But he kept on singing, and Ahio sang beside him.
And the lightning did not snarl down, and the god remained silent.
“Gaaron!” Ahio cried, suddenly breaking off his dark harmony. “Gaaron, look!”
And Gaaron, who was already staring upward at the stars, stared even higher.
Above them, so high they could not possibly fly that far, the heavens were riddled with fire. Streaks of light flew from an invisible source to an unseen target, and then it was as if the stars themselves exploded. Sheets of light turned to coruscating color, then a great aureole of glittering particles shimmered and disappeared. Again, the bright, soundless, blooming illumination of the sky—the cascading run of colors, from violet to emerald—then the shattered halo of light—then darkness.
Surely it was his imagination that from below them came a desperate outcry of terror and alarm?
“Keep singing!” Gaaron shouted, pausing long enough to take one deep breath. And then he plunged back into prayer, invigorated and determined. He had no idea what that convulsion of light signified, but that it was the work of the god, he was certain. And that it had come in response to his supplication, he had no doubt.
Once again, he prayed for a thunderbolt. Once again, the heavens opened up into an opal devastation, and sparks rained down like ruined stars.
And then the air grew dense, or else so starved that it was impossible to take it in. Gaaron could not breathe, could not produce a note, and as if from far away, he heard the sound of Ahio choking.
“Down!” Gaaron coughed out, and folded his wings and dropped.
He was a bolt from the god, he was an arrow from a crossbow. He fell like a creature with no restraints. Down, down, down, a descent so rapid that his skin heated up and his frozen wings began to curl with smoke. He could see the mountain taking shape below him, see the fires that marked Velora separate into their individual towers of flame. The sounds of destruction and lamentation rose in a faint cacophony to his ears. He unfurled his wings so sharply they made a snapping sound, and he felt his whole body jerk backward. He lashed the air until he had stabilized high above the city of Velora.
The invaders appeared to be gone.
More prudently, he dropped closer to the ground, trying to reconstruct what had occurred. The fires still raged all around the city, but no new ones flared up while he watched. He could see small shadowy shapes hurrying in all directions below—residents seeking water to put out the flames, mothers searching for their lost children, couriers bawling out their news. But these were all figures crisscrossing one another inside the city limits. No massed marauders were huddled outside Velora, mapping out a new strategy or preparing a new assault. All of Jossis’ friends seemed to have disappeared.
Gaaron dropped lower, trying to read even more of the story. Littered around the burning city were dark shapes broken on the ground—the bodies of dead invaders, Gaaron guessed, brought down by his angels’ primitive weapons. But surely the angels could not have killed all of the invaders who had been here. There had not been enough rocks in their arsenal. There were not enough bodies on the ground.
Perhaps they had seen the detonations in the sky and been frightened away by the god’s display of might. Perhaps they knew, if they torched one more city or leveled one more town, they, too, would be annihilated with divine fire.
But Gaaron could not really understand it.
The air rocked around him, and he was once again in a circle of angels, all beating their wings at once. “What happened here?” he called out. “Where did they all go?”
“Gaaron, did you see the light in the heavens?” Zibiah cried.
“Yes—three times—like the sky was on fire.”
“They saw it, too—it frightened them,” someone else took up the story. “Some of them saw and pointed, and then they—and then half of them disappeared.”
“Some of them stayed, and pointed more fire sticks at Velora—”
“But then the light in the heavens came again—”
“And again—”
“And more of them disappeared each time.”
“But they kept pointing,” Enoch added. “After that first flash of light, they kept pointing, and crying, as if something they wanted was up there in the sky. As if they thought it was in danger and they had to rescue it.”
“That makes no sense,” Chloe said impatiently.
“I know it doesn’t, but that is what I saw—”
“Peace, we may never understand it,” Gaaron interrupted, throwing his hands out to signal for silence. “Wherever they have gone, they are not here now.”
“But Gaaron, will they come back?” Zibiah asked, her voice fretful. “We held them off today, but not very well, and Velora is almost destroyed.”
“I don’t know if they’ll be back,” Gaaron said soberly. He was watching a winged shape meander down from overhead, at a more leisurely pace and a better angle than he had chosen. Ahio, come to join the conference of angels. “But they are gone now. Let us do what we can for Velora.”
“What can we do?” Zibiah demanded, and it was Ahio’s hoarse, thready voice that answered.
“Pray for rain,” he said.
Susannah huddled on the white floor in the white room, and prayed for stillness. She was sick with incessant motion. The chamber she was in seemed to dart and dive and whirl from side to side in random bursts of energy. Outside the oversize windows, the constellations seemed to jump and collide. Small flashes of light sizzled past her field of vision and disappeared. Twice she saw the whole black canvas of the heavens blanch to white, and then she closed her eyes and did not look again. She was sick from motion and apprehension.
But she did not pray aloud or expect the god to hear her. She could not imagine that even Yovah could see past these sudden blinding spasms of light, or catch up to the spinning, plunging, rolling chamber in which she sat. She just said the words over and over again in her head, and hoped with all her strength that she would soon wake up.
And then the motion ceased. The room seemed to shudder to a halt and then fell into a silence so immense that it made her wonder what noise had been present before. She had the sense of a predator waiting, a feeling that impossibly delicate senses were alert and attuned to scents or sounds that she would never discern. Even the wall behind her seemed strung with anticipation; the floor seemed coiled and ready to pounce.
She stayed tumbled where she was and did not move.
At last a great sigh seemed to travel through the room—or perhaps it was not a sigh—there was a hiss of air and a low hum like one she had sometimes heard in the music rooms at the Eyrie. As if a machine had been turned on and was waiting for the next hand upon the dial.
At least it seemed as if the rocking and the spinning had stopped for the moment. And the huge, thin windows showed only the same placid stars they had showed before. Cautiously, Susannah pushed herself to a seated position. When the world did not dissolve into motion again, she stood up.
“I hope,” she said aloud, but very softly, “it is time for me to leave this place.”
For some reason, she had not expected the voice to reply, but it did. “Indeed, you have been most useful, but it is time to return you to your proper existence,” came the welcome words. “You must do one more task for me, and then I will send you home.”
She was not so sure about this task, but she was eager to go home, so she said, “Tell me what I must do.”
“Reverse my artillery to its former position,” he said. “I will talk you through the exercise.”
This was not so hard as it sounded, as it had not been so hard the first time, though it involved pushing a stubborn lever from one slot to another and punching a number of buttons in the sequence that the voice called out. Three times she had to wait while a deep, grinding noise seemed to originate in the floor beneath her feet, and then she had to flip a series of switches. None of this made any sense; she followed the crazy, colorful logic of a dr
eam. And waited for what the voice required next.
“There. Main artillery realigned, auxiliary guns realigned, shield engaged in self-repair,” the voice announced. “I thank you, Susannah. Your hands have performed functions that all my circuits could not.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, because it seemed the polite thing to say. “May I go home now?”
“Do you remember the route you followed to this room?”
She glanced at the door, somewhat surprised to find it, after all this commotion, in roughly the same spot it had been when she entered. “I’m—not sure.”
“I will direct you.”
And so she went through the door, and down the hallway, and up the stairs, and down another hallway, and at last emerged into the room of white and silver with which she was most familiar. And here, look, the candle that had been in her hands when she arrived, marking the very spot where she had first stood. With a little cry, she ran the last few remaining steps and snatched it up. It felt like the only thing in this whole vast, alien place that was natural or real.
“Good. Stand where you are,” said the voice. “I will return you.”
“Should I close my eyes?” she asked, remembering how she had arrived.
“If you wish.”
“I will,” she said, and dropped her lids. The voice had not told her to count to fifty, but she began to tell off the numbers anyway, hoping that by the time she reached the highest one, this nightmare would finally be over. She was in the silent space between “nine” and “ten” when she felt the magic take her over again, rustling along her bones and turning her skin to silver.
She was on her knees and had forgotten to keep counting when she heard Mahalah’s voice call her name.
C hapter T hirty-one
“Here, drink this. Yes, I know you think you aren’t thirsty, but drink this anyway,” Mahalah insisted. The oracle had made no attempt to move Susannah from her crumpled posture on the floor, but wheeled over with a glass of wine in her hand and pressed it into Susannah’s cold fingers.
“I can’t—I think I’m still dreaming,” Susannah said. Her hands were shaking so much she didn’t think she could get the glass to her mouth—and anyway, food and drink were always wasted in a dream.
“Yes—well—you’ve been sleepwalking, I believe,” Mahalah said quickly. Susannah had the impression that the oracle was improvising. “But you’re awake now, I’m quite sure of it, and I think you’d better have the wine. It will help you sleep better once you get back to your own bed.”
“I’m not sure I want to sleep again if my dream will come back,” Susannah said with an attempt at humor.
“I don’t think it will,” Mahalah said softly. “I think that is the last time you will be dreaming of that particular place.”
Susannah wondered how the oracle could be sure of that, but she didn’t have the strength to ask. She could smell the wine, sweet and fruity; and when she finally put the rim to her lips, she could taste the wine as well. So she was awake, at last, and she must have been walking in her sleep to have come this far from her bed. She drained the glass and put it on the floor.
It was then she looked beyond Mahalah and saw Jossis standing a few feet behind her. His dark face looked blank with shock. He had his arms wrapped around his chest, as though to ward off cold.
“What is he—why is he—Jossis—” Susannah managed to say.
Mahalah glanced at him over her shoulder and then returned her attention to Susannah. “Like me, he could not sleep,” she said gently. “We have much to talk about, Jossis and I.”
“But he looks—Mahalah, I think he has been crying.”
“Yes,” Mahalah said. “This has been a hard night for him as well. He has lost so much.”
None of it made any sense. Despite the taste of wine in her mouth, Susannah was sure she must still be asleep.
“I’m so tired,” she said. She thought, if she tried very hard, she might be able to stand. She put her palms against the floor and pushed.
“Yes. I think you should go to your room now,” Mahalah said. “Sleep well into the morning. We can talk then. You can tell me about your dream, and I can tell you that it means nothing. Only the mind sending out pictures and asking unanswerable questions.”
Susannah was on her feet now—shaky but, she thought, mobile. “Will Jossis be all right?”
“I will talk to him until he is,” Mahalah said. “But send Miriam to me in the morning. She will help me heal him.”
“Good night, then,” Susannah said. Her head spun a little, but her feet moved forward well enough, and she cleared the door with no mishap. Once in the hallway, she balanced herself against the wall with one hand and kept on walking. One corridor, one turn, another corridor, another turn, a few more steps, and she was in her door.
A few more steps, and she was in her bed.
Kaski stirred and moved over without waking up. Miriam’s head came up from the pillow, ghostly blond in the filtered moonlight. “Susannah?” she asked. “Where have you been? I woke up and you were gone.”
“Mahalah says I have been walking in my sleep,” Susannah said.
“You’re so cold! Here, have my blanket, it’s all warm.”
“Thank you,” Susannah said, snuggling down between the other two and burrowing under the covers. “Oh, Miriam, I have had the strangest dream! I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”
“Tell me now. You won’t remember it in the morning.”
The heat, the relief, the sweetness of Miriam’s concern were combining to make Susannah sleepy and relaxed. “I think I’ll remember,” she said, closing her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”
In the morning, Miriam was the first one awake and too restless to wait patiently as the others sauntered yawning from their dreams. She leaned over to kiss Susannah on the cheek, patted Kaski on the head, and climbed out of bed. In a few minutes, she was washed, dressed, and out the door.
The acolytes, it appeared, had all gotten up before her, because the halls were full of their thin, tense figures and the echoes of their cries and laughter. She made her way to the dining hall, where the servants were already clearing away the breakfast dishes, but one of the cooks smiled at her and gave her a late meal. She ate slowly because she couldn’t imagine what she would do with herself once the meal was over. She had no idea how anyone passed the time in an oracle’s retreat.
She could find Jossis, though. Since he was a man, he had been assigned special quarters somewhere in this labyrinth, but he had been allowed to spend the night. She was pretty certain that, wherever he was bedded down, she would make that her own living quarters for the duration of her stay.
Before she had taken her last sip of juice, however, one of the acolytes approached her—a pretty girl, with the high, narrow cheekbones that bespoke a Manadavvi lineage. “Miriam?” the girl asked in a quiet voice. “The oracle has directed me to look for you and ask you to come see her as soon as you have a free moment.”
This was much like being summoned by the Archangel; one really didn’t delay. “Tell me where she is,” Miriam said. “I’ll come right now.”
Mahalah was in the large, windowless interior room where she had been when they arrived. Once again, the older woman was seated before that flickering blue glass panel set into the wall, but she turned quickly at Miriam’s entrance.
“You’re awake early,” the oracle said.
“My brother often tells me I have too much energy,” Miriam said demurely. “It sometimes causes me to wake up before everyone else.”
“Well, good. I wanted to see you this morning to tell you . . .” The oracle hesitated, and her eyes searched Miriam’s face. The younger woman waited with unwonted patience. “I wanted to ask you a little about Jossis,” Mahalah said at last.
Miriam felt a stirring of fear. “Is something wrong? I didn’t see him after dinner last night. Is he sick?”
“Heartsick, I think,” Mahalah said. “And
you can help him. But you—”
Miriam was halfway to the door. “Where is he? Where are the quarters for the men?”
“Miriam, sit down,” Mahalah said, and her voice was so firm that without even planning to, Miriam turned back into the room and seated herself before the oracle’s wheeled chair. “I have much to explain to you before you go off seeking him, and a few things to ask you as well. May I have your word that anything I tell you will remain confidential between the two of us? That you will tell no one—not Gaaron, not Susannah, none of your angelic or Edori friends—what we are going to talk about?”
Miriam felt her whole face grow loose with astonishment. The few other people who had sworn Miriam to secrecy had been less than twenty years old and about to tell of misdeeds. She was not used to making solemn oaths to respectable elders. “Yes,” she said at last. “I swear I will tell no one what you say to me.”
Mahalah glanced at her bright blue screen, as if to check that the god was still present in the room. “You know, because Jossis told me that you knew, that he comes from a different world. And that his ancestors are probably the same as ours—another branch of the same colonizing family that settled on Samaria.”
“The settlers who came to Samaria were brought here in Jovah’s hands,” Miriam said automatically. She found herself instinctively using the allali pronunciation of the god’s name when speaking dogma.
“Be that as it may, Jossis’ ancestors took to the skies in machines that allowed them to move between worlds. And their goal, or so it appears, was to settle on as many planets as they could—maybe ten, all told, in the past two hundred years.”
Miriam felt the surfaces of her brain quivering; her skull seemed to be expanding and contracting as Mahalah talked. “Wait—these machines—and these other planets—how many worlds are there? Besides ours, and the one we came from, and the one that Jossis came from?”