“By God, it’s good to see you,” said Myron hoarsely. His lips were cut, and they bled afresh as he spoke.
“Good to see you, too. But not in this state.”
Myron grinned. “I wanted to feel your healing touch. Went a bit far, though. Falling out of a chariot would have been better than being run over by one.” Pain went through him, contorting his face. He waited until it passed, and said, “There’s something important. About you. I have to tell you. Can’t remember.”
“Don’t worry about me, Myron. Don’t think of anything.”
“Have to. I wish I could remember. How’s Eva?”
“She doesn’t know yet that you’re here. They’ll tell her soon.”
“Give her my medallion.” He was referring to a silver coin he had found years before, that he had always worn for good luck.
“You’ll be able to give it to her yourself,” said Gabriel.
Myron shook his head. His eyes, always so lucid and blue, were dark and lusterless now. He tried to speak again, coughed, and cried out in agony.
“Don’t talk,” said Gabriel, leaning over him. “I’ll stop your pain.”
Myron’s scalp was sticky with blood, and Gabriel’s fingers shook as he searched for the vital energy pathways at the back of Myron’s head. He found them and applied pressure there, but the healing forces in him, usually so strong and controlled, were chaotic now, unfocused and ineffective. He bent his head on the pillow beside Myron’s, so Myron could not see his despair.
“No hope, is there?” said Myron huskily. “The physicians told me. Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t leave you for a moment, I swear.”
The moments, the hours, crawled on. Salverion came, and Gabriel watched with hope while he examined Myron. But even the Grand Master could do no more than relieve the worst of Myron’s pain. Afterward he put his arm about his disciple’s bowed shoulders, said a prayer for him and for the dying youth, and went away.
It was the longest day the brothers had ever endured. By noon Myron was too weak to speak or move, but his eyes followed Gabriel. In the evening he became restless, obviously in great pain. He tried to speak but could not. Gabriel lay on the bed beside him, holding him in his arms. Suddenly Myron’s breathing changed; his breaths became very deep and slow, with long spaces in between; and his eyes glazed over. Gabriel gave a great cry and held him close. Weeping, he kissed Myron’s face and hair, all the time speaking words of love and farewell.
A huge stillness, utterly silent, overshadowed them. As in a vision, Gabriel saw a valley, long and straight under lightless skies. All was gray, without color or gravity or air; it was a neutral place, a shadow place between the worlds. Wraithlike beings moved in the awful cold, and there were bodiless howls and obscure, half-glimpsed terrors. It was supernatural, frightening. At his left walked Myron, his face resolute, though he stumbled a little. On Myron’s other side was a very tall man, supporting him. Gabriel saw the man clearly, saw hair like white fire, and a face full of goodness and beauty and light; and heard him say to Myron, with indescribable love, “Don’t be afraid, beloved; there are only shadows here. Death is evil’s last great illusion.”
Gabriel felt suspended, beyond feeling, beyond everything but the knowledge that he was in a place unearthly and profound. The wraithlike beings vanished, and there was only quiet. He walked on with Myron, deeper into the valley. After a while Gabriel became aware of a physical presence standing behind him, touching his shoulder. Somehow that tiny pressure kept him back, reminded him of his own world; and when Myron gave a joyful cry and began to run, Gabriel could barely keep pace with him. They were rising upward; there was a sense of incredible lightness, of a mighty wind, of silence, of unutterable peace and joy. The only sound was Myron breathing, long moments between each breath, impossibly long. Several times Gabriel thought his brother had died. And then Myron would exhale again, and be another step beyond him. Yet they were more than steps; each breath was the crossing of a universe, a journey to infinity and light. With every part of his being, Gabriel was aware of the nearness of another world; he felt the awesome peace, the presences of people waiting for Myron, the power and the rapture. And then Myron breathed one last time, a sigh. And he was there.
With everything in him Gabriel yearned to go on, to be with Myron in that place, but there was a wall ahead of him, like a blindness. The hand on his shoulder drew him back, back through endless winds and shadows and distances immeasurable. He returned sobbing, gasping, not wanting to breathe, his arms tight about his brother’s body. He felt numb, as if his spirit had flown with Myron’s, and this existence were no longer real. The glory of the other world was still on him, powerfully.
Slowly he moved off the bed, and lay Myron flat on his back. Myron’s skin was waxen, his lips the same pallid yellow as his face. He was still, so still. Gabriel crossed Myron’s arms over his chest and placed his fists on his shoulders, like a soldier. Then he turned and confronted Salverion.
“Why?” Gabriel demanded, brokenly. “Why did you bring me back?”
“It was not your time,” replied the Master.
“And it was his?”
For a few moments Salverion was silent. Then he said, with extreme gentleness, “There’s something you must be told, about his death. Will you come with me, out to the service rooms?”
“If it’s to do with Myron, tell me here.”
“It’s painful, my son.”
“Just tell me.”
So Salverion told him; and when Gabriel shook his head and screamed, the Master took him in his arms, holding Gabriel’s face against his chest to muffle the sounds of agony and rage.
10
THE MEETING
SUBIN BALANCED ON the wooden gate and peered down the bare road to the hills. Behind her the new wooden house stood golden brown in the barren field, its dark sloping roof powdered white by the last light fall of snow. Smoke rose from the wide chimney, straight into the crystal air. In the nearest farms dogs barked and children shouted as they played. In Subin’s home were ten extra children, all her cousins, but they were playing quietly in one of the bedrooms, out of the way of the adults. The house was hushed.
She thought of the spare bedroom, cleared of its boxes of old clothes and Gabriel’s things, with the low funeral bier and the white cloth, and Myron lifeless on it. She had only glimpsed him, then fled screaming from the room, and even her uncle Egan had not been able to catch her. She had run down the little track between the farms, right to the edge of the Shinali land, where she was never supposed to go. Shaking, she hid behind the snow piled up beside a fence post and watched the strange people wearing heavy skins, as they hunted in the snow with little slings and stones. They killed two rabbits, and one of the animals struggled a long way, with its back legs dragging, before a boy got to it and broke its neck. Subin had cried then and gone home again. She would not go into the house but waited here on the gate, her eyes fixed on the road.
Lena came out, wrapped a blanket about the child, and put a bowl of hot soup into her hands. “Are you sure you won’t come in, Subin?” she asked. “He may not be here until tonight.”
“I’ll wait,” said Subin, and her mother, knowing how determined she was, hugged her and went inside again.
An hour later Subin saw two dark spots on the road. They came closer, and she made out two horses with riders. As they neared she saw that one man had streaming hair of gold, and she flung off the blanket, leaped off the gate, and rushed to meet him.
Gabriel halted his horse, leaned down, and swept her up onto the saddle in front of him. He hugged her close, cherishing the smell of her, the smallness of her body wriggling against his. Her face was cold, and she was shivering as she nestled into him. He enfolded her in his fur cloak.
“How long have you been waiting?” he asked.
“All day,” she said. She sighed blissfully, stroking the velvet fabric of his crimson robe and the strange, slight roughness of his chin. Then her
arms wound about his neck, and she pressed her face into his shoulder, sniffing the incense in his clothes and feeling the smoothness of the seven embroidered silver stars. She noticed the other rider waiting nearby, his face dark and striking, his eyes like jade. He wore all black.
“Who’s he?” she whispered.
“My friend Ferron,” said Gabriel. “Ferron, this is my sister, Subin.”
Ferron greeted the child, but she stared at him reticently, wishing he had not come.
Gabriel walked Rebellion toward the house, glad of the quiet time to nerve himself against the fuss ahead. Ferron followed, his sword flashing at his side.
“Are there many people at home, Subin?” Gabriel asked.
“Heaps,” she said, lifting her head. “All our tribe, even Jorn. He’s already broken that little wooden horse you sent me. I have to sleep with him too, which is worse. Him and his sister. There are beds everywhere, except in the spare room. There’s only . . . only him, there.”
“Have you seen him?”
She nodded and hid her face again. “I wish he would wake up,” she whispered.
Fighting to control his feelings, Gabriel kissed the top of her head. He wanted to say, “So do I,” but he thought of Myron’s horrific injuries and suffering, of his last breathtaking earthly moments, and the place where Myron had gone; and he could not.
Ferron took the horses to the barn while Gabriel went to the house. He felt strange standing outside the door to his new home, not knowing whether to knock or walk straight in. Subin decided for him, taking him inside and pulling him by the hand down an arched and timbered hall. A door opened, and a hum of conversation trickled into the hall. Lena came out, closing the door behind her. She saw Gabriel and gave a little gasp. Then they were embracing, and she was crying, half laughing, touching his hands and face and hair.
“Oh, Gabriel!” she said. “It’s good to see you again. I wish you were here just for a visit, and not . . . not for this.” She held him at arms’ length, her hands on his shoulders. “You look wonderful. Tired, but wonderful.” Then her eyes clouded over, and a deep grief settled over her face. “I have to talk to you,” she said. “Go and play with your cousins for a while, Subin.” She took Gabriel into a bedroom where a baby slept, and closed the door. Lena sat on one of the beds, her hands twisted tightly together on her lap. The way she sat, so tense and still, reminded him of the day he had arrived home from the Academy, and she had been waiting with Salverion. It seemed a lifetime ago.
“The city sentries brought Myron’s body here,” she said. “They told me something, said I wasn’t to discuss it with anyone else. I haven’t. But I need to know whether you know.” She hesitated, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Did they tell you how he died, Gabriel? Why he died?”
He sat beside her and took one of her hands in his. “Salverion told me,” he said, making an enormous effort to remain composed. “Whoever did it thought Myron was me, leaving the sanctuary. That’s why he was found halfway to the Citadel. They tried to make it look as if I’d been accidentally run over on my walk back. They would have got away with it, except that they had the wrong person.”
“Why, Gabriel? I hear marvelous reports of you. I’ve even heard that the Empress herself favors you. So why have you made enemies?”
“It’s because the Empress favors me. There are jealous people at the palace, Mother.”
“Jealous enough to do murder?”
“They’re very influential lords. They’ll be brought to justice in the end. But it may take time.”
“And in the meantime, do they plot again, and next time get the right person? Am I to lose two sons?”
“I’m careful. I go nowhere now without Ferron. He’s an excellent swordsman.”
“So was Myron.”
Gabriel stood up and began pacing angrily. “I’ll be careful, I swear. I won’t walk home alone again, and I’ll vary the routes when I go running. But I refuse to live in fear. Fear messes up my energies, lessens my ability to heal. If I give in to fear, they win more surely than if they cut my throat.”
“You went away to be a healer-priest, to study as Salverion’s disciple; but, from what I hear, you seem to spend more time at the palace than at the Citadel, getting yourself tangled in dangerous politics and making enemies. What’s our Empire coming to, when nobles are exempt from justice, and even an Elected One isn’t safe? Do you have to carry on with your Citadel work, Gabriel? I’d rather have you alive and not healing.”
“If I can’t heal, I’d rather be dead.”
Lena covered her face with her hands. “How can you say that?” she said, weeping.
He sat down beside her again, his anger spent. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying half the time. I haven’t slept for three days. I feel as if my brain’s been removed. I can’t remember names of acquaintances, or how to mix a simple medicine.”
“I’m sorry, too. This must be harder on you than on any of us.” She gave him a pale smile. “I hope you can remember the names of your relatives. They’ve been waiting all day for your arrival, though not so faithfully as Subin waited.”
Seeing the relatives again was a trial. The moment Gabriel entered the room, the talking stopped, and all eyes turned in his direction. Before, he had been the family failure, the son who refused to take over the great business his father had built up; now he was regarded with such esteem, he was embarrassed. He shook hands with all the men in the Navoran way, embraced the women, and tried to ignore the whispers. He was surprised when his female cousins blushed wildly when he hugged them, then giggled later among themselves.
One young woman he had never seen before turned away from him with tears in her eyes before they could be introduced. Someone whispered that she was Eva, and he probably reminded her too much of Myron. Then Gabriel was cornered by aunts curious about his training and was relieved when Subin interrupted, tugging at his hands and begging him to come and see the rest of the house. As graciously as he could, he excused himself and went with her, closing the door on the undertones and the stares.
“Thanks for rescuing me, Subin,” he said, hugging her. With shining eyes, she led him from one room to the other. Myron had been right, in his letter; Gabriel did love the house, with its earthy timber smell and long windows overlooking the plowed fields. Upstairs, Subin showed him her tiny room under the eaves.
“You can see the Shinali land and the mountains,” she said.
He bent low to look out. Past the farms, halfway along the plain, was a large mound in the earth. It was near the river, and there were trees nearby, stark and black against the snowy land. Smoke drifted from a hole in the mound’s center.
“That’s the thatched roof of their house,” Subin said. “They live under the ground, Topaz said.”
“Who’s Topaz?”
“Mama’s friend. He sold her this land. He’s coming tomorrow, when they . . . when they . . .” She bit her lip and stared out the window.
“Are they burying him in the family crypt?” asked Gabriel gently.
“No. They’re burning him. We saw the Shinali once, burning a body. Myron was visiting us and saw them too, and said that’s what he’d like. So that’s what we’re doing. I heard Uncle Egan telling Mama she was wrong, that she should put him in the crypt with Father. But she won’t, because Myron said.”
“She’s right, if that’s what Myron wanted. Have you ever talked to the Shinali, or been to visit them?”
“No. We’re not allowed on their land. Only the army. That’s in the treaty, Topaz said.”
Suddenly she scrambled up onto her bed and opened a small cupboard up by the ceiling. “I keep my secret things in here,” she said. “No one else is allowed to look, only you.”
He glanced in, his hair brushing the timbered ceiling. There was a bird’s nest in there, a tiny turtle shell, and all the gifts he had sent her since he had been away. There was also a stack of letters, their broken seals the blue wax of the Citadel.
/> “You keep everything,” he said, smiling.
She bounded off the bed, falling onto the mattresses and blankets placed on the floor for her cousins. While down there she took the opportunity to lift the gold hem of his gown, and peered at his legs.
“You do wear pants underneath!” she said, grinning like an imp. “I heard the girls arguing about it, so I said I’d look.”
“Well, now you can announce it to the whole family, and put an end to the gossip.” He chuckled, hauling her to her feet. They went out, and she showed him the rest of the house. Outside a closed door she stopped and took his hand.
“Would you like to go in with me and see him?” Gabriel asked. She nodded, and he held her near as they pushed open the door and went in.
The room was bare, except for a few bowls of the wild blue irises that grew along the riverbanks. In the center, on a low bier covered with white linen, lay Myron, his eyes closed. He was dressed in trousers and an old embroidered shirt he had loved. He looked different from the way he had looked in the Infirmary. His body had been embalmed, and there was color in his cheeks, his scars had been made almost invisible, and his hair had been washed. He looked tranquil and very beautiful.
Gabriel crouched down by the bier, his arm around Subin’s small shoulders. “He looks different. He’s empty,” she whispered.
“What you see there is empty, Subin. It’s only his body, left behind like old clothes he doesn’t need anymore. Myron himself is somewhere else.”
“With Father?”
“I suppose so.”
“Is it a nice place?”
“Ten thousand times better than this world, Subin. It’s awe-inspiring.”
“How do you know?”
“He took me there with him. To the edge of it.”
“I wish we didn’t have to burn him. I like his old clothes.” She began to cry, and he held her close and wept with her, his sobs deep and anguished. Afterward he mopped her up with her handkerchief, and she giggled when he asked if he could borrow it too, though it was soaked. Then, their arms about each other, they went to the kitchen to join the family for a meal.
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