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of God crowding my mind. Except for Hanoch ben Hadad, who remained sullen and uncertain, the Sabaeans rowed with a good will, trading off in teams, jesting in hushed tones as men will who have witnessed events beyond understanding. Even the soldier Imriel had wounded bore no ill will over it.
    The courage of Eshkol ben Avidan had sparked them, and I heard in their voices and saw in their faces the dawn of wonder, of hope. Seeds had been sown here this day, which would bear fruit long after we were gone. Whose tool, I wondered, was I? For so long, I had focused upon my singular quest: To free Hyacinthe. Now, here, an entire people, whose isolation had lasted longer than the Master of the Straits himself had lived. Whose purpose had I served? Mayhap I was only a small lever in Adonai’s plan, serving to set something vast in motion as his slow attention returned to the neglected Tribe of Dân. I could not say.
    In the end, it did not matter. We had what we’d come for. What transpired after we left Saba was between the Sabaeans themselves and Adonai, the One God, their Lord of Hosts. As for us ... I shuddered.
    I’d never really thought ahead, beyond this point. What remained for us, aside from the dire repercussions of Joscelin and I having taken Imriel de la Courcel with us in defiance of the Queen’s will, through myriad dangers to a land that was half-fable even in distant Jebe-Barkal ...
    ... was between Rahab and I.
    Well and so, I thought. This burden I cannot share or pass; it is mine, and mine alone, with the Name of God emblazoned inside my head. And that is as it should be, for it is my place Hyacinthe took. But I have faced death willingly twice today and we are a long way yet from home, and there are bandits and lions and crocodiles in our path, long sea journeys and the anger of Ysandre, which may be no small thing. So I will worry about facing down this angel known as Pride, and Insolence, later, because right now it is too much to fathom.
    It was early evening by the time we reached Tisaar, and the harbor was filled with people-men, women and children, silent and watching, awaiting our return. Semira and Yevuneh and some of the others were clustered together under the dour eye of the Elders of the Sanhedrin, looking stubborn and fearful.
    “People of Tisaar!” It was Eshkol ben Avidan who addressed them, leaping agilely onto the dock. “Brothers and sisters, Melehakim! We have beheld a mystery this day .”
    He told them then what had transpired, while the vessel was secured and the rest of us disembarked. My head ringing with the dreadful syllables of the Name, I was glad I did not have to speak. None of us were any too fit . After his long night’s ordeal, Joscelin looked exhausted, harrowed with pain, streaks of dried blood on his hands and arms beneath his vambraces, and there were violet shadows under Imriel’s eyes. I wondered if the priest would have opened the door if Imri hadn’t screamed. Was that the sound, born out of pain and terror in Daršanga, that had moved Adonai’s heart to compassion? Mayhap it was so. If it was, he had played a role none of us had ever reckoned.
    So I mused, unable to pay Eshkol’s recitation the attention it deserved, caught up in the mysteries locked inside my head. But when Eshkol had done, the Elders of the Sanhedrin crowded round, pressing me with questions, anxious and demanding.
    “Did the Voice of Adonai speak between the cherubim?”
    “What is the nature of the Sacred Name?”
    “Did you dare to lift the Kapporeth?”
    “My lords.” My voice emerged in a hoarse whisper. “It is not my place to answer these things.”
    “Whose, then?” It was Bilgah the Elder who asked, white-bearded and fierce. “ You defied our authority to trespass where we said it was forbidden! You instigated violence on sacred ground! Who should we ask, if not you?”
    “Ask Adonai, old fool!” Semira called from where the women were clustered. “Or ask the priest himself, Aaron’s scion and Nemuel’s, whose appointment it is to speak for the Lord of Hosts. Have you so forgotten who we are? It is no wonder Adonai has remained silent!” Shaking her head in disgust, she pushed her way through the Elders. I saw compassion writ in the deep creases of her features, and wisdom gained through old sorrow. “Ah, child. It is a mighty thing to bear, is it not?”
    I nodded.
    “So they say,” she murmured. “So they say.”
    There came more arguing after that-men