Secret Sacrament

by Sherryl Jordan

  “I hear that you’re studying already with the great Sheel Chandra,” said Kanyiida, in a deep, rich voice. “Salverion must be very pleased with your progress.”

  How did the High Priest know what he was doing? Puzzled and suspicious, Gabriel said nothing.

  “Your work with Sheel Chandra must be very satisfying,” said Sanigar in his soft voice, “especially considering your visionary gifts.”

  “All my work is satisfying, my lord Sanigar,” said Gabriel.

  “You’re happy, then, at the Citadel?” said Sanigar. “Even though it inhibits you?”

  “What do you mean, lord?”

  The astrologer shrugged apologetically, his bald dome gleaming softly in the lamplight. “Well, it seems to us that you are being held back,” he explained. “In spite of your abilities, it’s obvious that Sheel Chandra has not yet taught you all you need to know about dream interpretation.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss my training,” said Gabriel. He picked up a small knife and began peeling an orange. The knife was silver, and about its handle wound a silver snake with opals and emeralds in its scales. He thought of the snake that had bitten the child, and something bothered him, niggling in the back of his mind. There flashed across his memory the picture of an upturned toy basket and a black snake slithering from it. Yet what had Jaganath said about a pot in the courtyard? He frowned, trying to remember, and, as he thought, he glanced upward.

  On the wall in front of him was a mural depicting various mythical creatures from Jaganath’s religion. At the heart of the mural was a being half animal, half human, and it was staring directly down at him with bright black eyes. The hollows in its gaunt cheeks were shadowy, and its gums and pointed teeth were prominent, the lips curling back from them as it smiled. There was something terrible and fascinating about it. While he stared, the face seemed to change; the features clouded and the skin dissolved and another face peered out, a different one, cunning and powerful and too hideous to endure. He cried out. The knife slipped, and the blade, razor sharp, sank deep into the ball of his thumb. The cut stung, bitter with the orange juice. The slave offered him a bowl of water and a clean cloth, and he dipped his hand in the liquid, turning it instantly scarlet. Then he held the cloth hard against the cut, staunching the flow of blood.

  “So, you recognize demons when you see them!” murmured Jaganath, looking amused. “Don’t be alarmed, my friend. Demons can be very useful accomplices. And they inhabit only one of the many dimensions open to us, if we have the Vision. But you don’t yet fully understand visionary things. The Citadel Masters are very cautious, and there is much they won’t explain at first. This is understandable, considering the limited talents of most of their disciples. But you’re exceptional, Gabriel. Potential like yours cannot be restrained or denied. Already the Empress has opened a new door for you, for that greater power you have. It disturbs and grieves me that you are not adequately helped by your Masters. I have the greatest respect for Sheel Chandra and Salverion, but in holding you back they’re doing you a grave disservice.”

  The slave filled Gabriel’s goblet with water again, and he drank it thankfully. His head was beginning to clear, though his feelings of disquiet and danger were stronger than ever.

  “Lord Jaganath,” he said, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt, “I appreciate your concern, but I won’t discuss my Masters or my training. You don’t know what I’m learning, so you can’t comment on it.”

  “But I do know what you’re learning,” said Jaganath. “Or, rather, I know what you’re not learning. I don’t think you realize the enormous responsibility of dream interpretation. Are you told about the hidden dangers, the risks?”

  “I am aware of the responsibility,” Gabriel replied. “I’ve always asked the Empress to check my interpretations with my Masters. Since she doesn’t, I hoped she checked them with you.”

  “Ah—but she doesn’t,” said Jaganath. “She trusts only you, in the understanding of her dreams. And dreams are subtle, ambiguous. Interpretations—especially the wrong ones—can cause destruction and death. In fact, in your last dream interpretation, you did cause a death. That’s why we’re so concerned.”

  Gabriel went cold. “I don’t know what you mean, lord.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” asked Jaganath, his sleek eyebrows raised. “That last dream you interpreted for Her Highness. What was it, now? The pile of grain, with a rat sitting on top, eating it. Was that right?”

  Gabriel nodded. It was the dream he had interpreted while Jaganath was in the room.

  “Yes. That dream. You told the Empress it implied that something precious to her was being stolen.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Gabriel. “That’s what the dream did imply.”

  “It’s most unfortunate that you weren’t more precise. She took you to mean that the city treasurer, who had held that highly honored position for fifteen years, was robbing the Navoran treasury and secretly adding to his personal wealth. She had him beheaded yesterday. We’re still grieving, for he was an old friend of ours, and his wife and children are distraught. It was such a little dream, such an easy interpretation, such a monstrous result. I hope you were right, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel went white. “I didn’t tell her the corn signified the city wealth,” he said. “I told her I thought it meant her health, her well-being. I warned her to think carefully about the dream, and I urged her to discuss it with Sheel Chandra. If she did not, I can’t be—”

  “Keep calm, my friend,” said the High Priest soothingly. “We are not blaming you. But you must realize that a man has been executed because of one of your interpretations. You’ve made solemn vows that direct and control your healing powers. But in your dealings with the Empress and her dreams, you have nothing to guide you—nothing to stand on, no experienced teachers to help you. In your dream interpretations, you’re free. And the consequences, as we have seen, can be catastrophic. You already realize you need guides in this—but you need guides who are close to Her Majesty and who are well informed in matters of the Empire. For all their extraordinary gifts, your Masters at the Citadel remain secluded and unaware of worldly things. This isn’t their fault, but they can’t possibly guide you wisely in your dealings with the Empress. This is why the Empress has never discussed your dream interpretations with them, despite your advice; they could be no help.”

  “It would be a sensible move, to consult with us,” agreed Nagay. “You don’t know the Empress, Gabriel, and when you tell her what you think a dream means, you have no idea what she’ll do with that knowledge. Honesty is a noble thing, and the advice of a true friend is to be valued above all else. Your own father taught me that, and doubtless it’s what he told you as well. But sometimes the truth must be tempered with discretion and experience. I wish you’d let us help you in your new position with the Empress.”

  “It isn’t a new position,” said Gabriel. “I’m a healer-priest, not a dream interpreter. I’d be very happy if you could persuade Her Majesty not to call on me again.”

  “We’d all be very happy if we could persuade the Empress to do what we want,” remarked Kamos. “But the truth is, she does what she wants. We have no choice but to jump when she cracks the whip. And, whether you like it or not, she’s claimed you as her personal analyzer of royal dreams. You may continue with your lofty position on your own, or accept the advice and help of those a good deal wiser and older than yourself. I know which I would rather do, when people’s lives hang on what I say.”

  Gabriel toyed with the handle of the silver knife and glanced at the door. “I’ll consider it,” he said.

  “That is all we ask,” said Jaganath, beaming. Leaning forward, he pushed a platter of bread rolls and cheese toward Gabriel, and a silver jug of wine. “Now eat, please. Relax; enjoy good conversation and the company of friends who care about you.”

  To Gabriel’s relief, the conversation shifted from himself to politics. Musicians came in and began softly playi
ng, and the music made Gabriel relax. Then he heard the Shinali mentioned, and his nerves went taut again.

  “I had an omen last night about the Shinali,” Sanigar was saying. “It was a vision, a sword raised between us and the barbarians. What have we done wrong, to upset them?”

  Kamos sniggered, his big teeth glinting in the rosy light. “What have we done right?” he asked. “If we’re not knocking off the chieftain’s one and only daughter, we’re wheedling our way onto their precious land. Now we’re thinking of repealing our treaty with them altogether. No wonder you saw a sword, my friend.”

  “It’s eleven years since the incident with the daughter!” said Kanyiida. “Surely they’re not still bleating about it!”

  “They have long memories,” said Kamos. “We thought they’d have forgotten about the woman by now, but they haven’t. We’ve had a hellish time just buying enough land for ten farms. They still want nothing to do with us, and they cling to that old treaty like it’s the pledge of gods. But we’re one step ahead: the treaty allows us to cross their land whenever we wish. We shall wish to again very soon—right through that monstrous hole in the dirt they call a house. A few of them will get trampled, I should think.”

  “Is that the only purpose of the little jaunt?” asked Sanigar. “To trample on a few barbarians?”

  “We’re going to restore Taroth,” Kamos replied. “It was our friend Jaganath’s idea. It’s time the Shinali remembered who’s in control.”

  As Gabriel listened, a great fear crawled through him. Taroth was the ancient fort in the mountains on the far side of the Shinali land, built in the early days when Navora was first established and was being attacked by the native tribes from the deserts farther east. The fort stood near the only pass through the mountains and guarded the Shinali plain and the hills that were the only land access to Navora. The army had not occupied Taroth for fifteen years.

  “I think we’ve talked enough about the Shinali,” said Nagay, with an uneasy glance at Gabriel. “Perhaps you could amuse us with a small demonstration of your powers, my lord Jaganath. I’m sure Gabriel would be more interested in that than in the future of a race of savages.”

  “Ah, yes, a demonstration!” cried Kamos. “Maybe you could contact Gabriel’s father, Jaganath. That’d give the lad a thrill.”

  Gabriel glanced at Jaganath; the High Oracle was watching him, his black eyes full of insight and cunning.

  “If you don’t mind, lord, I’d like to leave now,” said Gabriel.

  But before anyone could move, Jaganath snapped his fingers, and a slave extinguished all the lamps but one. That one light glowed softly on Jaganath, but the rest of the room, apart from the dying firelight, was in darkness. Immediately there was silence. Gabriel stared at the High Oracle, and the hair tingled on the back of his neck. Jaganath was falling into a deep trance. His body swayed a little, and his eyelids fluttered, then closed. His head fell back. His throat was strong, the muscles in spasm as he struggled with extreme emotions. In the dim lamplight his long black ringlets and oiled beard shimmered with fire, and his skin had an unearthly sheen. Yet Gabriel saw only obscure shades and felt an appalling cold.

  Strange sounds came from Jaganath’s throat, as if he were being forced to speak. “I see a boy running,” he said, his voice halting and guttural. “He’s running, running as if demons are after him. I see him at home. Lying stretched across a table, being whipped.”

  Gabriel stood up, knocking over the bowl of fruit. His face was white.

  Jaganath continued. “There’s a message from your father, Gabriel. Jager . . . Jager says he had no idea of your distress, that night. He deeply regrets that he beat you. He loves you, Gabriel. He always loved you. You were his favorite son, his eldest.”

  “He never told me.” Gabriel’s voice came out strangled. “He never told me; I don’t believe it.”

  “He wants to tell you now. You can have a whole new relationship with your father, Gabriel. He wants it. He wants to talk with you often. Don’t disappoint him. He’s waiting for you.”

  “No!” Gabriel stooped and felt in the darkness behind him for his cloak and bag. He swept them up and turned toward the curtained door and the long hall where lights still burned.

  But Jaganath said, still in that strange, unearthly tone, “There’s a Shinali woman, too, who wants to talk with you.”

  Gabriel froze. Very slowly, he turned around. His face was ashen and drenched with sweat, and sweat ran down inside his clothes. He shook his head and tried to speak but could not.

  “I see a Shinali woman,” said Jaganath, “with her hands reaching out to you. She cries for help, but you don’t give it. You run. And I see her fall on the stones. She dies. She dies. But what is it, now? Ah! the voice is clear! ‘Tell the child,’ she says. ‘Tell the child to feel no guilt.’”

  Gabriel went back and sat down. He leaned on the table, his head buried in his arms.

  Jaganath sighed deeply and after a while opened his eyes. The only sound in the room was the sputtering of the solitary lamp, and the agonized breathing of the young man.

  “Dear friend, you must not distress yourself,” said Jaganath, with great gentleness. “The woman has forgiven you. Do you know who she is?”

  Without looking up, Gabriel shook his head.

  “She was a chieftain’s daughter. Eleven years ago she came here to learn about our ways, as a peace sign between us and them. She was to stay in Navora only a month, and then return to her own people. But she was kidnapped. Someone wanted a ransom for her, knowing the Empire would pay anything to keep the peace between Navora and the Shinali, who were still a significant tribe then. But before the ransom price was paid, she escaped. You saw what happened to her on her way to the Shinali lands. But you were only a child, Gabriel. And all is forgiven; all is well. All is well.”

  Gabriel raised his head. The high priest was looking at him, his face smiling and full of love. “What torment you have lived in, my dear friend!” Kanyiida cried, tenderly. “I’m astonished that Sheel Chandra never helped you.”

  “He didn’t know,” said Gabriel.

  “What a great sadness,” mused Sanigar. “If he had even the smallest measure of the Vision, he would have known. He would not have let you suffer any longer. You see the enormous good that can be done, when the Visionary gift is fully used? When we have the authority to tear through the veil between this world and the next and make a connection across the grave? Imagine how much you could do for the depressed, the grieving, the hurt.”

  “At the moment, even with all the wisdom of a healer-priest, your power is not enough,” said Jaganath to Gabriel. “Your power stops at death. Yet death is the only certainty in life, the ultimate reality. But you don’t learn anything about it. How limiting that is, my friend! You can work miracles for the sick, but in the end they all die. And you can do nothing, not for them or for those who mourn for them. In the last great human experience, you’re impotent.” The High Oracle’s voice dropped, became silky and seductive. “But I can change that, Gabriel. I can give you authority that goes beyond death, to the Other Side. I can give you the skill to see beyond the veils of death and to bring back visions of those who dwell there. I can give you the power to communicate face-to-face with the dead. Your patients would worship you for it. The help, the comfort you would give them would be boundless. It’s the ultimate authority, command over the dominions of death.

  “What you learn at the Citadel limits you. You know that in your heart, Gabriel. You weren’t meant to be limited. You have a great gift, but it will never be fully used, not as long as you allow yourself to be restricted, to be bound by laws and regulations. There’s no reason why you can’t be the disciple of two men. Give me just a few hours a week, and I’ll give you power such as you never dreamed was possible. I’ll lay dominions at your feet. All you have to do is pledge yourself to me.”

  Gabriel raised his eyes. Jaganath was smiling a little, self-assured, too shrewd. How do you
know? Gabriel thought. My worst memories, my deepest hurts—how do you know?

  Suddenly, like a revelation, the understanding hit him. It was so obvious, so clear, he was astounded he had not realized it before. He almost laughed in his relief.

  “I think I know how you do it, lord!” he said. “You don’t see spirits at all! You search memories, and see the images in people’s minds. You do nothing I can’t already do myself!”

  Jaganath looked faintly surprised. “No wonder Salverion loves you,” he murmured. “You’re an excellent student. Misguided and a little confused, but excellent.”

  “I don’t think I am misguided, lord,” replied Gabriel, with anger. “You despise the Masters for the limitations they place on me, because I have to ask a person’s permission before I walk in their memories. You don’t have those restrictions. You use your power secretly, without anyone’s consent, and you use what you see to intimidate and—”

  “Be very careful, Gabriel,” warned Nagay softly.

  But Jaganath taunted, “What else, Gabriel? What other evil do I do?”

  Words burned on the tip of Gabriel’s tongue. Again he saw the images in Syana’s memory: the upturned toy box in the playroom, the snake concealed there, where Syana was bound to disturb it. He thought of Salverion at Cosimo’s for dinner, conveniently unavailable; of himself called here alone to a healing he could not refuse; and of this timely gathering and its portentous offer. He longed to accuse Jaganath but dared not.

  “You may have the Vision, Gabriel,” Jaganath mocked, “but you don’t have the nerve to use it. You’re a coward and a fool. I wouldn’t waste my time with you. Go on—run back to your sympathetic Masters and your hallowed Citadel and your safe little virtues and vows. But I tell you this: the day will come when you’ll interpret another dream and cause another death—and that death will be your own. You’ll wish, then, you’d allied yourself with me.”

  Gabriel picked up his cloak and bag from where he had dropped them on the floor and walked out. Only a slave followed and guided him through the black marble corridors to the front door. Not waiting for the chariot to be called, Gabriel strode out into the darkness, heedless of the cold that struck his skin like ice, and walked the whole way back to the Citadel.