chapter IX
Arabia, 1233 B.C.
“I AM NO LONGER a little girl, father!” Eriel stood with fists clenched, eyes on fire.
Kreios stood before her, his heart burdened with worry and doubt. He was not in a mood to argue after having flown to the city in pursuit of his daughter. He feared another explosion of conflict between his people and the Brotherhood; he wondered what his beloved daughter might do, how she might instigate something deadly—intentional or not.
He gestured to her, palms out, a sign of peace. “Calm yourself, daughter. Please.”
She growled at him in exasperation and then looked to her uncle Yam.
Yamanu’s body language implied he wanted no part of the argument. He sat in a low chair smoking his pipe with a benevolent amused look on his face.
Kreios hated that calm-in-the-storm demeanor, especially when Yamanu wore it so smugly.
“Daughter—”
Eriel spoke through clenched teeth. “Can you not see that I will be free of you, one way or another?”
“You are my daughter and you will obey me. Still.”
“Father!”
“We leave in the morning.” Kreios turned to go.
She cursed at him, stopping him. “I am not going with you. You can do nothing to force my will any longer.”
Kreios could feel his control slipping, anger and desperation rising. “Daughter, Eriel, I warn you…”
“Uriel, not Eriel! I am not asking, father. This is my decision and it is done. It is only one letter, but it is my letter.”
Kreios sighed. It was no use trying to get her to see reason. No matter what she called herself, she would always be his little Eriel.
“And let me tell you how it will be from now on, father. I will stay with Uncle. He will keep me safe. Is not that what you want above all else? For me to be safe? Or do you really wish to control my every decision until the day I die?”
Kreios looked to Yamanu for some sign of assistance. Yamanu simply nodded, exhaling a luxurious ring of smoke. It drifted downward to the stone floor and dissipated outward, like ripples on a still pond.
That is what it was like to have a daughter, he decided. She dropped into the stillness of his life like a stone, disturbing everything. And now the ripples were beginning to fade; she was pulling away. He had to confess to himself that he mourned for the situation, for himself. He had not prepared. He was not ready. “Daughter, please…”
She ignored his feeble and late attempt at tenderness. “I will speak of it no more.”
He looked up from the floor to behold her beautiful strong-willed face. Her eyes pierced him. There were echoes of her mother in there. It all came crashing back on him—the great Decision that could never be unmade, to dwell under the sun in the land of the fallen. He had sown the wind, truly. And now he would continue to reap what he had sown.
“Goodbye, father.” She turned and left.
And he let her go, finally. He sighed in defeat and resignation. She had all the answers she now wanted. She would need more though, he knew.
“All in due time,” Yamanu said. “That is the way of it here. Under the sun.”
Kreios nodded. She was just as stubborn as her mother had been. He smiled in spite of the grief that was crashing down upon him. He loved her for that stubbornness, and so much more. He didn’t want to let her go yet.
He breathed these words in her wake: “I love you, Eriel. Never forget who you are.”