Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [268]
In the second circle there were treasures, more treasures, heaped upon the earthen floor; vessels of gold and silver, tribute dating back to Shalomon's day. And beyond . . . Elua! The Holiest of Holies, Han-och ben Hadad had called it. I stared at the opening of the inner sanctum, veiled with curtains of scarlet and purple and blue, and shivered.
It was there, I thought. The Ark of Broken Tablets.
The Name of God.
Preserved in silence these long years, a millennium and more, shrouded by a goddess' grief. Who was I to breach it?
Hyacinthe.
Repressing my fear, I followed the priest as he circumnavigated the inner sanctum and approached the altar in its alcove. The altar was of solid gold, and a lamp burned upon it; the Ur Tamid, the light that is never extinguished. Even so is it in Yeshuite temples to this day. Alarge incensor sat upon the altar, gold on gold, the inner bowl darkened with years of offerings. Mouthing a noiseless prayer, the priest offered a generous handful, lighting the fragrant lumps of resin with a taper. Sweet, pungent smoke rose and hovered against the ceiling in a bluish cloud.
He turned then, and pointed to the sanctum, raising his brows in inquiry.
"What will happen, my lord priest?" I asked him, shivering despite the morning's warmth, the lamp-lit closeted darkness of the temple. "What will happen, if I do?"
He shook his head, his mouth closed on the mysteries of Adonai's wrath.
Hyacinthe.
"Let it be done," I said.
The priest of Aaron's line parted the curtains of the Holiest of Holies.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
WITHIN THE dim chamber, the Ark of Broken Tablets gleamed like a subtle sun.
The priest moved soundlessly on bare feet, lighting the lampstands about it until the flames were reflected in the gold, sending shifting patterns about the mud-brick walls. I held very still and gazed at it. It was made of acacia wood, so the Tanakh claimed, overlaid with gold, and so I beheld it, still resting on the gilded poles once used to carry it; a mighty chest, that would take four strong men to bear it.
And it was sealed with a lid of gold, that is called Kapporeth, the mercy seat after which the island was named, upon which were two cherubim facing one another—strange creatures, with the hindquarters of a bull, the forequarters of a lion and wings like the eagle, and faces ...ah, Elua! Faces such as I had seen in the temples of Terre d'Ange, human, and more; stern and serene. There was Kushiel's justice, Naamah's passion, Azza's pride, Shemhazai's intelligence, Camael's ferocity, Eisheth's healing, Anael's bounty, Cassiel's loyalty.
'Twas all encompassed in their carven faces.
The priest bowed low before the Ark, and took from a waiting stand a breastplate of hammered gold, held together before and aft by twisted links of chain. This he donned over his robes, and on his breast winked four lines of gems, three across; sardius, topaz and garnet, emerald, sapphire and diamond; jacinthe, agate and amethyst; beryl, onyx and jasper, each gem inscribed with a name—one each for the Twelve Tribes of the Children of Yisra-el.
And I, Elua's child, watched and trembled.
He took then in his hands a crown, engraved with the words, "Holy to Adonai." And this he placed against his brow, binding it with ties of blue-dyed silk. So had Nemuel done, I thought, on the plains of JebeBarkal. The priest stood waiting, sterner and taller in his regalia. I felt small, and tired. My muscles ached from the ordeal of rowing, and my hands were blistered and sore. There was no voice speaking between the cherubim, no presence of Elua; not even Kushiel to mark the way with his crimson haze.
"I don't know what to do, my lord," I said humbly. "I am only a supplicant here. All I want is to free my friend."
The priest laid his hands on two corners of the massive lid and looked fixedly at me, nodding at the opposite side of the Ark. The silent cherubim gazed at one another.
"The Name of God," I whispered. If it existed, it lay within the Ark. I reached out with trembling hands, curling my fingers beneath the