have the school anymore.”
He was staring at her with a heavy frown, but at the same time he looked slightly hopeful. “Don’t be silly, I favor the school,” he said a little more calmly. “Tell me, then. Something happened at Peter’s?”
“No, I—Well. A few days ago, Matthew and I went to the Jansai camp. I thought there might be children there who would want to come live at the school. It was a stupid idea, I know,” she hurried on, as his frown grew blacker, “but at the time I thought it was worth a try.”
“You and Matthew in a Jansai camp,” he said. “It makes my blood run cold.”
“Well, and it won’t happen again,” she said candidly. “We found a few boys, and Matthew had just started talking to them, when a couple of Jansai men came running over to get rid of us. They said a few insulting things and then I—I told them who I was, and they looked like they wanted to eat me for breakfast. So we got out of the camp as fast as we could, and I thought everything was fine. Then—two days ago—I was in the market and somebody threw a blanket over my head—” She gestured comprehensively to convey the horror of that. It was becoming difficult to keep her voice steady. “But before anything could happen, three of my students ran up, throwing rocks and yelling, and the Jansai ran off, leaving me behind. The camp’s broken up and moved on now, so I can’t see that I’m in any danger—”
As she had spoken, he had moved closer. He was now just inches away and his face was a study in alarm. “But Rachel, why didn’t you tell me? Or why didn’t Peter tell me—Matthew, Obadiah—someone?”
She was a little embarrassed. “Because I told the children to tell no one. I told no one. I thought—it seemed to me—you might tell me the school had become dangerous for me, or that Velora was dangerous, and I couldn’t go there anymore, and Gabriel—I can’t not go there, it’s too important to me, not just Velora, but the school, the children, everything—”
He reached out a hand, as if he couldn’t help himself, and touched a stray curl of her hair. “I know it’s important to you,” he said in a gentle voice. “I would never tell you to give it up. But Rachel—to confront the Jansai like that—even in Velora, where generally anyone is safe—swear to me by the love of Jovah you’ll never do anything like that again.”
“I swear,” she said. “I was afraid, as soon as I saw those two. I hadn’t thought I would be afraid, but suddenly all those memories—So I won’t do it again.”
“And when there are Jansai in Velora, it might be best if you have someone with you all the time—Matthew or Obadiah or me,” he said. She was so surprised that he included himself as a bodyguard that she could only nod dumbly. “Although—it almost doesn’t make sense to me—slaving is illegal in Bethel, and no one contravenes that law,” he added. “So why would they want to take you? To what end?”
“Maybe they weren’t going to take me,” she said. “Maybe they were just angry that I’d come to the camp and they wanted to—make me sorry.”
“So, the blood,” he said abruptly. “What happened? How badly were you hurt?”
“One of them kicked my leg and it started bleeding,” she said, making the words offhand. “It’s still bruised, but it’s healed over. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“Has someone dressed it for you?”
“No,” she said. She was trying to be conciliatory. “If you’re worried, I can ask Hannah to look at it. I think it’s fine now, though. I really do.”
“As you choose, then.” He hesitated, glanced away and decided to speak. “I’m not—I know you have considered the Eyrie a prison of sorts, and me some kind of jailor, but—you have more freedom than that,” he said, carefully picking his words. “This is supposed to be your home, and your life is what you make of it. I would not want you to think that your rights, your freedoms, your choices, are subject to my approval and that I would—deprive you—or interfere with any of them. Please don’t be afraid to tell me—anything—that happens in the future because you are afraid of what privilege I will take away from you.”
His diffidence made her, for the first time, truly repentant. “Gabriel, I’m sorry,” she said yet again. She smiled tentatively. “The next time someone tries to abduct me, I’ll come running to you—”
“Well, I wish you would,” he said, smiling back. “But it is not just the abductions and assaults you can report to me, but anything that occurs in your day. I would like to hear how you’re getting on. Really, I would.”
“Then join me for dinner tonight,” she said. “And I’ll catch you up on everything that’s been happening.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Such accord could not be expected to last forever, although for two weeks relations were harmonious between the angel and his bride. The break, when it came, was so sudden that Rachel was caught totally unprepared; and consequently it left her even angrier than she might otherwise have been.
Her wound was completely healed by this time, due mostly to Hannah’s ministrations. The older woman had, without comment, examined the cut and bound it up after spreading a white salve over it.
“What is that?” Rachel had asked.
“Ointment made from manna root,” Hannah had replied.
Rachel put her finger in the jar and touched the cream gingerly. “This looks so familiar,” she said. “I think my mother used some once when my father was badly burned. She said she’d been saving it—for years? Could that be right?”
Hannah nodded. “It’s very rare now. Almost all the roots are gone, and I haven’t seen any new crops for, oh, a decade or more.”
“What did you call it?”
“Manna root.”
“Why is it so rare?”
“It comes from a flower that doesn’t grow here anymore. All the seeds are gone, ground up by foolish girls. No more seeds—no more flowers—no more roots. No more ointm
ent. It’s a pity, because I have never found another salve as useful as this one.”
Sometimes she found it as difficult to get information from Hannah as Gabriel must find it to get information from his wife. “Why do young girls grind up the seeds?” Rachel asked patiently.
Hannah glanced up at her in surprise. “You don’t know about manna? Perhaps the Edori never used it. They say it’s an aphrodisiac—a love potion. Well, the seeds are, if they’re ground up and slipped into food or drink. So the stories say. And only men are affected by the potion, so only women harvest the seeds and make the mixture.”
Hannah glanced at her again, but the look on Rachel’s face was clearly one of fascination, so she went on. “According to legend, Hagar is the one who discovered the potency of the manna, and she struck some deal with Jovah, as she was wont to do. She would go to her mountain retreat and sing to him, and he would send the manna falling down from heaven—clouds of seeds, a rainstorm of them, falling all over Samaria. Some would take root and grow, and other seeds would be harvested by girls looking to find husbands.
“Hagar and Uriel argued once about manna, the stories say. They argued about everything, but this fight went on for days. Uriel felt that the use of manna was unfair to men, that there was no defense against it, and that a woman could use it to ensnare a man who would never consider her without the aid of potions. Hagar said it was a woman’s business to find a man, make him love her, and bear as many children as possible for the glory of the god. Hagar liked the idea that there were wiles against which a man was helpless.”
“Who won the argument?”
Hannah was smiling faintly. “Hagar, of course. He had told her he would not speak to her till she apologized, and so they did not speak. Then one day she went to him, saying she was very sorry, that she was wrong. She took him to her room, and bathed him, and combed his hair, and fed him grapes and wine—but she had laced the wine with manna seed, and so he fell in love with her all over again. They say this was the last fight they had to the end of their days, but I don’t believe it. I think they fought till they died, and loved each other anyway.”
