Sharon Shinn - Samaria 3 - The Alleluia Files

The Alleluia Files

by

Sharon Shinn

Ace Books by Sharon Shinn

THE SHAPE-CHANGER'S WIFE

ARCHANGEL

JOVAH'S ANGEL

THE ALLELUIA FILES

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."

For Susie, for when she has time to read

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Ace trade edition / April 1998

Ace mass-market edition / May 1999

Cover art by John Jude Palencar.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or

any other means, without permission. For information

address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam

Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

http://www.penguinputnam.com

ISBN: 0-441-00620-5

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

CHARACTERS

The Jacobites

Jacob Fairman, their martyred leader

Conran Atwell, their current leader

Rinalda Linise, another martyr, the mother of twins

Tamer, a young woman

Zeke, a young man

active Jacobites still

Peter

Jani

Duncan

Horace

Sal

Wyman

Loa

Others

Ezra, a former priest

Jecoliah, oracle at Mount Sinai

servants at The Manor & Their Families on Angel Rock

Emmie

Jackson

Celia and Hammer Zephyr, proprietors of the Gablefront Inn on Angel

Rock

The Angels

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

Others

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

Aria, Caley, Maretta, residents of Chahiela

Alina, George, Students at the Augustine School

The Edori

Maurice, captain of The Wayward

Reuben sia Havita, his first mate

Michael, Rico, Joe, sailors aboard the Wayward

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

The Gentry

Christian Avalone, a wealthy Semorran merchant

Isaiah Lesh, a Manadavvi landholder

Ben Harth, another Manadavvi landholder

Simon Davilet, an importer of technology

Isabella Cartera, a Bethel landowner

Richard Stephalo, a Bethel landowner

Annalee Stephalo, his daughter

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 within 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 par--died for--what your parents

died for? Instead ~~Ii ens

"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 dis-guise--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," Tamer 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.

"What was the street again?" he murmured.

"Saturlin. We're supposed to find the Exchange Building and turn

right, and Saturlin is a few blocks off that."

"The Exchange Building? What's that?"

"The tall one with the eagle on top. You must have seen it in picture

books."

"Oh. That one. If we--"

But "Ssh," she whispered, and pulled him back to the shelter of the

brick building they were passing. They could just fit into the narrow

niche provided by the glass door; the awning over the lintel covered

both of them in shadow. Zeke mouthed a word at her--"What?"--but she

shook her head, and in a few moments he heard it, too. First the

rumble of the motor (big transport, from that sound alone), then the

laughter carrying eerily far over the city streets. Minutes later the

vehicle passed them, a huge, open truck carrying a load of Jansai

soldiers in its cargo space. There was a jumble of talk and laughter,

indistinguishable words, then the sudden splintering crash of glass as

one of the Jansai threw a bottle over the side. Tamar felt Zeke flinch

beside her, but the truck was gone. No one had seen them.

"Wonder what they're doing here," Zeke whispered.

"Looking for Jacobites. If you try to find an Edori boat tonight, be

especially careful."

"There might be more."

"I'd count on it."

With renewed caution, they continued forward, crossing streets in the

middle of the block to avoid the lamplights, sticking as close to the

buildings as their bones allowed, communicating with hand signals so

they could more closely monitor the sounds around them. They saw no

more transport trucks. The few foot travelers they passed walked as

stealthily as they did, on the other side of the street, and did not

accost them.

The Exchange Building was not hard to find, for it was one of the

newest and tallest in the business district of Breven. Even in the

unreliable street lighting, it was a glittering black, for it had been

hewn from a cold, dense granite alive with crushed quartz crystals. On

the edge of the roof, twenty stories up, perched a ferocious bird of

prey, carved from the same black rock. Its wings were half-extended

and its face was twisted in a perpetual snarl; it clutched a strand of

beads in one claw and a round globe in the other. The Jansai motto,

Tamar remembered now, meant to signify trade and barter around the

world. For at one time the Jansai were Samaria's most legendary

merchants. Now they were the continent's most fearsome soldiers.

Well, they had always been fearsome, always had a history of violence

and brutality. But not until the past twenty years had their savagery

been yoked and bent to the will of the Archangel.

Tamar touched Zeke on the shoulder and pointed to the right.

He nodded and followed her. Across the street, two men were engaged in

a heated argument that was punctuated unexpectedly by harsh laughter.

This whole block was lit with a ring of lamps, so that it was almost

impossible to slink back into welcome darkness. Tamar kept her hand in

the crook of Zeke's arm and tried not to look like she was hurrying.

Cross the street; escape the floodlights of the Exchange Building.

Pick up the pace a little, hurrying into the shadows. Here, the salty,

fishy smell of the ocean was especially strong, and the wind pressed

her garments tightly to her chest and thighs. Another streetlight,

another stretch of pavement to cross. Back into darkness. One more

block safely negotiated.

Zeke saw the street sign before she did. "Saturlin," he breathed, and

crowded her toward the right. Saturlin was more of a cobblestoned

alley than a true street, so narrow that most of its traffic surely

came on foot. But it had the advantage of sporting absolutely no

streetlights--which was also a disadvantage, because it was nearly

impossible to make out distinguishing characteristics of any of the low

buildings they slowly felt their way past.

"How will we know it?" Zeke asked, his voice edgy. "Do you have a

street number? A name?"

"Eighth house on the left," she murmured. "With red shutters."

"Red shutters! I can scarcely see the windows, let alone the color of

the paint--"

"There. Two buildings up. There's a light on in the window and it

looks to me--well, there are shutters. They might be red. Let's get

closer."

They crept nearer, arriving at the uninviting wood door reinforced with

three bands of bronze. Faint light did indeed filter down from the

second-story window, and as it passed through the slatted frame it

seemed to cast a rosy glow on the peeling paint of its shutters.

"Six, seven, eight... Well, I think this is it," Tamar said.

"Think? And if it isn't? What will you say to whoever answers the

door?"

"Oh, be quiet," she said impatiently, and rapped on the door as loudly

as she dared. The silence of Saturlin, which had seemed comprehensive,

instantly grew more complete; it was as if the house itself held its

breath while the residents inside looked up wide-eyed and apprehensive.

Midnight visitors must be a rarity, then. Tamar knocked again, just as

forcefully.

She was not prepared to have the door flung open or to find a giant of

a man glowering down at her from the threshold. She took a step

backward, stumbling into Zeke, and found herself gulping once from

nervousness.

"Well?" the large man demanded. "Who are you? What do you want? Why

do you come to my door at midnight'?"

"I came--we're looking for a priest named Ezra," she began, but before

she could say another word, the big man grabbed her arm and jerked her

inside. Zeke, scrambling after, barely made it inside before the door

slammed shut behind him.

"Ezra!" the man repeated in a fierce whisper threaded with both

amazement and fear. "No one comes here asking for him! No one! Who

are you? What do you want? Tell me at once or I'll call the watch on

you."

Tamar shook herself free, feeling calmer now. This was the right

house, sure enough, and it was unlikely this man would be turning

anyone over to the Jansai authorities. "My name is Tamar. I was told

about Ezra by a friend of mine named Conran Atwell. This was the place

I was directed to go."

"Well, and Conran Atwell had best keep his directions to himself." The

big man scowled. Now that she got a chance to look at him, he was not

quite the giant he had seemed at first, but large enough. It was his

burly figure, wild beard, and rough mane of dark hair that made him

seem so overpowering. "I don't like strangers who come calling in the

dead of night."

"We won't take up more of your time than we can help," Tamar said. "Can

you direct us to Ezra?"

"No, I cannot, and I would not if I could!"

"Are you Ezra?" she pursued coolly. The big man stared down at her.

"And if I was, why would I tell you that? The priest Ezra is no more.

That should be enough for you--and for Conran Atwell."

"I need to see him," Tamar said, unheeding. "I need his help. I know

he is here---or that he's you--and I won't go until I've had a chance

to talk with him."

"You'll go soon enough if I throw you out on the street," he threatened

her.

"I don't think you can afford an altercation on your door step," she

said. "Or you would not have been so alarmed when we arrived."

"What man can afford a brawl in Breven?" he muttered, but he was

eyeing her sideways in an effort to judge her nerve and her tenacity.

She could not tell how much of the bluster was real, how much assumed,

but she had quickly lost her fear of him. Conran had assured her that

Ezra would help her ("though you may have to ask him more than once"),

and Conran had never lied to her. And she had come this far ... "I

only want one thing from you. I won't stay a minute longer than I have

to. I won't ask for shelter, or food, or any other aid. I just want

Ezra's ... services."

"And what can you afford to pay him?" the big man asked bitterly.

"Nothing, am I right? You Jacobites are all alike. All guts and glory

and not a penny among you."

Zeke had smothered a gasp when their host named their party, and the

older man threw the younger one a look of scorn. "Well, who else but

Sharon Shinn - Samaria 3 - The Alleluia Files

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