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in writing the stories that Shoanete of Debeho had told me; yes, and our own travels as well, and the hunting-songs of Tifari Amu and Bizan, and the workmen’s chants of our bearers, that no one had ever recorded. Would that I’d had such luxury in Skaldia! Near as it was, it was a culture no less exotic to those of D’Angeline blood. For a long time, I had wished only to forget it. Now, I thought of the hearth-songs I’d sung to poor Erich in the zenana , and wished I remembered more, and had them written down.
    To think, I’d sung the Master of the Straits to calm with such a song.
    His mortal mother had sung him songs.
    I pondered our neat campsite, the dark skins and exotic features of our comrades, Joscelin and Imriel clad in Jebean attire, the splendid vista of the lowlands flanked by green mountains, the vast blue sky that arched over it all. We were a long way from the grey waters of the Straits, from that rocky, lonely isle.
    Hyacinthe . I never forgot.
    It was on the third day of our respite that Joscelin caught his fish, although that was not how I would remember that day. To be sure, he’d caught fish before, and a fair number of them, some weighing ten to fifteen pounds. I do not know what species they were-cowfish, the Jebeans called them-but they were a salmon hue, with many-rayed dorsal fins and small heads. When cooked, the flesh resembled trout and was quite agreeable.
    Joscelin was after bigger game.
    He pointed them out to me, he and Imriel; vast shadows lurking in the pebbled depths of the river. I nodded, listening politely as Imriel explained how they meant to use smaller fish as bait, showing me how the treble hooks were strung. And then I retreated to sit upon my stool and pore over my journal, watching the river’s edge with half an eye and thinking about how I was to convince the Sabaeans-the Melehakim, Shoanete had called them-that they should reveal to me the Name of God that they had hidden from Adonai Himself.
    It was the shouting that caught my ear, and at that I had to go and see. Joscelin stood knee-deep in the rushing waters, clad only in a pair of white Jebean breeches. Sunlight gleamed on his loose, damp hair, the muscles working in his arms as he played out the line, hand over hand. Downstream, the mighty fish he’d hooked fought him, bucking and leaping, its sides flashing silver. I will own, I gasped when I saw the size of it.
    And on a sandbar in the middle of the river, Imriel jumped up and down with excitement, shouting instructions, clutching a stout branch in one hand. His black hair was plastered to his cheeks in coils and he had stripped to his sodden breeches.
    I laughed. I couldn’t help it. ’Twas an epic battle in its own way, though unfit for any poet’s tale. When the line was played, Joscelin began drawing it back in, fighting the fish for every inch of it. And how that fish fought! I saw it when it broke the water, silver-sided with a green back shading to black, fierce and vigorous, a true giant of the river. Imriel floundered into the depths, beating ineffectually at the waters with his club, and Joscelin shouted him back, still hauling on the line. I’d have worried about crocodiles, if I wasn’t laughing so hard.
    And somewhere, in the midst of it, my heart swelled to aching with love.
    Somehow, by main strength, Joscelin hauled the thrashing fish onto the sandbar and Imriel landed it, striking it hard with his club and falling on it, struggling to hook his fingers in its gills. It heaved wildly under him, and boy and fish wrestled in the shallow waters, skin and scales wet and shining. He succeeded, too, though the fish was nearly as large as he was. Once it was subdued, Joscelin had to wade into the river to retrieve it, carrying the massive thing overhanging his arms. It must have weighed fifty pounds. He sloshed ashore, Imriel splashing alongside him, alight with glee.
    “What do you think?” Joscelin asked laughing, tossing the fish at my feet where it landed with an audible thud, wriggling and twitching on the greensward.
    I took two steps forward, grabbed his hair and kissed him.
    For a moment, I think, he was too startled to react, and then-Elua! His arms came hard around me and he returned my kiss, hard, hands sliding along my back, following the path of my marque. It was like the torch igniting the Sacred Fires in the festal hall.
    We parted breathless and staring at one another.
    “I think,” I said unsteadily, “you should bring