Kushiel's Avatar

I wondered what would happen on the morrow.



In time I too slept, and sleeping, dreamed I woke still, watching and waiting. Not until I opened my eyes to the dim grey light of dawn and the sound of seagulls did I realize I had slept. Rousse's men were stirring, making ready for departure. In the fortress, the kitchens were already bustling. Leaving Joscelin to attend Imriel, I rode out to the encampment with Evrilac Duré and a company of his men. There too, life was stirring, cookfires lit, Tsingani and Yeshuites awaiting. They had seen our party enter. They knew it would be today.



"There is room," I called, raising my voice, "for two people, and two people only on the Royal Admiral's flagship. You who have peti tioned for this place, know that the journey is dangerous; the end, uncertain. Does anyone wish to withdraw?"



There was a pause as my words were relayed across the encamp ment. Afterward, silence. In the quiet, a Tsingano babe wailed, hushed by its mother. No other sound answered.



"So be it," I said. "For the Tsingani, to whom he who is Master of the Straits was born, I grant passage to Kristof, Oszkar's son, who gave aid when it was most needed. For the Yeshuites, I summon Eleazar ben Enokh, who has spent his life seeking the Name of God."



And they came, the both of them; the Tsingano tseroman bidding his kumpania farewell, clad in a shirt of bright yellow, his face guarded as he approached us. Eleazar rode a little donkey, his feet peddling on the ground, a smile of delight splitting his tangled beard.



"You should have asked," I told him.



"It was not yours to grant, before." His smile broadened. "Now, it is."



I sighed, and addressed them both. "You understand we may not return from this?"



Eleazar only beamed, and bobbed his head. I felt a moment's grief for Adara, who had let her husband go to pursue his dream. Kristof gave a brusque nod. "You have walked the Lungo Drom for him, lady," he said. "It is fitting one of us should be there to see its end, no matter what it be."



Thus did we make our way back to the fortress of Pointe des Soeurs, and the hungry eyes of those left behind watched us go. Quintilius Rousse had not spoken idly. His flagship, that was named Elua's Promise, sat at harbor, ready for departure. A half-dozen pennants fluttered from its mast—the golden lily-and-stars of Elua and his Companions, the silver swan of House Courcel, the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym, the crag-and-moon of Montrève, the Navigator's Star of Trevalion, and there ... a sable banner with a ragged circle of scarlet, crossed by a barbed golden dart.



Kushiel's Dart.



"It is fitting," Quintilius Rousse said somberly. "My lady."



We boarded the ship, all of us. The rising sun emerged from a bank of clouds, laying a cloak of golden light upon the grey waters. The anchor was raised and the sails were hoisted, bearing the silver swan wrought large on a blue field. The oarsmen set to, and their efforts carried us out of the harbor of Pointe des Soeurs.



On the shore, Evrilac Duré and his men cheered. I wondered if they were glad to be remaining behind this time. Another crowd, distant, lined the cliffs above the harbor. I saw the Tsingano Kristof raise his hand in salute, and wondered how many he left behind in his kumpania. I was afraid to ask. Eleazar pointed his face into the wind, eager as a lover, his beard blowing in the breeze.



Sibeal stood alone in the prow, swaying with the ship's motion, flanked by her watchful Cruithne warriors. In my dreams, it was always I who stood there.



But I ... I had Joscelin, looking green and swallowing hard against his illness, standing adamant at Imriel’s side, and Ti-Philippe, who looked at home and glad upon the sea, and Hugues, keen as a hound on the scent for adventure.



I was not alone.



Not yet.



The winds blew fair and steady, like a summons. I wondered if Hyacinthe knew, if even now he plied his skills, the Master of the Straits, bringing us homeward. The sky turned into a clear blue vault above us, a few scudding clouds high overhead. Sunlight sparkled on the water, and the gulls circled with raucous cries, hoping we might prove a fishing vessel casting offal from our catch overboard. After so long, the confrontation to come seemed unreal. It was a day for rejoicing, not for endings.



For some hours, we flew over the water. Altogether too soon, the cry came from the crow's nest—the Three Sisters had been sighted. The sun was not yet at its zenith when we drew in sight of the tall cliffs of Third Sister. So close to land; so far from the world! For this short journey, I had travelled to Saba and back. I held my breath as Quintilius Rousse took the helm and shouted orders, maneuvering the flagship around the jutting coast of the island and into the narrow defile that marked the ingress to the harbor.



Between the towering cliffs, it went suddenly wind-still.



"Out oars!" Rousse bellowed as the sails fell slack and empty, the pennants drooping. "Row!"



When first I entered the domain of the Master of the Straits, it was wave-borne; on the second occasion, wind-blown. This time, we glided into the secluded harbor on the effort of mortal labor, wrought of muscle, sinew, bone and sweat.



The water was as flat and calm as a mirror, reflecting the rocky promontory and the carved steps, so that it seemed a second stair led to a temple at the bottom of the harbor, small with distance and impossibly deep, wreathed with clouds on the sea's floor. The advancing ship's prow forged ripples, revealing the illusion, distorting the image of the lone figure who stood upon the promontory, waiting.



Hyacinthe.



The Name of God surged within me, and I yearned to shout it to the empty skies.



He was clad as before, in rusty black velvet in an archaic style, old lace spilling like sea-foam at his cuffs and throat. This time, a cloak of indeterminate color hung from his shoulders, satin-lined. It may have been violet, once; time and sun and salt had faded it to a vague tarnished silver, like twilight on the ocean. As our ship drew near the shore, only a few yards of open water remaining, Hyacinthe placed the palms of both hands together at waist height, then opened them and held them flat to the earth.



I heard Sibeal whisper his name.



The ship halted, oars locked fast in the limpid water. The rowers strained in vain, sinews cracking. Across the distance I gazed at Hyacinthe unspeaking, the Sacred Name locked fast in my throat.



He gazed back at me, unnamable colors shifting in his fathomless eyes, and hope and fear lying distant at the bottom, as tenuous as the temple's reflection. "You've come," he said at last, and his voice sounded odd and unused, not at all like my dream. "I saw you set sail in the sea-mirror of the temple."



"Yes." I swallowed. "Hyacinthe, I have the key."



Fear and hope leapt in his too-dark eyes and the boy I'd loved looked out of the face of the Master of the Straits. He bowed his head to hide it, pressing his fingers to his temples.



"Elder Brother!" Quintilius Rousse made his way to the railing, addressing him with the traditional title sailors accorded the Master of the Straits. "I'm here in the name of her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel, Tsingano. Have you grown too proud to let old friends ashore? We're on the Queen's business, breaking this curse of yours."



"My lord Admiral." Hyacinthe lifted his head, mouth twisting in a smile. "Forgive my manners. It is a pleasure to see you once more. My lady . . . my lady Sibeal." He looked at her for a moment, and what was exchanged in that glance, I could not say. "And you, Cassiline."



"Tsingano." Joscelin bowed, arms crossed. "Tsingan kralis."



Hyacinthe went still, then, seeing Kristof. "Why have you brought him here?"



"The Tsingani await your return, Prince of Travellers," I said to him. "Kristof, Oszkar's son is here on their behalf. Eleazar ben Enokh is here for the Yeshuites, who seek the Name of God. Will you let us ashore? “



He paused, then shook his head, as I had known he would. "I cannot, Phèdre. I dare not." His voice softened. "It would invoke the geis."



"And we will break it," I said steadily. "That's why we've come."



"No." His face was set and hard. "It cannot be."



"Then you will have to cross to us," I said.



Something stirred in the depths of his eyes. "You saw what hap pened before."



I nodded. "Rahab, or an invocation of him. Hyacinthe, it must be. Rahab must manifest to be banished. I will try to summon him if you will try to cross. Will you dare that much?"



His smile was edged with bitterness. "I would risk any part of myself to break this curse. It is innocent blood I will not endanger. Summon him, if you think you can."



"So be it." I turned to Imriel, and bade him fetch my writing case from the stateroom. Everyone aboard the ship was quiet as he did, waiting and watching.



Hyacinthe frowned, perplexed, dark irises waxing and waning. "Melisande's son?"



"Ours, now." I glanced at Joscelin, who smiled quietly. Imriel returned with the waxed leather case that contained parchment, pens and ink. Ti-Philippe unlashed an empty water-barrel and rolled it over un asked, making a writing surface. I opened the case and tested the point of a quill, emptying my mind of aught else. Uncorking the inkwell and dipping the pen, I wrote upon a virgin piece of parchment, forming the acrostic square I'd studied in Eleazar's banned treatise.



RAHAB ABARA HABAH ARABA BAHAR



It was done, and the name of Rahab bounded the cruciform palin drome of Habah—Hu Habah, He-Who-Shall-Come, one of the secret names of the Mashiach. I laid down the quill with trembling fingers and recorked the ink, bowing to the four corners of the globe, acknowledg ing the One God's dominion. "Rahab do I summon," I cried, giving the Habiru incantation. "As the Hidden Name of the Mashiach does inhabit and summon thee, Rahab who is Lord of the Deep, come thou forth, and answer me, as all spirits are subject unto Yeshua ben Yosef, that every spirit of the firmament and of the ether, upon the earth and under the earth, on dry land or in the water, of whirling air or of rushing fire may be obedient unto the will of Adonai." Leaning over the railing, I let the parchment flutter onto the waters. "Rahab, I sum mon thee!"