Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [232]
With our schedule returned to something resembling normalcy, Joscelin resumed the practice of his Cassiline exercises—morning and night, tireless and diligent. It may be that I saw only what I desired, but I thought he was regaining a measure of his old fluid grace. Of a surety, 'twas meaningless without an opponent; and yet the forms were there.
So we made our way to Meroë, and with each mile that passed, Kaneka and Safiya's excitement grew. Their long homecoming was at last becoming a reality.
We had to cross the river to reach the city, a dubious crossing on a vast, swaying bridge that hung suspended over the rapids. I will own, I was nervous, as our camels strung out in a long line, proceeding one after the other, Mek Timmur going first to argue the tarif on the far side. Nonetheless, the crossing was made without incident.
We had reached Meroë, the capital city of Jebe-Barkal.
As the desert has its own harsh beauty, Meroë has its splendor.
Bordered on either side by broad, rushing rivers, it is nearly an island unto itself, afforded natural protection and ready irrigation. On the outskirts of the city lie the royal cemeteries, looming pyramids of reddish mud-brick that challenge the brilliant blue skies, awing the weary traveller. Inside was the city proper, a busy and bustling place, with temples raised to the many gods of Menekhet and indeed, as Safiya told us, to other gods native to Jebe-Barkal, such as lion-headed Apamedek and Kharkos the Hunter, who wielded two bows in his four arms.
At the heart of Meroë lies the royal palace.
It is guarded by high walls, and both the east and west gates are flanked by sculptures of kneeling oliphaunts, massive beasts with trunks upraised, twice as tall as a man. I did not believe a living beast could be so large until I saw one ambling the streets of Meroë, a moving turret in which two soldiers rode affixed to its broad back. Its hide was grey and wrinkled, as thick as cured leather, and its feet the size of serving-platters. I stared, open-mouthed, having only read of such wonders. Its broad ears flapped like sails, moving the hot air. A squadron of soldiers preceded it, chatting inconsequentially among themselves, resplendent in embroidered capes over light mail, carrying the rumored shields of camelopard skin.
"So," Kaneka said softly, watching them pass. "At last you see my land."
I will own, it was humbling. There was so much I had not known of Jebe-Barkal.
'Twas Safriya's turn, in the city of her birth, to play the guide, and she directed our caravan to the finest lodgings in town, which were quite fine indeed. The camels were unloaded, and our farewells said; Mek Timmur and his assistants were bound for an encampment, and thus to seek employ on a return journey. I wished them the joy of it, glad to leave the desert behind. Beyond, to the south, the purple shadow of mountains loomed, the highlands of Jebe-Barkal. It was there that Kaneka's village lay, and there we were bound; south, ever south. For all its splendor, Meroë was but another station on the way.
First, though, we would seek the Queen's blessing and see Safiya restored.
Of Queen Zanadakhete, I knew little; I had not even known, until this journey, that Jebe-Barkal, by tradition, is always ruled by a woman, wed or no. To some extent, her power is largely ceremonial, for there are princes—Ras, is the title—who rule each province. But in Meroë, her role is taken seriously indeed.
We composed our missive over dinner, all of us putting our heads together, and Safiya wrote it out in Jeb'ez, using parchment and ink that I provided. For all that I'd grown proficient at the spoken tongue, the script itself eluded me still. Safiya wrote it with a flowing hand.
"My father was a scribe," she said modestly. "I trained at his knee."
The hotel-keeper was paid, and the message delivered; a full link of gold, it cost us, one-fifth of the cost of our journey from Majibara. One pays, for access.
In the