though you turn your face away
Feb. 25th, 2013 11:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jovahs_heiressThey leave Milliways, eventually, and tell Rinnah and Charles about Zion-or-Damaris, and Isabella resumes her usual routine. Singing. Socializing. Interceding about weather or other needs of petitioners. Assisting Delilah. Showering Micaiah with affection. Coaxing Nathaniel out of his shell. (He seems to like Rinnah, and she finds him precious.) And slowly, thoughtfully, carefully - magic.
She is not as quick to add powers to her repertoire as her counterparts, and will install one only after spending a day or two noting instances where it would be useful and determining that the best way to handle this class of problem is with this magic power. She acquires teleportation, but not boosted physical speed; she acquires a perfect memory, but nudges her cognitive processing capacity upwards only gently. She has no "agony beam" but her voice and she goes on sleeping on a nightly basis and her defensive powers are only present because of the unknown hazards that may roam Milliways, not because of any threat she fears in Samaria. She fears no shortage of coins - Micaiah steadily outputs squares just from being in the room with her and a distribution of the larger wishes whenever she practices masses or has harmonics or brings him along for prayers - but exercising circumspection and judicious restraint will surely show Jovah that she is not abusing her permission to use magic, that she does not seek the power for its own sake but to do good in the world.
She is more generous with magic that is not about granting herself more abilities.
Isabella's work is beginning to be noticed.
She is doing nothing overt. She claims no miracles. But everyone is having such a run of good luck these days. The weather is as ever - drought here, flood there, duststorms elsewhere - but there is an established system for handling those things.
Isabella's working elsewhere.
Ships do not sink anymore, and this was never terribly common to begin with or no one would sail - but there is a terrible storm through a fishing harbor off the Jordana coast, and not a single craft capsizes, let alone goes under.
Plague is mysteriously absent - there are, admittedly, prayers for this too, but they bring medicine, they don't prevent the initial lost work, suffering, death. Plague was never so common either, but no angels have seen a flag that was raised for its traditional purpose for a month and a half, now.
Locusts have begun to leave crops unmolested as though of their own accord. Priests dedicating children to the god find their surgeries met with less weeping, and no infections. Nothing in the whole of Samaria will catch fire without someone intending to set it alight. The primitive cars that carry goods from here to there do not skid on ice or flip on rubble.
Angel-seekers, and those who lie with angels for less mercenary reasons, are surviving their attempts at bearing winged babies with astonishing regularity. Isabella isn't adjusting the species ratio, as she suspects it may be a purposeful test of angel-seeker character to give them mortal children and she's mindful anyway of Micaiah's concerns with the children already being this or that - but they don't kill their mothers coming out. No babies are born motherless anymore, in fact, but it's most obvious at the holds, where the most historically dangerous births are undertaken.
And Isabella begins to think, if I have wrought this, and Jovah sees it is good and does not strip me of my wishes for my hubris or command me to stop for my presumption or even contrive to display before me a warning that shows me some terrible consequence of my actions -
then why did he not make the world this way himself, when we settled it, why was I not born into a world already free of famine and disease and pain and babies who grow up without their mothers and destroyed vehicles that kill everyone aboard and infected Kisses that sicken with fever?
She thinks this, but she does not write it down, or speak it, or change anything she is doing in response to the question.
Today.
Or the next.
Yet.
She announces her pregnancy to the hold, and is made much of, and Phebe sends her a bowl of flowers that might be sniping or might be a genuine gesture of conciliation.
She's not the only pregnant angel in the Eyrie. Abjah, a golden-angel type in her thirties who has three children already by assorted fathers (all mortals), is much farther along, and a few weeks before Isabella's wedding, she gives birth.
To a lucifer.
The screaming brings concerned friends and neighbors - there is always screaming during births, but not usually a sudden chorus of it, not usually cries of horror instead of pain. Isabella is one of them, but she's not just there to stare and gossip. Whatever is going on, she can help, and she shoves herself past wings and bodies and sees what's happened.
The thing is twisted. It has - well, several limbs, at least four, maybe eight or ten depending on which protrusions count, and feathers in places feathers don't belong, and it has lungs enough to bawl a suffering screech like no infant Isabella has ever heard.
"Someone has to kill it," says Abimelech, and "who's the father, who besides Abjah has been putting wing to wing?" says Eliou, and "I never thought it would be so horrible" says Zelpha and then someone repeats -
"Someone has to kill it."
"No!" screams Abjah, sprawled in mess and barely covered by her blanket, reaching towards Rhoda, the mortal Eyrie midwife who has the lucifer held in her hands.
"Someone has to kill it," Zelpha agrees, and Isabella pushes forward again and blurts, "Give it to me."
"You? Isabella?" says Eliou.
"Give it to me," Isabella repeats. "I'll take it away."
No one else is leaping to volunteer. Abjah is only weeping softly.
But why should it be that putting wing to wing results in this misery? Why was Isabella born in that world, and not in another?
Well, she can wonder about that all she likes, but she can see to it that this suffering thing isn't born into a world like that. Rhoda hands it over. A pentagon will kill its pain, whatever's hurting it; it screams on, but softer, and there's a stifled murmur from Zelpha while Isabella carries the lucifer away.
"You're going to kill it, not just leave it exposed to cry itself to death," Eliou says, "right?"
"First," says Isabella, "I'm going to pray. But I will not leave it to cry itself to death."
They get out of her way. She cradles the thing in her arms and makes for the nearest takeoff point and flings herself into the air until she's so high that no one will be able to see what's happening.
She can't even determine the lucifer's sex. If it has one at all, it's not displayed in a conventional way.
Isabella does pray first. She has no song for this, just the air around her and her tuneless voice and her incomprehension.
"WHY?" she screams into the blue expanse. No one can hear her here, the air is so thin it won't carry, but her shout is ringing in her ears and the lucifer whimpers. "Why is this something that can happen? Why does Abjah's mistake and her lover's mistake condemn this baby who has made no mistakes until I step in? Who am I? What are you doing? You place it in my path, but there have been lucifers now and again for centuries and no one saved them then! Why? Jovah is good, Jovah is merciful, Jovah makes babies so confused by their own warped bodies that they cry without ceasing even when they've stopped feeling any pain, why? Tell me why and I'll do as you say! Tell me why and I'll see the wisdom in it, Jovah, you gave me a mind, it's not so tiny and ignorant as all that, tell me why and I'll follow your guidance forever, tell me what I'm meddling with so I'll know better how to go! Tell me!"
There is no response. There is never a response to an unsung prayer, one which isn't from the standard books, one which doesn't simply ask for weather or seed or medicine. Weather seed medicine weather seed medicine weatherseedmedicine weatherseedmedicine that is all he can do, that and issue cryptic answers to questions through oracles and make Kisses burn and glow, that is all. Five things. She could count them on the fingers of one hand.
The lucifer is still crying. All her importuning of the god has not erased its deformities.
And it only takes a pentagon to turn it into a healthy angel. A boy, as it turns out. One medium-sized coin. Micaiah makes them easily if she holds a note for longer than a second.
...He made them in Milliways, too, where Jovah was not. Jovah did not even answer a prayer for weather when she tried it there, but the Kiss still worked.
Isabella looks down at the angel baby in her hands, no longer crying, but blinking unfocused eyes, confused.
There is simply, simply, simply no way in which this would not have been a better way to arrange things from the start. Let Abjah have an angel lover if she can't resist, let her get with child by him, and let the baby simply be an angel like Nathan's and Magdalena's daughters were save Tamar. Why should that not work? Why should Isabella have had to bring offworld magic in to do what Jovah - ought to have done? Ought to have woven into the workings of bloodlines when he made angels to begin with? Ought to have seen better, made better?
If he is not going to stop her, if he's not going to strike her where she hovers and the ex-lucifer with her because there is some hidden flaw in the change she's made, then he is not saying she is wrong. And if she is not wrong, then he is.
Something is the matter.
But not with this baby. This baby is now perfectly fine. She will tell everyone that she prayed, and then the child was made whole, and no one will ask her any further prying questions. She'll claim she can't remember the words.
Isabella descends.
She is not as quick to add powers to her repertoire as her counterparts, and will install one only after spending a day or two noting instances where it would be useful and determining that the best way to handle this class of problem is with this magic power. She acquires teleportation, but not boosted physical speed; she acquires a perfect memory, but nudges her cognitive processing capacity upwards only gently. She has no "agony beam" but her voice and she goes on sleeping on a nightly basis and her defensive powers are only present because of the unknown hazards that may roam Milliways, not because of any threat she fears in Samaria. She fears no shortage of coins - Micaiah steadily outputs squares just from being in the room with her and a distribution of the larger wishes whenever she practices masses or has harmonics or brings him along for prayers - but exercising circumspection and judicious restraint will surely show Jovah that she is not abusing her permission to use magic, that she does not seek the power for its own sake but to do good in the world.
She is more generous with magic that is not about granting herself more abilities.
Isabella's work is beginning to be noticed.
She is doing nothing overt. She claims no miracles. But everyone is having such a run of good luck these days. The weather is as ever - drought here, flood there, duststorms elsewhere - but there is an established system for handling those things.
Isabella's working elsewhere.
Ships do not sink anymore, and this was never terribly common to begin with or no one would sail - but there is a terrible storm through a fishing harbor off the Jordana coast, and not a single craft capsizes, let alone goes under.
Plague is mysteriously absent - there are, admittedly, prayers for this too, but they bring medicine, they don't prevent the initial lost work, suffering, death. Plague was never so common either, but no angels have seen a flag that was raised for its traditional purpose for a month and a half, now.
Locusts have begun to leave crops unmolested as though of their own accord. Priests dedicating children to the god find their surgeries met with less weeping, and no infections. Nothing in the whole of Samaria will catch fire without someone intending to set it alight. The primitive cars that carry goods from here to there do not skid on ice or flip on rubble.
Angel-seekers, and those who lie with angels for less mercenary reasons, are surviving their attempts at bearing winged babies with astonishing regularity. Isabella isn't adjusting the species ratio, as she suspects it may be a purposeful test of angel-seeker character to give them mortal children and she's mindful anyway of Micaiah's concerns with the children already being this or that - but they don't kill their mothers coming out. No babies are born motherless anymore, in fact, but it's most obvious at the holds, where the most historically dangerous births are undertaken.
And Isabella begins to think, if I have wrought this, and Jovah sees it is good and does not strip me of my wishes for my hubris or command me to stop for my presumption or even contrive to display before me a warning that shows me some terrible consequence of my actions -
then why did he not make the world this way himself, when we settled it, why was I not born into a world already free of famine and disease and pain and babies who grow up without their mothers and destroyed vehicles that kill everyone aboard and infected Kisses that sicken with fever?
She thinks this, but she does not write it down, or speak it, or change anything she is doing in response to the question.
Today.
Or the next.
Yet.
She announces her pregnancy to the hold, and is made much of, and Phebe sends her a bowl of flowers that might be sniping or might be a genuine gesture of conciliation.
She's not the only pregnant angel in the Eyrie. Abjah, a golden-angel type in her thirties who has three children already by assorted fathers (all mortals), is much farther along, and a few weeks before Isabella's wedding, she gives birth.
To a lucifer.
The screaming brings concerned friends and neighbors - there is always screaming during births, but not usually a sudden chorus of it, not usually cries of horror instead of pain. Isabella is one of them, but she's not just there to stare and gossip. Whatever is going on, she can help, and she shoves herself past wings and bodies and sees what's happened.
The thing is twisted. It has - well, several limbs, at least four, maybe eight or ten depending on which protrusions count, and feathers in places feathers don't belong, and it has lungs enough to bawl a suffering screech like no infant Isabella has ever heard.
"Someone has to kill it," says Abimelech, and "who's the father, who besides Abjah has been putting wing to wing?" says Eliou, and "I never thought it would be so horrible" says Zelpha and then someone repeats -
"Someone has to kill it."
"No!" screams Abjah, sprawled in mess and barely covered by her blanket, reaching towards Rhoda, the mortal Eyrie midwife who has the lucifer held in her hands.
"Someone has to kill it," Zelpha agrees, and Isabella pushes forward again and blurts, "Give it to me."
"You? Isabella?" says Eliou.
"Give it to me," Isabella repeats. "I'll take it away."
No one else is leaping to volunteer. Abjah is only weeping softly.
But why should it be that putting wing to wing results in this misery? Why was Isabella born in that world, and not in another?
Well, she can wonder about that all she likes, but she can see to it that this suffering thing isn't born into a world like that. Rhoda hands it over. A pentagon will kill its pain, whatever's hurting it; it screams on, but softer, and there's a stifled murmur from Zelpha while Isabella carries the lucifer away.
"You're going to kill it, not just leave it exposed to cry itself to death," Eliou says, "right?"
"First," says Isabella, "I'm going to pray. But I will not leave it to cry itself to death."
They get out of her way. She cradles the thing in her arms and makes for the nearest takeoff point and flings herself into the air until she's so high that no one will be able to see what's happening.
She can't even determine the lucifer's sex. If it has one at all, it's not displayed in a conventional way.
Isabella does pray first. She has no song for this, just the air around her and her tuneless voice and her incomprehension.
"WHY?" she screams into the blue expanse. No one can hear her here, the air is so thin it won't carry, but her shout is ringing in her ears and the lucifer whimpers. "Why is this something that can happen? Why does Abjah's mistake and her lover's mistake condemn this baby who has made no mistakes until I step in? Who am I? What are you doing? You place it in my path, but there have been lucifers now and again for centuries and no one saved them then! Why? Jovah is good, Jovah is merciful, Jovah makes babies so confused by their own warped bodies that they cry without ceasing even when they've stopped feeling any pain, why? Tell me why and I'll do as you say! Tell me why and I'll see the wisdom in it, Jovah, you gave me a mind, it's not so tiny and ignorant as all that, tell me why and I'll follow your guidance forever, tell me what I'm meddling with so I'll know better how to go! Tell me!"
There is no response. There is never a response to an unsung prayer, one which isn't from the standard books, one which doesn't simply ask for weather or seed or medicine. Weather seed medicine weather seed medicine weatherseedmedicine weatherseedmedicine that is all he can do, that and issue cryptic answers to questions through oracles and make Kisses burn and glow, that is all. Five things. She could count them on the fingers of one hand.
The lucifer is still crying. All her importuning of the god has not erased its deformities.
And it only takes a pentagon to turn it into a healthy angel. A boy, as it turns out. One medium-sized coin. Micaiah makes them easily if she holds a note for longer than a second.
...He made them in Milliways, too, where Jovah was not. Jovah did not even answer a prayer for weather when she tried it there, but the Kiss still worked.
Isabella looks down at the angel baby in her hands, no longer crying, but blinking unfocused eyes, confused.
There is simply, simply, simply no way in which this would not have been a better way to arrange things from the start. Let Abjah have an angel lover if she can't resist, let her get with child by him, and let the baby simply be an angel like Nathan's and Magdalena's daughters were save Tamar. Why should that not work? Why should Isabella have had to bring offworld magic in to do what Jovah - ought to have done? Ought to have woven into the workings of bloodlines when he made angels to begin with? Ought to have seen better, made better?
If he is not going to stop her, if he's not going to strike her where she hovers and the ex-lucifer with her because there is some hidden flaw in the change she's made, then he is not saying she is wrong. And if she is not wrong, then he is.
Something is the matter.
But not with this baby. This baby is now perfectly fine. She will tell everyone that she prayed, and then the child was made whole, and no one will ask her any further prying questions. She'll claim she can't remember the words.
Isabella descends.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 04:38 pm (UTC)"Oh," says Isabella, rising to her feet, "it is. I was trying to figure out why Jovah would let me work a miracle he saw fit not to. And now I see there was no seeing fit at all. I can do more than the ship can. I can make better choices, because frankly destroying an entire inhabited planet full of men, women, and children most of whom would have nothing to do with a failed Gloria is a dreadful choice, whether the machine made it or the settlers who programmed him did. Jovah?" she says sardonically. "Are you even going to try to stop me?"
"While I am programmed for self-defense, I have no weaponry aimed at the ship's interior," says the ship, not particularly emotionally.
"I don't intend to destroy you completely. At least not today. But disarm you - yes, I think that would be a good idea, so you can't turn your incredible if ungodlike power on my world."
"My weapons are also intended to defend the planet from threats outside of Samaria. This has already been necessary once before. I destroyed an invading force with the help of the angelica Susannah to reposition my artillery."
"So I'll have to replace that function, then," says Isabella.
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Date: 2013-02-27 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 04:57 pm (UTC)"I am not programmed to hide information from occupants of this ship under ordinary circumstances, and I do not have anything that could be described as a desire for self-preservation, but the powers you claim make you a threat to the well-being of the settlers' project -"
"They crippled their children!" cries Isabella. "They took a flaw in human nature and patched it with amputation and lobotomy so we couldn't hurt each other too hard or too cleverly and they gave all that destructive power to something that cannot even change its mind! What do I have to do or be to take over for them and their interests in your programming?"
"The captain of the ship is the only person empowered to change its mission, and captaincy has been vacant since settling; captaincy is meant to be reassumed by -"
"By this procedure or that, but ultimately it's a name recorded somewhere, like my name, or Micaiah's?" asks Isabella.
"Yes."
Isabella waves a hand negligently. A square goes.
There is a silence, and Jovah says: "Welcome to the starship Jehovah, Captain Isabella. All functions stand ready. What are your orders?"
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 04:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 05:12 pm (UTC)"I'm fixing the problems our ancestors built," says Isabella. "Jehovah, disengage programming regarding the use of weapons in response to a failed Gloria." She attempts to add him to the brainphone network; it doesn't work until she adds a pentagon to compensate for him not really having a brain, or ordinary thoughts, but then it does. "Consult me via the feature I just added if at any time a thunderbolt is called to Samaria deliberately by prayer for confirmation or belaying of the order."
"Yes, Captain."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 05:43 pm (UTC)"Yes, Captain."
"Is there any other mechanism by which you could make life less pleasant for the people of Samaria?"
"I am not programmed to use weather in this way of my own volition, but sufficient prayers for it could render the continent uninhabitable."
"Answer those as normal for now. I'll come up with a system for it later. And -"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Are the Kisses under your direct control?"
"Only the initial matching. After a match has been made and a confidence level established regarding the personality and genetic factors, they continue to alert their bearers autonomously."
"Quit making initial matches without ludicrously high confidence in the personality factors and - your existing threshold for genetics will be fine. Can you tone down the hurting on people who don't like it, too?"
"I cannot; that is a variable feature of individual Kisses."
"Do you manufacture those? Where do oracles get them?"
"They are manufactured aboard the ship and teleported to Mount Sinai for distribution to the other two oracular mountains, from which they are distributed to priests."
"Make them gentler from now on, then - I might put a stop to them altogether by the time Sinai gets a new batch but I might not."
"Yes, Captain."
Isabella turns back to the other three. "Well," she says. "I'm sure someone saw us all congregating in Alleluia's room. Let's not spread rumors of our disappearance."
And she teleports them all again.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 05:56 pm (UTC)"I have no idea what you think you're doing," says Alleluia, "but I hope you know."
Isabella says, "Everything makes sense now. I've always thought that when Jovah did things - or failed to act - in ways that seemed incomprehensible and wrong to me, then the mistake was on my end. After all, he was divine and I was only - not a mortal, but still just an angel and not a goddess, so surely he was right, he had some reason that I just couldn't understand. But no. He was built by people no smarter than I am, even if they knew unfathomable technology. They weren't more moral or more farsighted, they certainly didn't have special abilities to predict the needs of the next six or seven centuries of Samarians, and they had less ability than I have now to deal with the problems they did recognize to be problems. What do I think I'm doing? I think I'm going to learn everything he has to teach me and then I'm going to do his job. Better."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:06 pm (UTC)"Yes. But I'd like if it you could help me. You've had two decades to talk to the ship, knowing what it is. And two decades to think of all the ways to break the news to the rest of the world. You can tell me where to look, what to ask, you've had many opportunities to think of consequences I'll need to patch after going public."
"For one thing, it will destroy the legitimacy of the office of the Archangel," says Alleluia. "I don't know whether you plan to take that job or not. I suppose the ship will name anyone you tell it to, now."
"I have nothing against Linus. He's doing his best, and his best is good," says Isabella. "Whether I succeed him will depend on what happens in the next fifteen years. But you're right, people think he rules by divine right, they won't be particularly swayed by the fact that he was chosen by a process that has gotten us this far with only a handful of bad eggs on the way and determine that he's worth continuing to obey for that reason."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:23 pm (UTC)"It's difficult," admits Alleluia.
"I was a doubter before," says Caleb, surprisingly cheerful. "I came through the revelation with far more trust in Jovah than I had originally."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:32 pm (UTC)"Appearing to worship Isabella doesn't make you look pious, it makes you look idolatrous," Alleluia says. "There are a dozen slips it's easy to make that I've had to cover for - Jehovah instead of Jovah, ship instead of god, calling the songs commands instead of prayers, covering for the ignorance and the cryptic phrasing that comes out of the interface with exactly the right amount of deference so I don't look impudent or as though I serve no function beyond translation."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:43 pm (UTC)"I'm good at lying with the truth," says Isabella. "I prayed, and the child was whole! Behold!" she adds in self-mockery. "But lying outright - not so much."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:54 pm (UTC)"Then here's your lie," he says. "You're special to Yovah. You're supposed to fix the world. And you have to hide that at first, to be humble, but after you're Archangel you get to start working miracles. Little ones, then medium ones, then big obvious ones, until twenty years later everybody knows you're special, and your term as Archangel just never ends, because you have miraculous powers and you're wise and good and you're going to live forever."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 07:08 pm (UTC)Quietly, unmoving, she wishes. "Just like before," she says, "but not so careful, not so wary of judgment."
"It's clear," says Alleluia, "that whatever you decide to do we can't stop you. But I wish we had some reason to trust you."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 07:18 pm (UTC)"All right," says Caleb, "where'd you get the magic?"
"From another world," says Isabella. "Not another planet, but a world connected only by magic - you couldn't fly there, not even in a starship. It's a middle world that links up to a million others, and in some of them, there are - alternate versions of people. There are alternate versions of me, who are who I'd be if I were something other than an angel, from someplace other than this. And some of them have magic, which they were willing to share because they trusted me to be like them, and some of them have been ruling their worlds for some time now, and they have not turned power-mad or careless or cruel. I already know what happens when I wield wishes and when there's no god breathing down my neck. I've seen the results." She spreads her hands. "And it's beautiful."
"Beautiful for you," says Alleluia.
"I'm not a tyrant. I'm not going to be a tyrant. When I thought there was a god I railed against him for neglect, for making the world in a heartless image. I will do better. I'm not a petty lord who needs to beat his servants to feel better - I'm not the Archangel Raphael who only liked prestige and playing politics - I want things to be better."
no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 07:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-27 07:24 pm (UTC)"Months, now," says Angela. "And for a couple of weeks before that, one of my alternates was here visiting. She could have given me the power in the other world, but you see, I didn't know if it was allowed," she adds archly, looking at Alleluia, "and so she came here to wait with me while I found out."
"So I could have told you no," says Alleluia, "and you'd have sent her away and you'd have no power beyond that of any angel."
"And," says Isabella, "Abjah's baby would be a dead lucifer instead of a live angel, half the ships in the Breven First Harbor would be sunk, a dozen farmers would have lost their crops to pests this year already, some hundreds of women would have died in childbirth who are instead living mothers, and - lest you forget - the continued intact status of the planet would depend on our ability to put together a concert."
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