Angels of Darkness

and exhausted. And fearful.
    â€œThere’s nothing I can do for any of them,” she told me as we stood outside Alma’s room after Judith had made a quick examination. We had roused Alma enough to make her swallow a pill, but it was the last one in the infirmary. “All that’s left is broth and kindness.”
    My own worry was intensifying to the point of panic. “We have to raise a plague flag,” I said.
    She nodded somberly. “We did that last night. But the Gloria is tomorrow. Angels aren’t likely to be flying this way again for another few days.”
    â€œSo they’ll arrive in a day or two and pray for medicine then.”
    Her face was pinched. “It might be too late. For Alma—for all of them.”
    I felt as if she’d punched me. “What?”
    â€œWhen fevers run so high, sometimes people don’t recover. Or if they do, they’re seriously damaged. It’s as if such a hot temperature burns the body out and leaves only a shell behind. I’ve seen it more than once.”
    I stared at her for a moment, then bolted for the stairs.
    Corban was seated in the cutaway chair, his back to the door and the cello between his knees. He was picking at the strings very softly, creating a melody that sounded like raindrops dancing on platters of bronze. It was a merry sound; I took a moment to be surprised that Corban was capable of something so lighthearted. If he was feeling a surge of genuine happiness, might I be in any way responsible?
    No time to ask. “Corban,” I panted, breathless from my run. “You have to go aloft and pray.”
    He spun around in his chair, his face registering surprise closely followed by dread. “I can’t,” he said.
    I crossed the room and knelt before him. “You have to. Judith—she’s from the school—she says Alma could die. And there are others down at the school. They’re all sick. They’re all in danger. Their fevers are too high, and their bodies won’t recover. And we have no drugs left.”
    â€œA plague flag—”
    â€œTomorrow is the Gloria.”
    He winced at that, no doubt thinking that if times were different, he would be assembling on the Plain of Sharon with all the other angels. He turned away, carefully leaning the cello against the wall. “I can’t do it,” he said.
    I reached for his nearest hand and cradled it between both of mine. “I’ll help you,” I whispered. “I know that the best way to catch Jovah’s attention is to fly very high, but I’ll come with you. I don’t care how cold it gets. I don’t care how far off the ground it is. I won’t make you go alone and I won’t let you get lost.”
    He tore his hand away and jumped to his feet. “It’s not just the flying, it’s the singing,” he said, gesturing in agitation. “I haven’t—Moriah, the last time I prayed to the god, he sent a thunderbolt! He blinded me!”
    I rose more slowly. “You didn’t sing that prayer. It was that boy.”
    He turned away and began pacing, unerringly avoiding chairs and tables but tripping on discarded shoes and clothes that lay in his path. “Yes, but Jovah sent the thunderbolt anyway! He must have known I was in the room! He could have chosen not to strike me!”
    â€œYou think he would send lightning again? Even if you pray for medicines?”
    He whirled around in my direction. “I think I cannot bring myself to ask for anything from a god I cannot trust. I cannot pray, I cannot supplicate . I am too angry to ask him for anything.”
    Oh, sweet Jovah, this was not a complication I had anticipated. I had thought I could talk him through his fear, but what he felt was fury for a god who had betrayed him. “I understand, I think,” I said, my voice halting. “I don’t think it would have mattered who was about to die. I wouldn’t have been able to ask Reuel Harth for help to save them.”
    Corban caught his breath at the comparison, but he didn’t speak.
    â€œBut Jovah didn’t harm me,” I went on in a low voice. “Can you teach me the song? Can you carry me up toward the heavens so I can sing it to him? Can you let me ask him, if you can’t do it yourself?”
    It seemed like an hour that we stood there, facing each other, both of us so tense that our hands clenched and our shoulders