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"And now it is the heart of Saba?" I asked.
"It is," Shoanete said. "The Melehakim hold a secret stolen from their own god, a secret so powerful He would take it back if He could find it. But Isis' tears blind His eyes, and He cannot see it. "
My heart beat faster and the small hairs at the back of my neck prickled. "If . . . if it is so powerful, how is it that the Melehakim were defeated?”
"Ah, that. " The old woman smiled, deep creases forming in her wrinkled face. "That is the story of King Khemosh-Zadok, the falsely anointed, and how he broke the Covenant of Wisdom. For Queen Makeda herself, you see, was wisdom personified, and her fairness and great learning were renowned throughout the land. It came to her ears that a king far to the north, Shalomon of the Habiru, was similarly lauded for the virtue of his judgement. And so it came to Makeda that she wished to meet this king, and she journeyed with a mighty retinue, presenting him with gifts of gold and ivory and spices, that she might question him. "
"So it says in the Tanakh!" I said, excited. "And he answered her questions aright. "
"Indeed. " Shoanete nodded, unperturbed by my interruption. "And then Makeda told him much he did not know, and King Shalomon bowed down before her wisdom, and gave her the ring from his finger in tribute. And Makeda was moved by his fine form and his grace, and chose to lie with him. 'Because thy wisdom has ceded to mine,' she said to him, 'we have made a covenant between us this night, man and woman. Of it shall come a son. I shall raise him with my teachings, and then I shall send him to thee to be anointed in thine. By thy ring shall thou know him. ' '
"Melek al'Hakim," I mused. "So that was the Covenant of Wis dom?"
"It was," she said. "As equals did they meet, man and woman, King and Queen, and the lesser wisdom did cede to the greater. And thus it was, for many generations. Melek al'Hakim did not steal the Treasures of Shalomon. He was anointed, and they were his by right; his, and the descendants of Khiram the architect and his people, who fled the sacking Akkadians. "
"The Tribe of Dân," I said.
Shoanete paused. "It may be," she allowed. "Their name was not known to me. I will add it to the story, little one. Know then that for many generations the Melehakim ruled Saba, a King and Queen ruling together, joined in the Covenant of Wisdom. Mother and son, husband and wife, brother and sister . . . King Tarkhet, it is said, was guided by his daughter, but that is another story. And the shadow they cast over Jebe-Barkal was vast, and all nations and tribes answered to wise and mighty Saba. Until the reign of King Khemosh. "
With that she paused, clearing her throat, and one of the listening children leapt up to fetch a cup of honey-mead. Shoanete sipped it and continued.
"There was trouble in the nation, then, for the young Ras Yatani of Meroë had lost his heart to Daliah, the sister of Khemosh. Now, Khemosh was not King at that time, but merely the widowed Queen's elder son; Arhosh was his brother's name, and it was Arhosh their mother chose to be anointed, for he was fair-spoken and wise where his brother was hot-blooded and angry. Arhosh looked with favor upon the union of Ras Yatani and Daliah, but Khemosh spoke against it, saying that Meroë looked to make a claim upon the throne of Saba. "
"Did they?" I asked.
Shoanete's dark eyes glinted with mirth. "Perhaps they did, little one. If so, it was a peaceable one—the sword of the loins, and not the sword of steel. However it be, the young men listened to Khemosh and their hearts were stirred to anger. 'Khemosh should be King,' they said. 'Not Arhosh, who will let a stranger reach his hand for the throne. ' And in time the elders listened to the young men, and the priests listened to the elders, and no one listened to the Queen, who spoke of the merits of an alliance by marriage to the most powerful of their vassal-nations. "
"And love," I murmured, thinking of Ysandre and Drustan. "An alliance of love. "
"Yes," she said. "It would have been that. But it was not to be, for the priests anointed Khemosh and raised him up as the King, Khemosh-Zadok, over his living mother and her chosen heir, thus breaking the Covenant of Wisdom. And he decreed the marriage-contract invalid. Now, Ras Yatani's heart was sore within him, and he raised up his army and many allies, and marched against Saba. "
"And Saba was defeated," I said.
"Saba was defeated," Shoanete echoed. "It is another story, a long story, that battle. Enough to say that the spirit of the god which had filled the Melehakim ever before, rendering them fierce and invulnerable, filling their mouths with great cries that struck fear into their enemies— it deserted them, little one. On the battlefield, they stumbled and bled, and the only cries they uttered were cries of pain. And so they fled, for by this time, the widowed Queen was dead of sorrow, Arhosh slain in battle and Daliah the fair was dead by her own hand, and Ras Yatani's heart was as a burning stone within him, and he knew no mercy. Under Khemosh-Zadok's leadership, they fled, all the way to the Lake of Tears. And Ras Yatani, who found himself the undisputed ruler of JebeBarkal. . . Ras Yatani swore a vow on Daliah's name that he and his descendants would honor the Covenant of Wisdom that Khemosh-Zadok had broken. It is said, for so long as a Queen rules in Meroë, his line will endure, and so it does, to this day. "
"What of Shalomon's treasures," I asked, "and the One God's se cret?"
Shoanete spread her hands. "These things the Melehakim took with them and hid, and no one has seen them since. "
Thus the stories of Kaneka's grandmother, which I pondered at length. Eleazar ben Enokh had hoped to find that the Tribe of Dân had preserved customs lost by the Habiru, but I do not think he ever envisioned this Covenant of Wisdom. What is truth? History and legend are woven together like a Mendacant's cloak, and when the gods them selves are silent, no mortal may say where truth ends and fabrication begins. I did not think the One God of the Tanakh would bind his people into such a covenant with a foreign Queen—but those stories were written by Habiru scribes. Makeda's people told another story, passed from mouth to mouth.
. . . great cries that struck fear into their enemies . . .
Blessed Elua, I prayed, let it be true.
Let it be the Name of God.
SIXTY-NINE
AS PLEASANT as our time in Debeho was, it had to end. There was a great feast on our last day, and no one in the village did any work save to prepare for the festivities, and afterward to eat and drink and make merry for hours on end, with much singing and dancing. Even Tifari Amu and Bizan were made welcome, for they were skilled hunters and contributed much game for the pot during our stay. Kaneka could not entirely maintain her professed dislike of the highland tribesman, and I thought it possible he might return to Debeho to court her. Imriel was happy in the village.
With a child's quick ear—and his mother's wit—he had become proficient at Jeb'ez, much to the chagrined amusement of Joscelin, who was not much past nursery-rhymes. He made friends easily there, adults and children alike, none of whom knew or cared that Imriel de la Courcel was the son of the deadliest traitoress Terre d'Ange had ever known. And he hadn't had a nightmare since we arrived.
"We should leave him here," Joscelin said, reading my thoughts. "It would be safer. "
"Do you think he'd stay?"
"I don't know. " He shrugged. "Ask him. "
I did, and got the Courcel frown in answer, neat furrows forming between his brows. "You said the Tsingani helped you find me because of Hyacinthe. You said it was right and fair that I should go. "
"True," I said, wondering why I'd said somewhat so foolish. "But you could help most of all by remaining safe in Debeho. "
That went over about as well as one might expect. "I got Joscelin's sword for him in Daršanga!" he reminded me.
"Yes," I said, and sighed. "You did. And if you try anything half so dangerous in Saba, I swear, I'll get Tifari Amu to hold you down and sit on you. "
His eyes lit with hope. "You won't leave me?" There was an unexpected plea in his voice.
&n
bsp; "No," I said, and this time I sighed inwardly. Love as thou wilt. Whether I willed it or no, Blessed Elua's precept had come to encompass this boy, and I didn't have the heart to abandon him. His trust had been violated too many times already. "I promise, Imri. We won't leave you. "
After the feasting, Kaneka told the story of Drujan, and everyone fell silent to listen.
She had a touch of her grandmother's gift. 'Twas strange, hearing it told from her perspective. The audience sucked in their breath at the catalogue of the Mahrkagir's cruelties, although she did not list them all, no; not the ones I knew. Nor did she describe the daily squalor of life in the fateful zenana—the factions, the petty hatreds. And I . . . I did not enter the tale as a figure of contempt, Death's Whore, despised by all, but as a cunning trickster, cleverly winning the Mahrkagir's trust. It made me smile, a little bit. But the brooding presence of Angra Mainyu loomed over her tale, terrifying and oppressive, and that much was true.
And the battle in the festal hall, with all its attendant horrors—that, Kaneka told well, much to the Jebeans' shivering delight. They looked in awe at Joscelin as she described how his sword wove and flashed in patterns of steel too quick for the eye to follow, and a ring of the dead rose around him. He smiled quietly, his hands resting on his knees. It was not a thing of which he was proud, nor ever would be.
When she described the column of flame bursting from the well of Ahura Mazda, they clapped and shouted in approval—even her brother Mafud, whose envy and long-born guilt were erased by his relief at her safe return. And thus the story ended in triumph. I looked at Imriel, whose expression was troubled.
"It wasn't like that, Phèdre," he said to me. "Not really. "
"I know. " I stroked his hair. "That's why it's important to remem ber. But the stories are important, too. "
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