Kushiel's Avatar (79 page)

“Can we get them released?”

“Eshkol’s working on it.”

“Good.” I had seen the bright flame of courage in the young soldier, and the trail it would blaze in Saba’s future. “Let’s go, then, before I fall over.”

It was no easy thing to make our way through the throng. People pushed close, wanting to see. Heavy-headed and weary, I pressed onward, concentrating on setting one foot in front of the other, syllables of the Name echoing with every step I took. Yevuneh hovered protectively over Imriel, for which I was glad. Joscelin, steel-clad, kept the worst of the press at bay with warning glances. No one protested the fact that he went armed in the city of Tisaar.

Once, though, he stopped, uncertain.

It was a woman, weeping, who barred our way, placing herself before me. Even Yevuneh faltered, bowing her head. “Ardath,” she said in sorrow, acknowledging her daughter.

“Forgive me,” Ardath pleaded, tears in her dark eyes. “I was afraid. I was
afraid
!” She held up her babe in both hands. “Or let me bear the blame if you must, but I beg of you, spare my daughter its curse and give her your blessing.’”

“My blessing?” A strangled laugh caught in my throat, where the Name of God was lodged. “Ardath … there is no blame, no curse. If your fear was folly, still, it was born of love. I am D’Angeline. It is not in my heart to fault you for it. Who can say how matters might have transpired, had you not betrayed us? It may be we would never have found Kapporeth.”

Her lips trembled. “Then you will not bless my child?”

I gazed at the infant she thrust before me, its crumpled face undecided whether to smile or bawl. “Ardath, it is not my place. I am no priest, to speak for Adonai. I am Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, Naamah’s Servant and Kushiel’s Chosen, Delaunay’s
anguissette
and the foremost courtesan of Terre d’Ange. Is that the blessing you want for your daughter?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and I knew she’d not understood a word of it. “Please, lady!”

I looked at Joscelin, who shrugged. “Love as thou wilt,” I said in D’Angeline, placing my hand upon the crown of the babe’s head. “And may you find wisdom in it.”

Ardath’s face was transfigured. “Thank you, lady, thank you!” she said with profuse joy, cradling her daughter in one arm and grasping my hand with the other, pressing it to her lips. “Thank you!”

Clutching her babe and bowing, she made her retreat, and Yevuneh, muttering at her daughter’s interference, hurried us onward. We did not speak of it then, not until we were safely ensconced within her home, where her cook was waiting anxious in the kitchen, an abundance of food prepared. Tired as we were, none of us had eaten in a full day. The taste of stewed chicken seasoned with hot peppers was a marvel, filling my mouth with rich juices. I swallowed, conscious of the nourishing food travelling to my belly, of strength returning to my limbs. Such a wonder, the workings of the earth, and we mortal souls upon it!

Afterward, while Imriel bathed and Yevuneh bustled about the house, I soaked and unwrapped the makeshift bandages from Joscelin’s hands, grimacing at the raw flesh. He bore it uncomplaining, hissing through his teeth as I cleaned the wounds and applied tincture of snake-root, binding them anew.

“Ought to do the same to you,” he muttered. “If you wouldn’t enjoy it so.”

I examined my blistered palms. “They’re not so bad. I’ve skin left, after all.”

Joscelin laughed, but his eyes were grave. “How are you, truly?”

“Truly?” I tilted my head, considering. “All right, I think. Strange. I feel strange. Like myself, only more. I’ve made a vessel of myself, and the Name weighs heavy within me. It’s better, now, than at first. I can learn to carry it.”

He nodded. “Can you tell me what happened inside the temple?”

I opened my mouth and closed it, shaking my head. “No. It’s too close.”

“I didn’t think it would be so frightening. I thought the worst of it transpired outside. I may have been wrong.” Joscelin gave his faint, deprecating smile. “Funny, isn’t it? You setting out to wrestle the Name of God from the Lord of Hosts, and I didn’t have any idea.”

“Nor did I.” I thought of how nearly I’d failed. “It was a gift, you know.”

“Was it?” He eyed me. “Well, we’d best use it wisely.”

“Wisdom, yes.” I made a face. “I spoke bold words about the nature of fear today. Do me a favor, will you, and remind me of them when it comes time.”

“To face Rahab?”

I nodded.

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together,” he said, taking my blistered hands in his bandaged ones. “You know that, at least.”

I glanced toward the back of the house, where the bathing-room was. “All of us?”

“You think we could manage to leave him? You nearly gave your life for his today, Phèdre. If he belongs anywhere, it is with us.” Joscelin drew a long, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening on mine. “Bold words, I know. Remind me of them when it comes time.”

“To face Ysandre?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

And that was all we said, then, for Yevuneh returned, looking tired and drawn, but satisfied. “The lad’s asleep, if you don’t mind; the bath put him fair under, and I ordered him upstairs. Ah, child! ’Tis a dangerous course you set him, for one so young.”

“I know, my lady Yevuneh,” I said. “Believe me, the matter is not simple.”

“No, I thought not.” Her kind gaze was shrewd. “He’s not your own, is he?”

“No.” I shook my head. “He is another’s.”

“I thought so.” The widow nodded to herself. “He calls you by name, not mother and father. It took me a while to hear it, but tonight I did, when he asked after you. Whose is he, then?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Joscelin said softly. “Not here. Leave him that.”

“Born of sin and folly, was he?”

“He was born,” I said. “His nature is his own.”

“Like Ardath,” Yevuneh murmured. “Like all our children, when they are grown. Ah, child, I do not mean to press. It was a kindness, what you did for Ardath. You have the right of it. As often as not, we forge our own chains. And from those, not even Adonai Himself can free us. We must do it ourselves. You are kind, to encourage her.”

With that, she told us to avail ourselves of the bathing-room and bid us good evening, and we spoke no more that night, bone-weary as we were.

Nonetheless, I lay awake for a long time that night, listening to the quiet breathing of Joscelin beside me and Imriel in the next pallet, mercifully too tired for nightmares. My muscles ached and my blisters stung. If it was only that, I could have slept; I have known worse. I lay awake listening to the Name of God, pulsing in my mind with each throb of blood in my veins, hearing the web of debate that spread itself through sleepless Tisaar.

Some chains are forged for us. Those are the hardest to bear.

Seventy-Nine

IN THE morning, Tifari Amu and his companions were freed from imprisonment. They were a little battered, but not the much worse for wear. Tifari grinned in unwonted high spirits when I embraced him.

“Kaneka warned me it would be foolish to desert you,” he said, returning my embrace. “Lucky for me Bizan and the others agreed! Shall we go home now, lady?”

Home.

He was thinking of Meroë, I knew; but I thought of Terre d’Ange. “Home,” I agreed fervently. “Yes, my lord Tifari. Let us go home.”

As always, ’twas a matter more easily said than done. All our goods-our mounts, our donkeys, our gear and supplies-had been seized by Sabaean forces when they took the Jebeans. It was a matter of a day to arrange for their return, effected by shamefaced soldiers under the direction of Eshkol ben Avidan. And it was another day before everything could be inspected, the horses decreed sound, water-skins tight and our stores sufficient.

In Tisaar, the mood was uncertain, fraught with optimism and fear. With my aid as translator, Tifari Amu spoke before the Sanhedrin of Elders, assuring them that he bore no ill-will for the misunderstanding, giving them cordial greetings on behalf of Ras Lijasu of Meroë, grandson of Queen Zanadakhete. The Sanhedrin heard him out, eyeing me all the while.

And he spoke too, he and Bizan, to the Council of Women that Yevuneh had assembled, and that was a merrier affair, for Bizan flirted incorrigibly with the unwed women in terms that required little translation.

Whatever else would transpire in the days to come, Saba would not be the same. The Covenant of Wisdom had been reclaimed, and it had given a measure of power back unto the hands of Sabaean women. I did not think they would hold it lightly. How they would balance this new-found will with the longstanding authority of the Sanhedrin, I did not know, but if there was to be trade with Jebe-Barkal, the Council of Women meant to share in the decision.

“You say they are no enemies, these Jebeans?” Semira asked me, frowning.

“I say Meroë has long forgotten its quarrel with Saba, mother,” I said carefully. “As for the rest, it is for your two countries to determine.”

“It would be nice,” she mused, “to have needles made of this
steel
. Yes, that would be nice, indeed.”

We had needles among our stores; I sent Imri running to rummage in my packs. Elua knows I had no use for them. I am as handy with a needle and thread as a camel, and mayhap less so. “My lady Semira,” I said, presenting three needles of varying sizes to her. “Pray, accept them with my gratitude.”

“My!” She held them with wrinkled fingertips, turning them this way and that to catch the light. Fine-wrought steel winked. I had to blink to keep from seeing the Name of God refracted in the splinters of light. Semira tested the strength of one. “Well-made indeed. These will pierce strong cotton without bending. Thank you, child. This is a generous gift.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It is naught, to what you have given us.”

“And what is that?” The old woman gave a secretive smile. “A chance? We make our own chances, child. We had the wisdom to allow Adonai to speak for Himself. Pray we remember this lesson. You have given us a sign, in turn, and an omen.” She held up the needles. “Not swords to cleave, nor armor to turn a blade, nor plows to harrow, but a needle to stitch and bind. Let this mark the beginning of Saba’s return to the greater world.”

“Elua grant it is so,” I murmured.

“Elua.’” she said, and laughed. “We may speak more of this Elua one day, yes, and Yeshua ben Yosef, whom the Children of Yisra-el have named the Mashiach. For myself, I think this earth-born Elua who coaxes the angels from Adonai’s heaven sounds the more interesting of the two, but perhaps that is blasphemy. I do not know. Perhaps it is a question for my children’s children’s grandchildren to settle.” Semira nudged me. “Do us a kindness, child. If there is trade, if there be routes open to Saba in your lifetime, send us word of how the tale ends.”

“The tale?” I asked, confused. “Forgive me, my lady …”

“The tale! Your tale, the boy on the island, cursed to live forever.”

“Hyacinthe,” I said, taking a deep breath.

“Even so. The Prince of Travellers!” Semira said, remembering. “I wept to hear it. It was a true story, was it not?”

“Yes,” I said. “It was.”

“And you have yet to face the angel Rahab?” she asked shrewdly.

The Sacred Name surged against my tongue. I kept my mouth shut and nodded, afraid.

“Ah, well.” She patted my cheek. “We will pray for you, and tell your story.”

Although I had not expected him to, Hanoch ben Hadad came to his sister’s house before we departed. It was an uncomfortable meeting. We sat across from one another at Yevuneh’s table, and Joscelin positioned himself behind my chair, his bandaged hands resting lightly on his daggers. There was no more talk of his going unarmed in the city. Hanoch stared at me with bloodshot eyes. These last days had not been easy on him. I waited him out with a growing sense of pity.

When he broke the silence, his voice was stiff. “I acted in accordance with our law.”

I nodded. “That is understood, my lord captain.”

“You had no right to do what you did.” Anger surged in him, and bewildered frustration. “No right!”

“I know,” I said gently. “But I had great need.”

He looked away, and there were tears in his eyes. “Do you know how many years we have wasted? How long we have needlessly hidden?”

“Yes.” I swallowed. “Hanoch …”

Hanoch shook his head. “Adonai’s mercy is revealed to us, yet I … I have set myself against His will because of you,” he said. “I do not understand.”

To that, I had no answer, or none he would hear. “I am sorry.”

After a moment he rose, issuing a rigid bow. His bronze armor gleamed softly in Yevuneh’s lamplit kitchen. “May your journey be swift and your gods protect you,” he said tonelessly. “You spoke the truth, lady. I will be glad to see you go.”

“Name of Elua!” Joscelin muttered when he had left. “If that was an apology, it was sorely lacking.”

“No.” Remembering the pattern I had seen in the temple, I knew of a surety that if Hanoch had not sought to prevent us, if I had not been so filled with fear on Imriel’s behalf, that I would never have found the place within myself where the self was not. Even in their mercy, gods can be cruel. Hanoch had done what he believed right; no more, no less. “Ah, poor man! He has cause to be bitter.”

“I’d spare him more sympathy if I’d not seen his sword at your throat,” Joscelin said dryly, taking a seat at the table. “But he’s right about one thing. It’s time we were gone.”

Thus passed our final days in Tisaar, the city beside the Lake of Tears in fabled Saba. On the morrow, the Council of Women gathered at the gates of the city to bid us farewell. Gifts of parting were exchanged on both sides and Yevuneh gathered Imriel in one last embrace, weeping openly. He returned her embrace without fear, pressing his cheek against hers, and despite the sorrow of parting, I was gladdened to see it.

Then it was done, and we turned our faces toward home. We passed through the gate, and in a short time, the city of Tisaar lay behind us. If not for the incessant thunder in my head, our departure was little changed from our arrival, save that it was Eshkol ben Avidan and a company of men who escorted us to the Great Falls, and they were as pleasant as Hanoch had been surly. It seemed a miracle that we were all together, and no lives had been lost.