Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [88]
"Eleazar." I swallowed. "I'm not sure what that means."
"Nor am I," he said gently, "though I have sought it these many years. I know only that it is true, for it was taught to me by my teacher and his teacher before him, as long as the Children of Yisra-El have endured. Although you do not worship Adonai, you are Elua's child, Phèdre, and as such know something of love. Perhaps the way will be revealed."
"Thank you, Eleazar," I said, rising from my kneeling position. "I pray you are right."
Well, it was less than I might have wished, but it was enough— enough to keep hope alive, at any rate. It seems strange to me that a people could be so dispersed, that so much of their lore and history could be forgotten, though mayhap it is unjust of me to think thusly. We are different, we D'Angelines, but what we have, we could lose as easily. Waldemar Selig's invasion had proved that much.
Yes, I thought, and how well would we endure then, trusting to the love of Blessed Elua to sustain us for a thousand years, keeping our faith? What tales would we still tell of Kushiel's justice, of Camael's might, of Eisheth's compassion, of Anael's husbandry, of Shemhazai's cleverness, Azza's pride and Naamah's generosity? Would we still admire Cassiel's loyalty, or reckon it folly? And Elua, Blessed Elua . . . what solace would we find in our wandering, misbegotten deity, whose sole province was Love?
I was ashamed, then, of my thoughts, and gave my blessing unto Eleazar ben Enokh. He embraced me at our parting, and his kind wife, Adara, did too. His parting words stayed with me, and I pondered onthem. How could the self be where the self was not? In the end, it was like all mysteries: Unknowable. I would worry about that, I thought, in Jebe-Barkal.
"So?" Joscelin asked when I returned home. "What has the Rebbe to say?"
"Little enough," I said. "Less than I expected, though more than I might have feared. He says we must go and see for ourselves."
He nodded, accepting my words, his mouth twisting wryly. "Well enough, then. Melisande Shahrizai was right in one thing, at least. The scholar's art has taken you as far as it may. We will see what answers Jebe-Barkal holds."
It seemed soon, too soon, to be leaving the City of Elua once more when we had only scarce returned, but my business was settled and my affairs in order, my farewells said anew. We dined that night in the garden, a quiet meal, Joscelin and Ti-Philippe and I, amid a profound air of melancholy. Young Hugues sat some distance away, playing a sad, sweet tune on his flute. He was a better musician than poet, and the soft, piping notes rose plaintively in the twilight, born on the lingering scent of sun-warmed herbs.
Eugenie served us herself, as she had before, and if her expression was reserved, there were volumes of reproach in her eyes. I was torn in myself as I had never known, at once longing to stay, yearning to be gone.
"Let me go with you." Ti-Philippe came out with it at last, slamming his wineglass down on the table. Red wine slopped over the edge, staining the immaculate linen. His eyes glistened with emotion in the fairy-light of the torches. "Please, my lady. It's a dark road, the Tsingano said so himself, and already it has taken a branching you could not have guessed. Who can say what lies ahead? Can you truly afford to turn away aid freely given? Even a Cassiline can use someone to watch his back."
The sound of Hugues' flute halted. Joscelin regarded me without speaking, by which I knew he did not disagree.
I looked at Ti-Philippe's face, open and earnest. Of all of Phèdre's Boys, he had always been the most easy in his manner, the one least capable of hiding aught he thought or felt. He'd sworn his loyalty to me on a whim, a jest, so long ago—and yet he'd kept it, and proved it a hundred times over. I thought of his comrades, of Remy and Fortun, and how they had died. It had taken a half-dozen of Benedicte's men to bring down Remy, who had sung so sweetly and died cursing. AndFortun, ah! My steady Fortun, who had almost made the door, a dagger