Praise for Sharon Shinn and her novels of Samaria …
Archangel … Jovah’s Angel … The Alleluia Files
“The most promising and original writer of fantasy to come along since Robin McKinley.”
—Peter S. Beagle
author of The Last Unicorn
“I was fascinated by Archangel. Its premise is unusual, to say the least, its characters as provocative as the action. I was truly, deeply delighted.”
—Anne McCaffrey
“Shinn can make you see angels … Archangel takes advantage of the familiar—goodness, the Bible, Paradise Lost—through building its own lively quest narrative with these sure-fire building blocks so that one feels at home in the narrative very quickly; it also has a clean, often wryly funny prose.”
—New York Review of Science Fiction
“Clever and original. Some may raise eyebrows at Sharon Shinn’s less-than-saintly angels, but they make for far more interesting characters than the winged paragons of legend. Many will no doubt find her end results quite heavenly.”
—Starlog
“Taut, inventive, often mesmerizing, with a splendid pair of predestined lovers.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Displaying sure command of characterization and vividly imagined settings, Shinn absorbs us in the story … an interesting SF-fantasy blend that should please fans of both genres.”
—Booklist
“[A] book of true grace, wit, and insight into humanity, past and future … Shinn displays a real flair for [music and romance], giving music a compelling power and complexity, while the developing attraction between Archangel Alleluia and a gifted but eccentric mortal should charm the most dedicated anti-sentimentalist and curmudgeon.”
—Locus
“The spellbinding Ms. Shinn writes with elegant imagination and steely grace, bringing a remarkable freshness that will command a wide audience.”
—Romantic Times
“Shinn has created an enchanting world … I recommend this [book] without reservation.”
—Charlotte Observer
“Completely captivating.”
—Fantasy & Science Fiction
“A marvelous adventure. Although the basic tale is entertaining and exciting, there is a deeper issue at play. The struggle for men and women to understand and love each other while remaining independent beings … Archangel is a journey that any reader should gladly undertake.”
—Rock Hill (SC) Herald
Ace Books by Sharon Shinn
ARCHANGEL
JOVAH’S ANGEL
THE ALLELUIA FILES
ANGELICA
ANGEL-SEEKER
WRAPT IN CRYSTAL
THE SHAPE-CHANGER’S WIFE
HEART OF GOLD
SUMMERS AT CASTLE AUBURN
JENNA STARBORN
THE
ALLELUIA
FILES
SHARON SHINN
ACE BOOKS, NEWYORK
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Susie,
for when she has time to read
THE ALLELUIA FILES
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with
the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace trade edition / April 1998
Ace mass-market edition / May 1999
Copyright © 1998 by Sharon Shinn.
Cover art by John Jude Palencar.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced
in any form without permission.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 0-441-00620-5
ACE®
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks
belonging to Penguin Group (USA), Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7
CHARACTERS
The Jacobites
Ben Harm, another Manadavvi landholder Jacob Fairman, their martyred leader Conran Atwell, their current leader Simon Davilet, an importer of technology Rinalda Linise, another martyr, the mother of twins
Tamar, a young woman Zeke, a young man
The Angels & Their Families
Bael, Archangel and leader of the host at the Eyrie
Mariah, Bael’s angelica
Omar, Bael’s son
Mercy, leader of the host at Cedar Hills
Jared, leader of the host of Monteverde
Catherine, Jared’s sister
Lucinda, who resides on Angel Rock
Gretchen, her aunt
The Edori
Maurice, captain of The Wayward
Reuben sia Havita, his first mate
The Gentry
Christian Avalone, a wealthy Semorran merchant
Isaiah Lesh, a Manadavvi landholder
Ben Harth, another Manadavvi landowner
Simon Davilet, an importer of technology
Isabella Cartera, a Bethel landowner
Richard Stephalo, a Bethel landowner
Annalee Stephalo, his daughter
others
Ezra, a former priest
Jecoliah, oracle at Mount Sinai
Celia and Hammet Zephyr, proprietors of the Gablefront Inn on Angel Rock
Jasper, steward at the Berman House, a hotel in Semorrah
Jenny, a servant at the Berman House
Gene, chief ostler at Cartabella, the home of Isabella Cartera
Figures from the Past
Delilah, Archangel one hundred years ago
Alleluia, briefly Archangel during Delilah’s time, then oracle at Mount Sinai
Deborah, oracle at Mount Sinai after Alleluia
Caleb Augustus, Alleluia’s husband
Michael, Archangel before Bael
Joel, Archangel before Michael
SAMARIA
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
CHAPTER ONE
It was full dark when Tamar and Zeke entered the city, and still they moved with the caution of thieves. They had arrived w
ithin view of Breven at about noon and camped out far from the main road till dusk brought a welcome coolness and a measure of safety. Even so, it was worth their lives to cross the city line. But it had seemed, on balance, even more dangerous to stay in Luminaux.
They had assumed the guise of a young Jansai merchant’s son and his submissive sister. This allowed Tamar, at least, to layer her face and body in the traditional scarves without which no respectable Jansai woman left her house. Zeke—pretending to be one of the arrogant gypsy traders—could not cover his face without arousing suspicion, but he had wrapped his head in one of the flowing white cloths the Jansai used to protect themselves from the unrelenting desert sun. And he had made sure its long edges draped themselves over his shoulders and halfway down his bare arms. Just glancing at the two of them, no stranger would notice that these travelers bore no glowing Kiss in their right arms. No one would halt them in the road, demanding their names, their identities, their suspect affiliations.
“What street are we on? Did you see?” Zeke murmured to Tamar as they passed yet another unmarked intersection. They had entered Breven from the west and had to pass through the less savory parts of town before they reached their destination in the business district close to the port.
“There are no signs till we’re near the wharf. We just keep walking toward the ocean.”
“But what if we’re walking in the wrong direction?”
Tamar throttled a moment’s extreme irritation. They had been on the road more than a week, moving by night from town to city, dodging Jansai, angels, and the merely curious. Zeke’s company, never exactly to her taste, had grated on her more and more as the days dragged by. There was nothing he was not afraid of, no worry he failed to articulate. A fine revolutionary, she thought scornfully. Though perhaps she did him an injustice. She had not witnessed her parents’ slaughter at the hands of religious zealots, as he had; her mother and father had perished the same way, years earlier, but she had been weeks old, not an impressionable fifteen. Perhaps she, too, would be fearful and nervous if she had seen what Zeke had.
“Conran told us,” she said, lifting her hand in its billowing sleeve to gesture at the glowing horizon. “Most of the city business is done on the streets nearest the water. Ahead of us, there? You see lights? He told us that things are easier to find once you’re in the business district.”
“But it’s so dark,” he complained.
“You’ll wish it was this dark when we get to the port,” she said. “Once we’re under a streetlight, it’ll be that much easier to tell who we are. Or who we aren’t.”
“No one can see your face,” he said.
She almost stopped dead in the street, but the last thing she wanted was to start an argument with Zeke, do anything that might attract attention. “What does that mean?” she demanded, keeping her voice low. There appeared to be few others abroad at this hour, in this neighborhood, but still. No need to create a scene. “We’ve only traveled five hundred miles in the past seven days to get here, to this city this night, but if you’re afraid—if you don’t think you can go through with it—”
“I didn’t say that!” he responded sharply, his voice as quiet and intense as hers. “I think I have a right to be afraid. I think you’re a fool not to be. If anybody in this city—anybody— recognizes us, we’re dead, both of us, no questions asked, no news returned to our friends, no prayers said for our souls—”
“Since you have no use for the god, I don’t see why you’d care if some priest prayed over you—”
“Well, when I’m dead I want someone to know it, even if it’s just Conran and the others.”
“They’d figure it out soon enough,” was her grim reply. “Those who are still alive themselves.”
It was such a shocking thing to say that she was not surprised when he did not answer, and they kept on their uncertain course toward the city lights. Well, but it was true. Luminaux, for so long the haven of the Jacobites, had become in the past few months no safer than any other city in Samaria. Since Archangel Bael had loosed his Jansai fanatics on the Blue City, not one of the cultists was safe. Oh, the Luminauzi had tried to protect the Jacobites, offering them shelter in secret rooms and false cellars, while formally protesting the invasion of the Archangel’s soldiers. But the Luminauzi were a civil, not a military force; they were the artists and intellectuals and politicians of Samaria. They didn’t know how to repel armed Jansai bursting through their doors at three in the morning. They couldn’t save the screaming men and women dragged from their attics and hidden passageways by the Archangel’s warriors. The Jacobites who could, fought back (and, trained to terrorism, sometimes won these brief desperate skirmishes). Those who could not perished. Those who could run scattered from the city in all directions.
They were to meet again in Ileah in two months’ time, those who were alive, who could make it that far, who escaped the notice of the mercenary Jansai and ordinary Samarian citizens who didn’t mind turning in a Jacobite for a tidy reward. Meet again and decide, then, how to carry On their mission.
“Have you ever thought,” Zeke asked unexpectedly, breaking the long silence, “of setting sail for Ysral instead?”
“Instead of fighting here? Instead of bringing the truth to a whole world that does not want to see and can only blindly believe in lies so old and impossible that only a child could fall for them? Instead of doing what I know is right—what my parents died for—what your parents died for? Instead of—”
“I suppose not,” he said on a sigh.
“No,” she said. “Never.”
“Well, I have.”
“Now’s your chance,” she said. “Breven’s your port. Catch an Edori boat tonight, be in Ysral in two weeks. You’ll never be in danger again.”
“Well, I’ve thought of it,” he said defiantly. “I’m tired of running, and hiding, and always being afraid. And if we’re all killed—if all the Jacobites are dead—who will be left to carry on the fight? Maybe in a generation or two, when the whole world is wiser, Samaria will be willing to listen to us—”
Under her layers of loose cloth, Tamar hunched her shoulders as if to shrug off his touch. The same old tired argument. We cannot reason with them; we cannot make a difference; let us withdraw and try again next year, next decade, next century. Cowardice, she called it, and usually to the person’s face, but it still was not the time to be starting spectacular arguments with Zeke.
“Do what you want,” she said. “There must be an Edori ship in port. You’ll never have a better chance.”
“And what about you?” he said.
“What about me?” she said, but she knew the answer. This whole venture had been her idea—destination, date, and disguise—and she absolutely could not complete it without his help. It was rare enough for a Jansai woman to be out on the streets at night, even properly attired and accompanied by a male member of her family; not one would be out alone. Without Zeke’s protection, nominal as it was, Tamar could not pretend to this role. And if she was not a Jansai woman here in Breven … well, she would have to be an ordinary Samarian. Farewell, veils; good-bye, flowing garments that covered her from throat to toe. Only Jansai women dressed this way in the desert, where, even in early spring, the temperature could ascend to astonishing degrees of heat.
It was not her face that was so recognizable; indeed, there might be only half a dozen people, besides her immediate friends, who would know her on sight. But the fact that she bore no Kiss in her right arm—that would set her apart instantly. That would identify her at once for who she was. Jacobite. Cultist. Anarchist. The breed singled out by Bael for his special vengeance.
“I can’t leave you alone in Breven,” he said.
She wondered if, all along, this had been his plan; if this was why he had agreed to accompany her in the first place. She had spoken truly: he would never have a better chance to get to Ysral, for the Edori ships docked there every day, and the Edori were famous for taking on Jacobite
refugees. Of course, boarding a ship from that well-patrolled dock was even more dangerous than crossing the desert on foot.
“You can,” she said, “if you wait till we leave the priest’s house.”
“Won’t you be afraid? If you’re by yourself?”
She smiled in the dark. Zeke wasn’t a half-bad fighter, and if they were ever unlucky enough to fall into hand-to-hand combat here on the Breven streets, he would no doubt make a handy battle partner. But if they were that unlucky, they were completely doomed, because they would never escape these streets alive after engaging in a brawl like that. She wouldn’t miss his company, that was certain; and her survival skills were no doubt good enough to see her back across the desert alone.
“Once I’ve got the Kiss,” she said, “I won’t be afraid. If you’ll stay with me that long you can go, and luck to you.”
“Well, I haven’t decided for sure,” he said, but his voice was rushed with relief. “But I’ve been thinking about it.”
“You’ve got to go where your heart dictates,” she said. “Mine will take me to Ileah. If yours says Ysral, then go. I won’t stop you.”
He did not immediately reply, and she let the silence lengthen between them. In any case, the less talking now, the better. They had moved past the huts of the poor on the outer perimeter of the city through the wealthy, quiet neighborhoods where the streets were lined with massive, shuttered, secretive homes. Now, nearing the wharf, they entered the busy nighttime world of Breven’s business district. Glowing circles of light puddled at the base of the streetlights on every corner; the occasional truck growled by, clanking with its metal cargo. Voices muttered from behind shut doors or called to each other across the width of the pavement. Footfalls produced by invisible travelers sounded staccato and menacing in the dark. From farther away came ocean sounds: the groaning of ships pulling against anchor, the slap and trickle of waves against the wooden dock. The air was heavy with the damp, scented exhalation of the sea.
“We’re getting closer,” Tamar breathed, and laid her hand on Zeke’s arm. Not that she was afraid, certainly not; but any Jansai woman would cling to her brother if she was abroad on a night like this.