Secret Sacrament

by Sherryl Jordan

  “No, Master.”

  “When you’re ready, just read aloud what is written. Take all the time you need.”

  Gabriel looked at the parchment again and saw that the words were now clear. In silence he read the vows through several times, accepting them, making them a part of his life. Only then did he say them aloud.

  “In the Name of Sovereign God, I swear that I shall honor the sacred laws of compassion and respect for all life. I swear that I shall bow to the will of the Grand Masters, for as long as I live in the Citadel. I swear that I shall hold sacred in my heart all skills that I learn here, and never disclose them to another person; neither shall I use the Wisdoms for anything other than the free and loving service of healing. And, within the sacredness of that service, all secrets told to me, and all matters concerning those I heal, shall remain with me alone. I will never do anything to any person without his or her permission, or the permission of relatives. Above all, I swear that I shall do my best to love every one I meet as if that soul were myself.”

  As with one voice, the Grand Masters chanted their own vow to love and serve and support him. The parchment was taken out of his hands, and the seven Grand Masters came up one at a time, introduced themselves, and said a few words to him. They all were elderly, all smiling and warm and unassuming. He had the absurd feeling that they were honoring him, not he them; and he wanted to bow low in front of them, but instead found himself shaking hands with them in the Navoran way, with his right forearm raised and crossed with theirs at the wrist, and with hands clasped tight.

  The Grand Masters were all dressed, as he and Salverion were, in long crimson robes embroidered heavily with gold about the hems and short sleeves. But over the red the Grand Masters wore knee-length white tunics, embroidered on the chest and back with the seven stars of the Citadel. They wore different-colored sashes, and Gabriel guessed there was a color for each of the seven Wisdoms. His own sash was green, the same as Salverion’s: the color of life and healing. The other initiates were also in crimson, one with a silver sash, and one with a sash of turquoise. Gabriel wanted to go and greet them, but they were engrossed in conversation with their Grand Masters. He began to feel cold, and was shivering as the Grand Masters drifted away, the other new disciples with them, leaving him alone with Salverion beside the pool.

  Narrowing his eyes against the light, Gabriel gazed at the vast library all around him. “There’s so much wisdom here,” he said, marveling.

  “All the wisdom of human souls,” said Salverion. “This is the greatest library in the world, Gabriel.”

  “How is it that there’s so much light? It’s unreal.”

  “The light that comes down through the tower is concentrated,” explained Salverion. “Our astronomers designed a series of large lenses and mirrors, and placed them high in the tower, in such a way that the sunlight is caught and magnified and reflected down. The pool diffuses the heat, though the water gets very warm in summer. The light is always intense, aside from in the darkest days of winter. This harnessing of the natural light saves our having to burn lamps except in the dimmest corners of the Library, and reduces the risk of fire.”

  “Fire would be fatal, wouldn’t it?” said Gabriel, gazing about him at the untold rows of priceless scrolls.

  “If there is a fire, of course the pool itself is a ready supply of water to quench the flames,” said Salverion. “Within this Great Library there are actually seven libraries, one for each Wisdom. I’ll show you the libraries and how they’re arranged; then I’ll show you the rest of the Citadel.”

  For several hours Gabriel followed the Grand Master through the libraries, along corridors, up winding stairs, and through ancient doors into rooms that overwhelmed him with their vastness and beauty. The Citadel was built entirely of white stone, and everywhere were carved pillars and vaulted ceilings so lofty and graceful they seemed almost fragile. Every building was designed to catch the solar light; brilliant rays poured down from unexpected places, and Gabriel glimpsed small windows high in the curved ceilings and guessed there were mirrors placed there, too, to reflect down the sun. The soaring walls, the spacious rooms, the statues and artworks and painted frescoes, were all radiant.

  The buildings were arranged around a central courtyard garden. On one side was the Great Library, on the opposite side the living quarters and administration rooms. The connecting buildings were the centers of learning. Salverion led the way along one of the pillared stone porches bordering the courtyard. Morning sun poured through the open archways, and Gabriel saw the gardens set out in geometric patterns, with fountains and sundials. Along the inner walls of the porches were doors to the learning centers and cushioned seats where a few disciples sat studying in the sun. Above stretched the magnificent porch roofs, vaulted and carved.

  Some of the rooms were secret, closed to all save those who taught and studied there; but Gabriel saw the art and music rooms, the superb theater where musicians performed, and the recreation room with its massive fireplace where, in the bitterest winter days, disciples and Masters relaxed and drank mulled wine. “It’s not all hard work here,” Salverion explained, with a smile. Then he took Gabriel to the healing rooms, where he met the other Masters of healing, and the other healer-priests.

  The Masters greeted him as if he were a son, enfolding him in their arms and welcoming him with words of blessing and affection. All the Masters were charismatic and memorable, but there was one with whom Gabriel felt a special affinity. He was Sheel Chandra, the Master of Mind-power and Healing Through Dreams. He was a tall dark-skinned man of about sixty, charming and compassionate, with an accent so heavy Gabriel could hardly understand him. But with Sheel Chandra he felt an instant, powerful kinship and trust.

  The only Master with whom Gabriel was not totally at ease was the Master of Surgery, Kes. Kes was one of the younger Masters, aristocratic and tall, and slightly reserved. He was the only Master Gabriel felt had expectations of him, and therefore with Kes he felt tense.

  Then he met the twenty-two other healer-priests, disciples of Salverion. They were all older than himself, some by several years, and from diverse parts of the Empire. Like the Masters, they greeted him with wholehearted warmth and affection, shaking his hand in the Navoran way. Many embraced him, and he found himself enfolded into a strong fellowship, wholly accepted and valued and loved. Afterward Salverion took him away to the quiet courtyard garden, where they sat in the sunlight to talk.

  “I hope you’ll be at home here,” Salverion said. “If ever you have a problem, I hope you feel you can talk with me. For you, I’m always available. And Ferron will explain anything you want to know. You won’t have to work too hard, this first week. Take time to look around the Great Library, and the orchards and vineyards. The Citadel is almost entirely self-sufficient; we make our own wine, grow all our own fruit and vegetables, keep bees, and grow grains for flour. You’ll like the estate, I think.

  “I have to go to the Navora Infirmary now. I don’t expect you to accompany me today. When you’re ready, Ferron will prepare you a light midday meal. Have this afternoon to yourself, and buy some furnishings for your apartment. If you’ve time, ask Ferron to take you to the stables, and choose a horse you feel comfortable with. You might have time for a riding lesson. Tomorrow you will come with me to the Infirmary for a few hours. I have a tumor to remove. You’ll assist me.”

  They stood, and Salverion embraced him, briefly. “Please don’t look so alarmed about the surgery tomorrow,” the Master said. “You’re only helping. I won’t leave you loose and alone with a scalpel among my patients’ vital organs. Not for a long time yet.”

  6

  THE SILKEN SNARE

  SWEATING AND FRETFUL, Gabriel tossed in his unfamiliar bed and tried to shake off the nightmares that troubled him. In his dreams he was trapped in white silk, beautiful and fine but wrapped tightly about him like a shroud, stifling him. He awoke breathless, drenched with sweat. His right shoulder ached from a fall
from his horse, and he was thirsty and feverish. He threw back the bedcovers and lay naked in the moonlight, grateful for the night breeze that came in through the open window, sweet with fragrances of unfamiliar blossoms. Outside, far in the Citadel fields, a sheep bleated. The sound was comforting and earthy, and Gabriel’s fears subsided. He rolled over and drifted into sleep again. A tapping sound disturbed him, and he muttered in his sleep and tried to shut it out. But it became louder and insistent, and then someone shook his shoulder. He mumbled and buried his face in the cushions, thinking he was back home and Subin was trying to get into his bed, as she did when she was afraid at night. Then he heard Ferron’s voice, urgent and low.

  “Gabriel! Salverion wants you. He’s been called to the palace, and he wants you to go with him.”

  Instantly Gabriel was sitting on the edge of his bed, blinking in the light of the lamp Ferron had lit. “What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching for the crimson robe Ferron had picked up from the chair, shaken smooth, and was already holding out to him.

  “It seems that the Empress is sick,” replied Ferron, noticing the tension in Gabriel’s face, and the damp hair about his forehead. “Are you well?”

  “Bad dreams,” said Gabriel. “What’s wrong with her? I won’t have to examine her, will I?”

  “I have no idea,” said Ferron, showing Gabriel how to tie his sash. “You wanted to know what she was like; now you’ll find out for yourself. Where are your sandals?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gabriel, dragging a comb through his disheveled hair.

  “Perhaps you should tie your hair back when you’re visiting patients or helping Salverion,” suggested Ferron. “I put a green band on your table for that.”

  At last Gabriel was ready, but intensely nervous and pale. “You’ll be all right,” said Ferron, holding Gabriel by the shoulders, and inspecting him. “Salverion waits for you by the main gate.”

  “I don’t have to ride that infernal horse, do I?” asked Gabriel, fresh anxieties rushing over him.

  “There’ll be a chariot waiting to take you. Go—quickly!”

  With his heart thumping, Gabriel left his apartment and ran along the pillared porchway, then out through the high arched door that led to the outer courtyard. He hurried across the smooth moonlit lawns toward the main gate and found Salverion just outside. A chariot waited, its driver stifling a yawn.

  “Sorry to disturb your sleep, Gabriel,” said Salverion, as they climbed into the chariot and gripped the rail. “But I never attend the Empress Petra alone.”

  “Doesn’t she have her own physician?” asked Gabriel, bracing himself as the chariot bounded forward, beginning the swift descent down the winding road through the Citadel hills.

  “She does, but occasionally she calls me, for no other reason than that she wants to. And what the Empress wants, no one argues with—not even a Grand Master.” Then he smiled, seeing Gabriel’s apprehension. “Relax; we won’t be doing major surgery. She’s probably got a toothache, or simply can’t sleep. She’s rarely sick; she’s as strong as a horse. Speaking of horses, did you go riding?”

  “I attempted to,” said Gabriel. “I achieved a few bruises.”

  “You have my sympathy. What have you called that carefully chosen stallion of yours?”

  “Rebellion,” said Gabriel, with a grin. “Master, how am I to address the Empress? What do I do when I first see her?”

  “You call her Your Majesty, or Lady. Whichever seems appropriate. Either title is correct. When we first enter her presence we both bow, at the same time if possible. I’ll whisper instructions. Then I shall question and examine her, while you stand at a discreet distance. Her own physician will have already set out anything I may need, and, if I ask you to do so, you pass me what I ask for. You’ll probably feel a bit superfluous, I’m afraid. The Empress usually ignores my assistants, so it’s unlikely you’ll have to make conversation with her. If you do, speak only when she has spoken first. Don’t look so apprehensive, Gabriel. She’s just a human being, with faults and fears and pains like the rest of us. She’s actually very lonely.”

  “But she has a consort.”

  “It’s a marriage of convenience, to seal a pact with an important nation. He’s a morose and inhibited man, that’s why he’s seldom seen in public with her. The Empress lives in her own quarters at the palace, and there’s no heir to the throne. She has few female friends, and the men she knows are all in high places, all wrangling among themselves for power, and using her to further their own careers.

  “The Empress looks on me as a friend more than a healer, and it may be that tonight she simply wants to talk. Regardless of the topic of conversation, or how private it is, you must remain quietly in the background. Remember your vows, and never repeat anything you hear.”

  The chariot sped on, the rumble of its wheels and drumming of horses’ hooves like thunder in the deserted city streets. As they passed between the mighty gates of the palace, the skies were beginning to lighten. The chariot stopped, and Salverion and Gabriel got down. Gabriel followed the Master through an expansive courtyard, then up wide steps. A slave met them, and they were led deep into the interior of the palace. A number of slaves were already up and about, changing flowers in urns or cleaning floors.

  They came to a set of doors inlaid with precious stones. “Her private suite,” whispered Salverion. “Lower your head.”

  Gabriel obeyed and passed through a curtained doorway into another room. He felt Salverion’s hand on his arm, telling him to stand still. He waited, not daring to look up, aware of the rich red of soft carpets, subdued lamplight, and the strong smell of incense or flowers. The presence of the Empress filled the room, and with every nerve Gabriel was aware that here was the heart of the great Navoran Empire, the ultimate authority on earth. Quivering with fear, he had an almost overpowering impulse to fall flat on his face.

  “Bow.” The whisper was so low he barely heard it, and the Grand Master had already bent over when Gabriel began paying homage. He waited several seconds, until Salverion stood upright again; then he dared to raise himself and look at the Empress.

  She was sitting on a carved throne overlaid with gold and softened with cushions of purple velvet. A lamp burned on a table nearby, casting fiery lights and deep shadows about her. In the dimness she looked younger than he expected, twenty-five perhaps, with black hair waving loose about her shoulders and down her green embroidered robe. Her face was lovely, with compelling violet eyes and red, full lips. She was elegant and poised, but there was a tension about her that reminded him of a beautiful predatory animal, languid for the moment, but quietly conscious of its power. He realized she was looking straight at him, her magnificent eyes clear and curious. He flushed scarlet, and it seemed an age before she turned her gaze to Salverion and greeted him.

  “My dear Salverion. It’s so good of you to come,” she said, reaching out a slender hand sparkling with rings and jeweled bracelets. Her voice was deep and alluring.

  Salverion bowed low again and kissed her fingers.

  “It’s a delight to see you again, Lady,” he said. “Though it would be a greater delight if you were well.”

  “I’m not too ill,” she said. “I have a toothache, and the mixture Osric put on it hasn’t helped. I need your magic touch more than your forceps, I hope.”

  “Which tooth is it, Lady?”

  “I don’t know exactly. On the lower right, at the back.”

  “Will you turn to the light, please, so I can see?”

  She tilted her head, and Salverion bent over her. After a few moments he straightened. “I cannot see anything obviously wrong with your tooth, Lady,” he said. “It may be that you have an infection in it. There’s no need for it to be removed yet. I’ll prescribe some salve to put on it, and something for you to take.”

  “Will you stop the pain for me, in the meantime?” she asked.

  “Of course, Lady. Would you sit upright, please, and make your spine as straigh
t as you can? Relax. Close your eyes and breathe calmly.”

  Gabriel watched as Salverion’s hands moved over the Empress’s face and the top of her head. She was wearing a golden chain about her head, with an emerald that hung over her forehead. Carefully the Grand Master removed it, placing it on the table beside her throne. Then he massaged her brow and the hollows of her cheeks. When he had finished, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

  “You’re a wonderful man.” She sighed. “I should have called you yesterday. I didn’t want to bother you, and I thought Osric’s potions would help.”

  “You could never bother me, Lady,” he said. “I am at your service anytime.”

  Her eyes went past him, to Gabriel. “So this is your latest Elected One?” she asked.

  Salverion beckoned Gabriel over. “Your Majesty, this is Gabriel Eshban Vala,” he said.

  Gabriel bowed again. The Empress studied him, her head tilted slightly back, her eyes half closed and pondering. “You’re Jager’s son, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “You look very like your father. He was a handsome man. I always admired him; he was one of the ‘old’ Navorans, who loved justice and honesty. He was deeply loyal to the Empire. He used to bring me back silks and rare spices from the east. Why did you not continue his business?”

  “I wanted to be a healer, Your Majesty.”

  “Gabriel is a gifted young man,” said Salverion. “He wrote an impressive essay on the human heart and blood vascular system, for which he won the Navoran High Honor. And his tutor at the Academy says he has great steadiness and skill when he assists with surgery.”

  “I shall remember that, if I ever need the knife,” the Empress said. “Tell me about your essay, Gabriel.”

  Salverion excused himself, glanced encouragingly at his disciple, then went to the table at the far side of the room.