“We have our own food, thank you,” she replied, earning a quick sideways glance from Reuben and a look of relief from the captain. “We will attempt not to trouble you again at all.”
In a few moments they had been shown to their room, a meticulously clean if astonishingly small chamber that probably belonged to the first mate or some other officer. Lucinda went straight toward the bed, stripping off the packs around her waist and letting them fall to the floor. She sat on the edge of the bunk and stared sightlessly at the porthole.
Reuben stood with his back against the door, gravely watching her. “Are you ill?” he asked. “Is the strain of the long flight too much? They will not like it, of course, but we could stay another day aboard this vessel, until you have recovered your strength.”
But she shook her head. The tumult in her head was so raucous that she almost could not hear his words, only the gray cacophony of panic and fear. Her whole body felt small, taut, braced for impact. She had never been so frightened in her life.
“Something’s happened to Tamar,” she whispered.
CHAPTER TWENTY
They jounced along the worst roads in Bethel in the worst trucks ever soldered together, and not a single Jacobite uttered a complaint or a curse. All nine of them had been shoved inside the back of one of the big transport vehicles, which consisted of a metal base enclosed by an iron cage high enough for even Jared to stand upright. They were sharing a space about as big as a reasonably sized bedroom—but there were nine of them, and there was no padding, and there was no privacy, and there was death at the end of the road. Tamar, who had traveled a good deal, considered this the worst journey of her life.
The last journey of her life.
She could not quite believe it, although it was plain the others did. Jani and Loa huddled together in one corner of the cage, crying quietly, their arms wrapped around each other and even their hair wet with their tears. Horace, whose arm had been broken in a fast fight with one of their attackers, lay in a trancelike state on the floor of the truck, refusing water or comfort. Duncan, Sal, and Wyman spent all their energy examining every last joint of the bars and the truck, looking for loose connections, looking for paths to escape. When the vehicle careened around a particularly bad corner and sent them flying to the hard floor, they merely waited till they had caught their breath or their balance, and climbed back to their feet, searching, testing, hoping.
Not that it would do them a damn bit of good to pry the whole cage from the shell of the truck, since their prison car was being followed by two truckloads of Jansai, no doubt watching for just such an event. But that was a Jacobite for you: never any idea of when to give up and go home.
Of course, they couldn’t exactly go home. They could give up. But they wouldn’t.
Conran divided his time between all of them, exhorting Horace to attempt to sit up, cajoling the girls into weak smiles, slapping the men on the back and telling them they would solve it yet, he had faith in them. Supreme faith.
Tamar sat with her back to the pursuing Jansai trucks, and watched Jared.
He sat in the corner across from her, knees updrawn, hands linked around his ankles, wings considerately curled tight to his body so that he took up no more than his allotted space in these very small quarters. He seemed to be completely at ease, fully relaxed, concealing neither chagrin nor alarm. Certainly, he did not appear to be contemplating a gruesome death in two days’ time or ruing all the actions of his life that had led him to this regrettable end. So perhaps he did not believe they would all be killed, either—or at least, he felt certain he would be spared.
But Tamar had her doubts about that. The smiling Omar had said flat out that the angel could abandon the Jacobites or die beside them. He had made no provisions for people who suddenly recanted at the last minute.
Why had Jared passed up his chance to leave? Tamar could not get the question out of her head, and she toyed with her mother’s locket while her mind worried over the problem. Why had he crossed to her side, defiant but calm, and stared back at the Archangel’s son with absolutely no moue of remorse? He did not believe in their cause, did not care if the Alleluia Files were hidden for the next century or recited over broadcast wires to every ear in Samaria. Why had he joined them? Why would he sacrifice his life?
Well, she would die before she asked him those questions-die within the next two days, if Bael’s son told the truth. But she could not stop herself from staring at Jared and wondering.
The caravan stopped twice during that first afternoon to give the prisoners and their guards a chance to attend to personal needs. However, it appeared they were not to be offered food, even though the Jansai and Omar made a great show of eating their dinner in full view of the Jacobites. That was not a great concern; they had all gone hungry before. What was worse was the thirst, which, on this hot southern day, grew more and more unbearable as the hours rolled on. Between them, the Jacobites had five canteens that had been slung over various shoulders while they prowled through Maretta’s house—but only three of them held any water, and that supply was low.
But then, if you were going to die anyway, what did it matter what you died of? Tamar ran her tongue across her lips and tried not to think of water.
After the second break, at what she judged to be about six in the evening, Omar approached their truck at a languid pace. He ran his eyes comprehensively over the occupants of the truck, noting who was weeping and who was scheming, and came to a halt just outside the bars where Jared sat.
“Are you enjoying your trip so far?” asked the Archangel’s son.
Jared turned his head slowly to look at him, examining Omar as thoroughly as Omar had examined them. “It would be more pleasant if you would offer us a few gallons of water,” he said.
Omar raised his eyebrows. “And why would I go to any extra trouble to make a few miserable Jacobites comfortable? Jacobites who are as good as dead where they lie?”
“Well, they are not dead now,” Jared replied coolly. “And any living creature in your care should be treated with decency, no matter how much you despise it.”
Omar laughed disbelievingly. “I’d water a dog before I’d water a Jacobite,” he said. “I hope you suffer the torments of the damned.” And he turned on his heel and stalked off. A few minutes later the trucks rumbled to life again, and they continued on their way.
North, to the Plain of Sharon.
Tamar forced herself to sit in her place for the next two miles, but after that she could stand it no longer. She pushed herself to her hands and knees, and crawled past Horace and Conran to Jared’s side. He looked at her with the same undecipherable gaze he had turned on Omar.
“There’s a little water,” she said. “In Horace’s canteen. And in some of the others. If you’re thirsty.”
“There’s not enough for us all,” he said.
“Well, we’re all sharing. No one would begrudge you a mouthful.”
He smiled at her strangely, almost kindly. Not an expression of regret or hatred, but she still could not read his face. “More will be provided,” he said.
She doubted it, but she did not want to say so. Having made the effort to come to his side, after days of avoiding him, she found she could neither speak casually nor bring herself to move away. She could not talk to him and she could not leave him.
Just as well, then, that she would die in two days. She would not be able to endure this agony for long.
“Do you think he will really kill us all?” was the only thing she could think to ask. “Bael? Do you think so?”
Jared nodded. “Oh, yes. He would, if he could, destroy every last Jacobite on the planet.”
Tamar nodded once, but she still didn’t believe it. Oh, she knew it, the way she knew the sun would rise in the morning and no prayer of hers could prevent it, but she didn’t believe it. She could not imagine it happening. “How? Do you know?”
Again, that odd smile, distant and a little pitying. “I have m
y theories,” he said, but did not elaborate.
“And why the Plain of Sharon? Why not just do us all in right there in Chahiela?”
“The Archangel wants an audience. He wants to show anyone who might not realize how serious he is just how much he dislikes Jacobites—and anyone else who questions the existence of the god.”
“But will there be an audience? On the Plain of Sharon, I mean?”
Jared nodded again. “There’s a big fair going on this week. A cattle show, I think, or maybe pigs. Farm animals. But it’s not just your credulous yokels who show up for these fairs. Half the Manadavvi landowners are competitive breeders, and of course all the big farm conglomerates in Bethel are run by rich landowners. Most of the gentry of Samaria will be present. And all of them, I assure you, will get the message.”
“Are you afraid?” she asked before she could stop herself.
For the first time he appeared to look at her fully, and the depth and brilliance of his gray eyes momentarily made her forgetful. “A little,” he admitted. “It is no pleasant thing to face your own death and feel absolutely helpless.”
“They’ll let you go,” she said, the words again coming without her volition. “If you ask them to. If you tell them it was a mistake. Omar will let you go. Or Bael.”
He watched her a long time before he replied. “I stand with the Jacobites,” he said.
“But why?” she whispered. Now her body, like her mouth, moved of its own independent will. She had laid her hand on his arm before she was conscious of wanting to touch him. “Why did you not step aside?”
“You tell me,” he said.
She shook her head wildly. “Because I told you once—something I don’t even remember saying!—because I said there was nothing in your life worth dying for! But you are not a Jacobite—this is not a cause you have lived for your whole life. It should be not be something you die for, either.”
“Oh, I am not dying for the Alleluia Files,” he said lightly.
“Then why are you on this truck? Why did you come with us and follow us when you could have run?”
“I came for you,” he said, and his voice was completely steady. “You are the thing I will die for.”
The shock went through her like electricity, like violence. Every muscle in her body burned, every vein ran with acid. He had told her before that he loved her, but she had managed to hate him for saying it. She had not had much luck explaining that alchemy to herself, but she had used a great deal of energy believing it. But you could not even pretend to hate a man who would lay down his life for you.
“I wish you would not,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to die.”
He smiled, a little more cheerfully this time. “Well, to tell the truth, I don’t want to, either. And when darkness falls and I can be reasonably certain none of the Jansai can see me, I’ll attempt to contact some of my friends. Maybe they will be able to effect a rescue.”
“Contact—?” she repeated blankly. “Contact them how?”
“It’s a communications device. I believe the Edori invented it. It transmits sound to a designated receiver over a great distance. At least I hope it does. It’s been a while since I tried to use it.”
She felt suddenly eager. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He regarded her again with that mysterious expression. “Yes. One thing.”
“Gladly.”
“Sit with me and wait for night to fall.”
That caught her by surprise, and she gazed at him doubtfully. She could not love an angel; he could not love her. The truth was so self-evident that there was no need to explain it, to herself, to him. Yet his face haunted her dreams and his voice spun through her mind during every waking hour; to him, though not aloud, she had explained every action of her life, recounted every adventure. If he was anywhere near her—in the same house, on the same ship, in the same city—she knew exactly where he was at every hour of the day. It was as if some magnetic core smelted within his bones exerted a powerful draw on her eyes and brain and heart. Were she to live a hundred years longer, she would not be able to escape the insistent drag of his presence, no matter how far away she ran, no matter if she never laid eyes on him again.
And yet, they would die in two days, and she did not even know what it was like to feel the weight and shape of his mouth against hers.
He smiled at her again as if he could read the thoughts like signposts in her head, and the kindness of that smile did her in. She crept closer and he stretched out his arm; she crawled beneath it as if it were the only haven in the world. His wing wrapped around her, light and silken as a kiss, and he took one of her hands in his.
Oh, no, she could not die now. Not if the angel loved her.
The trucks traveled on for another hour, until the light had completely failed. Once more, the prisoners were allowed briefly out, then shepherded back inside the truck, apparently to bed down for the night. With sunset, the air had cooled considerably, and the Jacobites watched with envy as the Jansai and the Archangel’s son gathered around a flickering fire.
“Lie together,” Conran instructed the Jacobites, moving carefully between the sprawled bodies and outspread limbs to check on everyone’s condition. “Find someone to sleep by and share your heat. It will be a cool night.”
Duncan grunted. “There will be no sleeping.”
“There had better be,” Conran replied soberly. “For you will need all your strength and all your cunning if you are to survive more than another day.”
Tamar, of course, had already found the body she intended to sleep beside. Jared, she had learned during the past hour, was nowhere near as relaxed as he seemed; every muscle in the chest she leaned against was corded with watchful anticipation, and his arm was strung with tension.
“Now would be a good time,” she whispered. “While the Jansai are still laughing over dinner and will not hear you speaking.”
He nodded. “I agree. Sit so you block me from view.”
So she straightened her back and set her arms akimbo, while Jared slouched beside her and fumbled for something in a pack at his waist. A few minutes later she heard a series of sharp beeps, which drew the attention of every occupant of the truck. Of course, none of them was so indiscreet as to call out, “What’s that you’re fooling with, Jared?” Long before this, they had learned to rely on unlikely eventualities. But every head turned slowly their way.
Jared ignored them all. He seemed to be having some trouble getting his communicator to work, for the beeping sounds repeated several times, and twice he swore under his breath. “All right, then, Christian, let us see if another friend is home,” she heard him say, and the little chirps sounded again.
And, seconds later, Tamar heard a tinny, astonished woman’s voice float through thin air as if drifting down from a mountaintop. “Hello? Hello? Which one of you is calling me at this hour?”
Jared spoke in a hard, rapid voice. “Mercy. It’s Jared. Don’t ask questions. Omar and a band of Jansai have taken hold of me and a truckload of Jacobites—”
“Jacobites! Jared, what in the god’s name—”
“Listen to me! And they’re hauling us to the Plain of Sharon. I’d judge we’re in the vicinity of the Corinni Mountains right about now. We’ll be at the Plain of Sharon the day after tomorrow. Mercy, he plans to murder the lot of us. You have to—”
“Murder! Jared, stop, you have to explain to me—”
“There’s no time! You have to go to Christian, now, this instant. Tell him what I’ve told you. Tell him there’s to be an execution in two days—me and all the Jacobites. Go to him. Bring your angels. Bring the angels from the Eyrie and Monteverde, if they can be reached. Do not fail me. Mercy, my life depends on this. He will kill us all, he truly will.”
“I’ll leave now. What can we do to stop him?”
“I don’t know. My dependence is on Christian. Jovah guard you, Mercy. My life is in your hands.”
Abruptly, the conne
ction clicked off; there was a sudden humming silence, so faint that it would have been unnoticeable to someone who had not been listening to the previous conversation. Jared snapped some switch, and even the humming ceased. The angel slipped the communicator back in his pouch. The Jacobites, who had all frozen in place, gradually relaxed.
“And do you think your friends will meet us on the Plain in time to do us any good?” Conran finally voiced the question in everybody’s head.
“I don’t know,” Jared admitted. “They’ll be there. That I can guarantee.”
“So if nothing else, they will witness our murders.”
“There is something to be said for an observed death,” Jared replied lightly.
“There is more to be said for a lived life,” Conran growled.
“I have done what I can for now. Let us all try to sleep.”
Jared stretched out, slowly and carefully, trying to avoid kicking Horace in the head. Tamar waited until he seemed completely arranged, and then she uncurled beside him, fitting her body to his. Again, his arm wrapped around her waist, comforting and warm; his wing settled lightly over her body, like lacy mist. She butted her head against the join of his shoulder and chest, just to feel those two inches of skin moving across her temple, gliding under the tangled silk of her hair. He bent his head, brushed his mouth across her cheek. She felt herself unknotting, disintegrating, in his arms. She could not remember the last time she had trusted someone else enough to sleep beside him.
She could not remember the last time she had felt so safe.
The next day was hotter. Unseasonable for this time of year, especially as they traveled north through Bethel, but miserable all the same.
“We need water,” Jared had said imperiously to the Jansai who let them out a few hours after they had resumed their trip. The gypsy had laughed at him.
“You got no need for water, nor food, neither.” He had sneered, and just for emphasis he punched Wyman as he staggered down from the truck. Duncan made a sudden movement, as if to leap for the Jansai and strike his own blow, but Conran caught his arm.