Secret Sacrament

by Sherryl Jordan

  “You said you were tired,” she reminded him, her lips against his.

  “That was a hundred years ago,” he said, kissing her ardently, “before I knew we’re pregnant.”

  “And you’re being strong, now?” she asked.

  “You’ve no idea how strong. I’ll show you.”

  “You’ll push me up the stairs?”

  “I’ll fly you up on eagle’s wings, and then I’ll love you like I’ve never loved you before.”

  He tripped and almost fell with her in the dust. “Careful, eagle-man,” she said, clinging with her arms around his neck. “You’ll be messing up your feathers.”

  He pushed open the tower door and staggered with her up the first few stairs. Gradually he stopped, gasping, and put her down. His limbs were trembling from weakness and hunger. “Sorry,” he said. “I think I’ve crashed before I’ve even taken flight. I seem to mess up all the great events.”

  “I’m hoping you don’t mess up this next one,” she said, getting behind him and pushing him up the stairs.

  Early next morning one of the soldiers banged on the door of the tower where Gabriel and Ashila slept, and began climbing the stairs. He was about Gabriel’s age, and the two were friends, for Gabriel shaved in the soldiers’ barrack room every morning. Bleary-eyed, his hair still tousled from sleep, Gabriel met him halfway down.

  “A woman from the farms just brought this,” the soldier said, handing a basket to Gabriel. It was covered with a white cloth. “Razzak checked it. It’s medicines.”

  Gabriel took the basket, smiling. The cloth was embroidered with blue irises, Lena’s favorite flowers. He remembered watching her make the cloth, when he was very small. “God knows, we need them,” he said. “Thanks, Embry.”

  “The woman came just as I was out getting river water for the children,” Embry told him. “I talked to her for a while. She was upset at seeing Tarkwan on the gates like that. She wanted to give him water, but he was unconscious, so we didn’t go near him. She also wanted to come in and see you, but there’s bulai fever in the city again, and Razzak won’t let anyone in except the soldiers with the supply wagons. I said I’d make sure you got the medicines and the instructions she wanted to give you.”

  “Are the farmers all right?” asked Gabriel, alarmed.

  “Yes, they’re all fine. Like us, they’re safely isolated. She asked me to tell you that the physician who gave her the medicines mixed them especially, so you could treat the dysentery and liver sickness. She said the drugs are strong, and you need only a few drops in water. Also, the physician has given you a book on the treatment of infectious diseases. He’s written a few notes himself in the back, which he thought might be helpful. I’m sorry you couldn’t see her; I had the feeling she had other things she wanted you to know. I asked Razzak twice if she could see you, but he was unbending, as usual.”

  “Thank you. You’re a good friend,” said Gabriel. “Not just to me, but to the Shinali.”

  “I wish I could do more.” Embry sighed. “I never thought, when I joined the army, that I’d be stuck in a fort guarding prisoners, half of them children.”

  “Did the woman tell you any news from outside?”

  “Only that there’s plague, and political unrest. Maybe the Empress has forgotten we’re here.” He grinned ruefully, and went back down the stairs.

  In the tower room, Ashila was still in bed, sleeping fitfully. Gabriel sat in a patch of early morning sun and unwrapped the cloth in the basket. His hands shook a little, and he touched the contents lovingly, knowing his mother had packed them. He noticed the book Embry had mentioned and picked it up. It was a tattered medical textbook, similar to one he had used often in his first medical training with Hevron, in the Navoran Infirmary. It seemed a lifetime ago. Recalling Embry’s words about a message, he turned the pages. Written inside the back cover were brief notes on isolating the sick. The handwriting was Salverion’s.

  Hardly able to breathe for apprehension and joy, he examined the book more closely. The back cover was unusually thick, the leather on the inside torn partway down the spine. Carefully he worked his fingers into the tiny gap, felt parchment, fine and smooth. Gently he drew it out, unfolded it. He sniffed it, smelled the scents of the Citadel, the mingled fragrances of incense and gardens. The handwriting, small and dense to cover the single page, was also Salverion’s.

  Dearest son, the Master had written.

  With all my heart, I wish I could visit you and see your face one more time. But I cannot risk betraying your identity, and this letter is hazardous enough. I hope it gets safely into your hands. Please burn it immediately when you have finished it.

  It grieves me deeply to warn you that the judgment against you still stands, and Jaganath has offered a fortune for information leading to your arrest. If he finds you, even the Empress will not be able to save you. Remember this, in whatever you decide to do.

  There is much to tell you, and I must be brief. Perhaps you know that people are fleeing the city. There are two reasons. Bulai fever is here, and all physicians, including the Citadel healers, have been called upon to fight it. Panic is widespread, and people ignore the ban on travel. The other reason people flee is Jaganath. His influence grows stronger by the day. All are intimidated; those who challenge him disappear or are murdered. Even those once utterly loyal to the Empress now follow Jaganath, afraid that if they do not he will have their wives and children killed. No one who threatens his influence is safe. Even at the Citadel we do not escape his wrath: he has seeded rumors, slandered many of the Masters, and created distrust and doubt. No one trusts anyone. The whole city is divided; people live in suspicion and fear, and there is no way we can unite against him.

  There is no plague in the Citadel, or among the farmers. You will be safe in the fort, as you are isolated. Safe from plague, at least. But there is another danger, and I must tell you about it. Whether or not you tell the Shinali is your decision.

  Jaganath’s power over the Empress is very great. She dares not defy him, for fear of the demons that he causes her to see. I have visited her several times, and she has pleaded with me to release her from the appalling apparitions; but in spite of all I do for her, she still perceives the demons as being alive. I can do no more. The only person who can help her now is Sheel Chandra, and he has suffered a heart seizure and is himself quite ill. Perhaps that is why, if you have been trying to contact him again, you have not been able. The mind-force is much weakened if the body is ill or overstrained. So the Empress remains in her terrors, and Jaganath rules Navora through her. But in one thing she stands strong against him: he wants the Shinali wiped out, and she is determined to save them. The Shinali, and the prophecy of the Time of the Eagle, are all that come between Jaganath and his ambition to be Emperor.

  The Empress believes that the Time of the Eagle is near at hand. She has told me she sees the Navora she loves falling under Jaganath’s influence, and longs for the cleansing even though it means the end of her rule, and the end of the Empire as we know it. She would have the Shinali freed, so the prophecy may be fulfilled; Jaganath would have the Shinali utterly destroyed, so that he would hold unrivaled power over the Empire. And so the Shinali have become trapped in the middle of this terrible struggle.

  The genocide of their race would not be difficult; Razzak has committed such acts before, on strong nations scattered across land and well able to fight. This tiny nation trapped in stone walls, already weakened by hunger and disease, and disarmed, would be an easy matter for him. He waits only for Jaganath’s command. I do not know how much longer the Empress can withstand him, before she abdicates the throne and leaves everything in his power. I think it is only a matter of days.

  I tell you this only after a great deal of prayer, having searched my heart and soul. It is not by chance that your bond with the Shinali has been a driving force in your life, not by chance that you are with them now. I wish I could help; but the solution lies in your hands. It is the suprem
e joy and honor of my life to have known you and worked alongside you, and, in my small way, to have shared your remarkable destiny.

  You will know what to do, when the time is right. Be strong; all heaven stands about you.

  I love you well.

  Salverion

  Three times Gabriel read the letter. Then he took a flint and struck a tiny spark onto the parchment. As it burned he dropped it over the edge of the tower window, and it floated down, ash white, and fell to dust across the Shinali land.

  He went over to Ashila. Her dress, damp with sweat, clung to her thin form, and her face looked pale and strained. Anxiously he knelt and put his hand on her forehead. She was feverish. She moaned in her sleep, and turned to him. Without waking her he lay down, holding her in his arms. After a long time he got up, went over to the window again, and looked out. Along the road from the city people still fled, smaller groups now, many of them alone, the last survivors, perhaps, of families.

  From the barracks behind him rose a loud wail, and people mourned and lamented, and he knew someone else had died. He looked at Ashila lying curled up on their bed, her hands clenched, her face beaded with sweat.

  He sat on the wide window ledge, leaned against one of the pillars supporting the tower roof, and looked across the hills, across the Citadel and the sprawling city, to the skies. “Sovereign Lord,” he prayed, “give me wisdom to know your dream for me. Give me courage to live that dream. Give me strength to fulfill the task before me, knowing it was designed for me alone. Give me peace in the knowledge that I have been given everything I need. So that what I do has value in your sight, give me love. Make me a worthy son of yours.”

  Then he closed his eyes and rested. Afterward he was never sure whether he dozed and dreamed, or whether he had a vision; but he saw fire in the sky, and vast clouds of smoke torn by gigantic winds. Out of the confusion came a fiery red horse, wounded and furious, slashing with its hooves at something in the cloud. After a while the horse disintegrated, and Gabriel saw an eagle drifting in its smoke. The bird was so huge he could see its eyes burning like amber, and the sheen of individual feathers. It was magnificent, breathtaking. Far below it, the fort gates were open wide; and outside there was no road, no farmland, or city, or sea; only a pure light and a glorious white wind. And Gabriel knew, although he saw nothing in that whiteness, that beyond the gate were two destinies, two nations; and that the deliverance of one, the cleansing and restoration of the other, and the prophetic rebirth of them both, depended completely on what he did now.

  At long last he faced the truth of who and what he was. He groaned, overwhelmed, fighting the truth, not wanting it, yet knowing it was inescapable, long destined; and he wept, plucking at the small leather bag that hung against his heart.

  When he opened his eyes again it was late afternoon. Behind him Ashila still slept, her lashes dark and wet on her cheeks. A great peace fell across him. He knelt and kissed her lips, and she smiled in her sleep and murmured something loving in her native tongue.

  “I love you, Shinali woman,” he whispered.

  She did not wake, and he went down the stairs and along the porch toward Razzak’s office. As he went, he pulled open the leather bag and removed the pledge-ring.

  Parchments were spread across the makeshift desk in the office, and a bottle of ink was opened. Officer Razzak was writing his daily report. He looked up as Gabriel came in. “What is it now, boy?”

  Gabriel placed something on the desk. Razzak leaned across and picked it up. “Where did you get this?” he asked, astounded.

  “From the Empress,” said Gabriel. “It’s a pledge-ring.”

  “I know very well what it is. I also know there are only ten of these in the whole Empire. Did you steal it from a corpse, or did she really give it to you?”

  “She gave it.”

  Razzak was silent, his sharp eyes narrow as he scrutinized Gabriel’s face. Then he asked, “What’s your request to her?”

  “That’s my business, sir. May I have parchment and ink, so I can write to Her Majesty?”

  Razzak pushed a few sheets across the desk. Gabriel selected a page that was cleaner than the others and picked up the pen. Dipping it in the ink, he began to write. His hands were trembling, and he dropped blobs of ink on the parchment. He took another page, shook the excess ink from the pen, and began again.

  To Her Majesty, Petra, Empress of the Navoran Empire: Greetings, he wrote.

  A year ago, Lady, you were good enough to give me this pledge-ring. I return it now, with the request that the Shinali people in Taroth Fort be allowed to go free. I implore you with all my heart to grant me this favor, and to hold true to your pledge-promise.

  I know this will be difficult, because of the strangling weed that threatens you, threatens everything we both cherish. I beg you also to remember, Lady, that in your dream you freed yourself from the weed; you were not overcome. I pray that you will be strong. The final word is yours, to set the eagle free.

  For as long as I live I remain your faithful servant,

  Gabriel Eshban Vala

  He put down the pen and stood up. “I’d like Embry to take this, please,” he said. Carefully he rolled the letter, and began to leave.

  Razzak moved in front of the doorway. His hand was held out, palm up, and his face was inexorable. “I’ll give it to Embry,” he said.

  “It’s private, sir.”

  “Nothing leaves this fort without my approval and permission.”

  “You’ve no right to read this. You have no authority over me.”

  “My authority over you began the moment you asked to stay in here. Either hand that letter over, or tear it up. It won’t leave this fort without my consent. Neither will your pledge-ring.”

  Gabriel gave Razzak the scroll and the pledge-ring, and left the office. He went back to the tower. Ashila was still asleep, and for that he was grateful. Silently he removed all his gold from its hiding place between broken floorboards and placed it within her roll of precious herbs. Long ago he had told her the value of the gold and what it could buy from Navorans greedy enough for it. He hoped she would remember and use it wisely. Then he sat to wait, fighting to still the storm in his heart.

  From the courtyard below, a soldier called Gabriel’s name. He kissed Ashila while she slept, and stroked her hair and the cherished contours of her face. Then he got up and went downstairs.

  Razzak was alone in the dim office, standing in front of his desk. Gabriel waited, his throat dry and his heart thundering in his ears. Very slowly Razzak came over to him. Without warning he lifted his left hand and hit Gabriel hard across the face. Before Gabriel could regain his balance, he hit him again. Gabriel collapsed on the floor, and Razzak kicked him in the abdomen. He was about to kick him again but thought better of it.

  “I’d break your neck, if there wasn’t a price on it,” Razzak spat. “Traitor.”

  Groaning, retching, Gabriel rolled onto his knees. The room seemed to whirl about him, and there was a ringing in his ears.

  “I asked my men if any of them had heard of Gabriel Eshban Vala,” said Razzak. “One of them had. He remembered hearing about a healer-priest who spoke treason against the Empire.”

  “It wasn’t treason,” said Gabriel hoarsely, gripping the edge of the desk and hauling himself to his feet. He tried to add, “It was truth,” but his voice failed him.

  “You disgust me,” said Razzak, with loathing. “I thought you cared for the Shinali, and all the time you’ve been using them, hiding here with them, so you could escape the death penalty. What I can’t understand is why you’re not asking for your pardon. Do you realize you have only one request?”

  “I know. It’s for Shinali freedom.”

  “In that case, you’ll become my prisoner and I’ll take you back to Navora for execution. Now tell me, do you still want your filthy savages to go free?”

  Gabriel nodded, and Razzak shook his head in disbelief. “If that’s the way you want it,” he s
aid, “I’ll send Embry to the Empress with your pledge-ring and appeal, and I’ll keep you here under arrest. Since we’ll be leaving soon, I’ll have the chieftain brought in off the gates. I’ll have the pleasure of returning to Navora with two political prisoners—a traitor and a rebel leader. You can die together. Meanwhile you and he will stay under that old wood shelter, opposite the Shinali barracks, away from the clan. Your girlfriend sleeps with the rest of the natives, in their barracks. As soon as we’re out of here, I personally will deliver you, and the chieftain, to the Navoran authorities.”

  22

  TRANSFIGURATION

  GABRIEL GAVE TARKWAN a drink of water, then sat back on his heels and watched as the chieftain slept again. Over them was a small tile roof, supported on wooden poles. Tarkwan lay there in the purple shade, his washed skin oiled and shining. Beads of sweat gathered on the oil and trickled down onto his clean sleeping mat. His wrists and ankles, cut and bruised by the iron rings, were bandaged. On his chest glowed the carved bone, with the sign of the eagle and the man.

  Briefly, Gabriel touched Tarkwan’s brow, felt the skin burning. His fever was unlike that of other people, and it worried Gabriel. He glanced across the bright courtyard to the Shinali barracks and saw Tarkwan’s brother, Yeshi, talking to the clan’s priest. Were they plotting another revolt? Gabriel sighed and rubbed his temples where his head ached. Whatever was happening, he could do nothing. He and Tarkwan were isolated, and visitors were forbidden. Guards brought food and water. Gabriel left the shelter only to visit the latrines, and to go once a day to check the Shinali sick. He hated the separation from Ashila, the long desperate hours, the uncertainty.

  Embry had left the fort two days ago, and Gabriel’s nerves were stretched. Someone shouted across the courtyard, and he jumped, upsetting a bowl of precious drinking water. Frantically he tried to scoop it up with his hands, but it soaked in a moment into the parched earth. He swore foully, and Tarkwan’s lips pulled back in a grin. “You’re talking like the soldiers, Gabriel,” he said. He kept his eyes closed now, for the light was intolerable. His voice was very rough, and Gabriel frowned. An appalling thought crossed his mind, and he shook as he crouched beside the sick man.