Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [281]
"You never told me that, Fedabin," I said, stiffening.
She laughed and patted my cheek. "Do not be so quick to anger! Who could have guessed what you were, in Daršanga? The omens were there, but I had lost the will to read them." She felt at Joscelin's arm, then, openly admiring. "And you, lord Joscelin. A leopard among wolves. You have healed well."
"Well enough, my lady Kaneka." He smiled quietly. "Not as before, but well enough to serve."
"Then he serves you well enough, little one?" Kaneka nudged me, lest her meaning be lost. D'Angelines are more subtle in our banter. Her grandmother Shoanete cackled with laughter, leaning over her sticks. "You have no complaints?"
I flushed a bright red. "No complaints, Fedabin."
"Good." Kaneka settled back onto her stool, nodding to herself.
"Good. It is well done, then. The story may end happily after all. It is important, for such a tale."
"There is hope," I said. "For us. Where there is life, there is hope. But the others—they paid the price of our hope. Of our lives."
"Drucilla," Kaneka murmured. "Jolanta, Nazneen, Erich, Rushad . . . yes, and others, so many others. Do not fear, little one. I have not forgotten. I will tell their stories too, and their sacrifices will be remembered. The zenana of Daršanga will live in my stories, in all its desperate courage. And it may be, as Amon-Re wills, that their tales will ensure such a thing may never come to pass in Jebe-Barkal. But it is important, little one, that hope endures. For when it fails—thus are the gates of despair opened, and one such as Lord Death enters the world. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said, meeting her eyes. "Yes, Fedabin. I understand."
We spent several days in Debeho, and I was as loathe to leave then as I had been before. It may sound foolish, but there are few places I have been happier. What appeared to be mud and squalor to the untrained eye was a community rich in kindness, possessed of a wealth of knowledge. They treated us generously, giving unstintingly of what they had, and we left Debeho with clean, dry garments, our tents patched and oiled, our stores replenished with unperishable goods and our mounts well tended.
And in all these exchanges, I beheld the Name of God, writ in unknowable letters.
"It is the last parting," Kaneka said, embracing me before we left. "I knew you would return. Ah, take care, take care, little one! I will miss you."
"And I, you." I smiled at her. "Be well, Kaneka." I glanced toward our caravan, where Tifari Amu watched our farewell with a hunter's tender patience. "And if any of our number do return, I pray you treat them gently."
Kaneka laughed. "Will you never be done meddling?"
"Probably not," I admitted.
"Ah, well." She eyed Tifari sidelong, considering. "If the Ras' high-lander guide wished to return, he would not be unwelcome in Debeho. Does that satisfy you, little one?"
"Yes," I said, grinning. "It does."
We left quickly, then, before the rains could begin, before the sorrow could take root. It is hard, always saying farewell. What storieswould Kaneka tell as she grew old? I might never know, for Debeho was far away, and Kaneka's stories would likely never be written, but only passed from mouth to ear.
Mayhap, one day, they would filter to Terre d'Ange, carried on some travelling poet's lips, woven of truth and imagination, as fabulous as a Mendacant's cloak, romances and adventures and tragedies stitched through with a gleaming strand of hope, reminding listeners to love truly, to honor the dead, to uphold the covenant of wisdom and to never, even in darkest hours, surrender to despair.
I hoped it might be so.
EIGHTY-ONE
WE JOURNEYED to Meroë.
The balance of the journey does not bear telling, for it was uneventful, unless incessant rain may be considered an event. Tifari Amu was glad of heart, for I had related Kanaka's words to him, and he pushed the pace as much as he dared. Nonetheless, it was a wet and arduous trek, and I would be happy when it had ended.
"Remember that," Joscelin commented, wringing out his rain-soaked chamma, "when