Read Online The Empty Kingdom by Elizabeth Wein - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Wein
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can watch. It will stop Athena making a fuss if we all go down together.”
Telemakos saw, with envy, that they were now wiser in the ways of Athena than he was, and decided not to argue. And anyway, he wanted to take her with him. He did not want to let her go.
Telemakos pulled the leather straps of her harness over his head and let Athena climb in it herself. The bands were tighter than they had been, and Athena waited impatiently while, with some difficulty, he adjusted the buckles. She kicked at his ribs and thumped his ruined shoulder with her fist.
“Birds, lion, dogs, goats!” Athena demanded. The Scions all laughed at her.
“Dictating the itinerary again, bird girl?” Inas teased. “We will visit all your friends.”
“I want to see the lion and the dogs, too,” Telemakos told his sister. He was aching to see them.
The najashi himself turned up at the close of that morning’s javelin practice. He stood with folded arms, splendid in his council robes, frowning blackly beneath the rope of gold that bound his headcloth. He looked like God come along to observe the day’s human activities in Eden. He left before the session was finished, without speaking to Telemakos, but he stopped among the Scions for some time, as he always did, and Telemakos could hear his unexpectedly merry laughter break free as they spoke to him.
Tharan said to Telemakos afterward, “You may forgo the riding ring today. The najashi bids you spend an hour or so in the kennels and see if the lion still remembers you. You may go hawking with the princes Shadi and Jibril, later, if you wish.”
It was turning into a holiday after all.
The Scions stuck to him like honey. They could not have made a plainer statement of their loyalty if they had made formal pledges on their knees in the parade ground before the city walls. Shadi and tall Jibril fell into step on either side of him like lieutenants, and at their shoulders came the desert cousins Ibrahim and Nabil and Numair, demon riders all. Numair walked so lightly on his toes he seemed to have springs in his heels. He had been grinning quietly to himself since Abreha’s visit.
“What’re you so pleased with?” Telemakos asked.
“We get to see you master the lion. Fabulous show! I’ve missed it.”
Behind them came the girls, Inas and proud Malika; then Nadia and Nashita, arm in arm and whispering like conspirators as always, with Lu’lu, the spoiled littlest of them, clinging to Nashita’s dress. The four younger boys followed them as rearguard: quarrelsome Haytham and his younger brother Habib; Inas’s younger brother Amir, who was by inheritance king of Ma’in; and Wajih, good-natured and nearly spherical in shape, heir to the great citadel port at Aden and all its lands and riches. Telemakos always thought of Wajih as being three times his age; it was so easy to picture him as the oversized, benevolent king he would be in twenty years, bearded and turbaned and sceptered, being fed like Gebre Meskal’s old aunt Candake by a host of attendants.
Twenty years. Will they all visit each other, and send each other presents, trade indigo and coffee and grain and frankincense, go to war together, send representatives to San’a every year for the Great Assembly? Will they remember me?
Telemakos could not imagine what he would be in twenty years.
The lion was at play in the hounds’ racetrack. Menelik seemed twice as big as he had been a season ago; he was bigger than Telemakos now, though still not anywhere near the impressive weight of his sire, Solomon, who ruled the lion pit in the New palace in Aksum. His mane had begun to grow. There was no length to it yet, but it shimmered like a black film creeping around his golden head and down the fur at the back of his strong neck. He was tossing about a strange rattle made of bones all knotted together with rope; the thing looked like an enormous white spider and made a riotous hollow rattling noise as the young lion worried
Telemakos saw, with envy, that they were now wiser in the ways of Athena than he was, and decided not to argue. And anyway, he wanted to take her with him. He did not want to let her go.
Telemakos pulled the leather straps of her harness over his head and let Athena climb in it herself. The bands were tighter than they had been, and Athena waited impatiently while, with some difficulty, he adjusted the buckles. She kicked at his ribs and thumped his ruined shoulder with her fist.
“Birds, lion, dogs, goats!” Athena demanded. The Scions all laughed at her.
“Dictating the itinerary again, bird girl?” Inas teased. “We will visit all your friends.”
“I want to see the lion and the dogs, too,” Telemakos told his sister. He was aching to see them.
The najashi himself turned up at the close of that morning’s javelin practice. He stood with folded arms, splendid in his council robes, frowning blackly beneath the rope of gold that bound his headcloth. He looked like God come along to observe the day’s human activities in Eden. He left before the session was finished, without speaking to Telemakos, but he stopped among the Scions for some time, as he always did, and Telemakos could hear his unexpectedly merry laughter break free as they spoke to him.
Tharan said to Telemakos afterward, “You may forgo the riding ring today. The najashi bids you spend an hour or so in the kennels and see if the lion still remembers you. You may go hawking with the princes Shadi and Jibril, later, if you wish.”
It was turning into a holiday after all.
The Scions stuck to him like honey. They could not have made a plainer statement of their loyalty if they had made formal pledges on their knees in the parade ground before the city walls. Shadi and tall Jibril fell into step on either side of him like lieutenants, and at their shoulders came the desert cousins Ibrahim and Nabil and Numair, demon riders all. Numair walked so lightly on his toes he seemed to have springs in his heels. He had been grinning quietly to himself since Abreha’s visit.
“What’re you so pleased with?” Telemakos asked.
“We get to see you master the lion. Fabulous show! I’ve missed it.”
Behind them came the girls, Inas and proud Malika; then Nadia and Nashita, arm in arm and whispering like conspirators as always, with Lu’lu, the spoiled littlest of them, clinging to Nashita’s dress. The four younger boys followed them as rearguard: quarrelsome Haytham and his younger brother Habib; Inas’s younger brother Amir, who was by inheritance king of Ma’in; and Wajih, good-natured and nearly spherical in shape, heir to the great citadel port at Aden and all its lands and riches. Telemakos always thought of Wajih as being three times his age; it was so easy to picture him as the oversized, benevolent king he would be in twenty years, bearded and turbaned and sceptered, being fed like Gebre Meskal’s old aunt Candake by a host of attendants.
Twenty years. Will they all visit each other, and send each other presents, trade indigo and coffee and grain and frankincense, go to war together, send representatives to San’a every year for the Great Assembly? Will they remember me?
Telemakos could not imagine what he would be in twenty years.
The lion was at play in the hounds’ racetrack. Menelik seemed twice as big as he had been a season ago; he was bigger than Telemakos now, though still not anywhere near the impressive weight of his sire, Solomon, who ruled the lion pit in the New palace in Aksum. His mane had begun to grow. There was no length to it yet, but it shimmered like a black film creeping around his golden head and down the fur at the back of his strong neck. He was tossing about a strange rattle made of bones all knotted together with rope; the thing looked like an enormous white spider and made a riotous hollow rattling noise as the young lion worried
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