Secret Sacrament (28 page)

Several people chuckled, and Gabriel blushed in the darkness, wondering how much they had all heard. He and Ashila lay very still after that, and soon her breathing became calm as she slept. Even in sleep she looked strong, her lips and chin
firm, her brow clear and steadfast. Sudden, overwhelming tenderness swept through Gabriel. He gazed at her with wonder, his heart full of joy, knowing that nothing else in his life—whatever he might have gained or lost—nothing would ever compare with her. And he knew beyond doubt that, of all the places in the Empire to which he could have fled, this place with Ashila, with these people, was right.

In the mystic and dusky edge of sleep he heard the Empress's voice saying to him, in another life, “Do you believe in destiny, Gabriel?”

“I'm not sure,” he had replied then.

He was sure, now.

Ashila spread the wet clothes across the hemp line to dry, and watched Gabriel and the children running around the inside perimeter of the walls. The first time around he always ran slowly, letting them think the fastest of them were keeping up with him; but after that he ran alone, swiftly, and they shrieked with glee when he came up behind them on the following laps, gasping and staggering, pretending he was nearly dead of exhaustion and they were winning. Then he would pass them again and run on, around and around until they gave up and collapsed on the dirt so he had to jump over them. One day four of
the soldiers had run with him, and they made a race of it. Gabriel won easily.

He ran without his shirt today, for the sun was warm. The children soon gave up, and counted his laps in Shinali. They cheered when he finished, because he had run two more than yesterday. He came over to Ashila, and she gave him a wet cloth to wash his face.

“I'm not knowing why you run like that,” she said.

“It uses up the strongness,” he replied, unable to think of a better word to explain tension. “The Shinali men should run with me. They might not argue so much.”

“The hunting, they're missing it. And they're missing freedom. Ten days we are being here. It's too long. Will you talk to Razzak again, ask him why?”

“There's no point; he just gets angry with me now. He's waiting for orders from Navora. But he has requested supplies. At least we'll have more food soon. And firewood.”

Gabriel glanced toward the barracks. Most of the people injured in the battle had recovered, except four whose wounds had become seriously infected. They lay in the dimness with several other Shinali suffering from diarrhea and vomiting, caught from the contaminated well water.

Seeing where Gabriel looked, Ashila said, “Tarkwan's much better today, though his wound is still bad. He was talking to me while I washed him. And later the men were fighting, and he sat up and told them to wake up the . . . ah, the laughter-spirit in them. More than that. The life, the spirit that lasts, that overcomes all things. He said we have to dance, not argue. We have to remember we're Shinali and strong.”

“The musicians brought their instruments,” said Gabriel. “We'll light a fire tonight, and dance.”

The courtyard began to fill with soldiers preparing for their exercises. They wore no armor now, but their uniforms were immaculate, each gray-blue tunic decorated with white shoulder ribbons and emblazoned on the front with the red horse. Shinali children gathered to watch, enthralled. They loved drill times with the precision marching, stunning archery, and breathtaking swordplay.

Suddenly there was a hammering on the gates, and guards opened them. The exercises stopped, and everyone watched as a wagon came through, piled with provisions. The soldiers unloaded it, laughing with satisfaction at the large kegs of army ale and the huge cheeses and hams. Their own supplies they took into the kitchen under the
porch, but they threw the Shinali stores onto the dirt in the sun. When the wagon was gone, Gabriel went over and inspected the Shinali supplies: one sack of flour and a box of withered vegetables. There was no firewood. Fuming, he went into Razzak's dingy office. The officer was sitting behind his makeshift desk, reading a letter.

“There's no firewood for us,” said Gabriel. “No decent food, just rubbish left over from the Navoran markets. It's not fit for humans.”

“It'll do for savages,” Razzak replied.

“I'll go out and see if I can get us better food,” said Gabriel, thinking of Salverion.

“That's not possible right now. You have to stay here.”

“Why, sir?”

“Some of my soldiers are sick. Just dysentery and other minor ailments, but I need them healthy. I've requested a physician, but in the meantime your peculiar methods of healing are better than nothing.”

“I'll do what I can for them, sir. Then I'll go.”

“You can go when a physician arrives, not before. This discussion is over. Leave.”

A deep fear came over Gabriel and he asked, “Have you had further orders, sir? Are we to stay here much longer?”

Razzak shuffled the parchments on his desk, and
did not reply. Gabriel turned and went out, his heart troubled.

The flames sprang high against the stars, and the thick smoke swirled across the courtyard, mingling with the glittering dust kicked up by the Shinali dancers. The soldiers leaned against the pillars of the porch and watched, their faces made ruddy by the firelight and the ale. Some tapped their feet in time to the Shinali drums and the wild strains of the pipes, longing to join in the abandonment, and secretly envying the strange young healer who spoke like someone high born and danced like a savage.

Later, while the Shinali chanted age-old songs of the land they loved, Gabriel asked a guard if he could climb one of the four corner towers.

“Do what you like,” the soldier replied. “You're not a prisoner here.”

Gabriel went to the southwest tower and found the door unlocked. Inside, narrow stairs spiraled steeply upward to a small room. Its walls were hexagonal, and all around were wide windows. Through them the wind came, sweet with the scent of grasslands and the sea. Leaning on the thick stone ledge, Gabriel looked out. The view was breathtaking. He was so high, he could see all the land to the ocean. Directly below lay the
Shinali plain. Past that were the farms, the sown fields smooth and shining under the moon, the lights winking in the houses. Then there were the hills, and the luminous walls of the Citadel. And beyond those, spread out on the rocky coast like tiny embers aglow, was the city of Navora. He could make out the road leading into it, the lights of the Navora Infirmary, and the Sanctuary of Healing Dreams. Beyond the city was the sea, smooth and serene under the stars.

For a few moments, while he looked at Navora, he felt an unbearable longing for all that he had left behind. Struggling to forget, to embrace only the present, he stood very still, his hands folded on the stone ledge, and made his breathing slow and calm. This was the first moment of privacy he had had since being in the fort, and it was sweet. He had craved the solitude and shining silences of the Citadel. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself walking in those brilliant corridors. They would be drenched in reflected moonlight now. In his mind he walked down the pillared porch to the Great Library, beside the herb garden with its fountains and sundial. He passed through the great golden doors to the Library, crossed the luminous floors, and climbed the marble stairs to the meditation room high in the central tower. The peace of the place, the blessedness,
overwhelmed him. Incense burned, its smoke musky and aromatic. On a cushion on the floor sat Sheel Chandra, his eyes closed, his body so still he seemed not to breathe. His face was lifted, fine and reposed in the starlight. He sat upright, relaxed but alert, as if he listened or waited. There was another cushion beside him, and Gabriel sat on it.

“I need to talk to you, Master,” he said, and was not sure whether the words were audible, or only in his mind.

“I'm listening, son of my heart.” These words, too, might have been only thought; but they were real enough, and the love in them was empowering.

“The Shinali are interred in Taroth Fort. I'm with them. There's little food. Everyone suffers from dysentery and minor infections, and two have liver sickness. We've been here ten days. The Shinali are peaceful so far, but I don't know how much longer they can last without rebelling. No one knows what's going to happen to them, and the uncertainty is unbearable.

“Would you please help us, Master? Would you and Salverion go to the Empress, persuade her to let the Shinali go? If that's not successful, would you please send us some supplies? Fresh food, and medicines.”

“Consider it all done.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything, for your wisdom, your presence in my life, your love. I can't say I'm sorry for . . . for the way things have turned out. I think it was all written. But I deeply miss you, and Salverion.”

“Our love surrounds you always,” said Sheel Chandra tenderly, “and we are as close as your next thought of us.”

Very softly, not knowing whether the Master would know, Gabriel kissed his own fingers, and placed them lightly on Sheel Chandra's upturned palm. Then, making no sound, he got up and went down the long stairs, through the shining passages, and out into the night wind rich with the scent of cultivated earth, trees, and citrus fruits. He sighed deeply, and became aware again of the window ledge beneath his hands, and of his feet firmly planted on the ancient floor of the fort tower. From the courtyard on the other side came sounds of flutes. A few minutes longer he stood there, then he went down the stairs and joined the people by their fire.

“It was good up there,
haii
?” they asked.

“Very good,” he said, picking up some meat from a bowl on the hearth and chewing on it. “I could see all the world to the ocean.”

Later, instead of preparing for bed, he rolled
the sleeping mat and blankets, and collected up his and Ashila's clothes.

“Why are you doing that?” she whispered.

“We're going to our own
Ta-sarn-ee
,” he said, “if the guards don't stop us.” He took her hand, and they went out carefully between the rows of beds, to the courtyard.

Two soldiers were on duty by the main gate, standing to attention, their bows held ready in their hands. They watched as Gabriel and Ashila crossed the courtyard, and one of them muttered to the other, “Shouldn't we stop them? The towers are forbidden to the Shinali.”

The other guard, an older man, shook his head. “I had a toothache, and he fixed it. He deserves some reward for what he does here. Say nothing, lad; I'll answer to Razzak if need be.”

In the lofty room of the tower, Ashila gazed out across her people's land, her eyes full of longing. “They've not walked on it yet or changed it,” she said. “It's still our land.”

“It always will be,” said Gabriel, standing behind her and enfolding her in his arms. For a long time they stood looking down at the grasslands.

“Your place, are you missing it?” she asked, her eyes on the Citadel hills and the smoldering lights of Navora.

“I was, but I'm not now,” he replied.

She kissed his cheek, then moved out of his arms and inspected the tiny room. Gabriel had already placed the fur and blankets on the floor, for their bed. He had brought a candle as well, and he lit it now, using the flints Ferron had left for him. The tiny flame sent a warm glow across their sleeping place.

Gabriel lay on his back on the bed, watching Ashila, his hands linked behind his head. She walked about the windows, looking out each one, marveling at the view. Last, she took a long look at the Shinali land, then went and lay down with him.

“It's strange, being only us two,” she whispered.

“We don't have to whisper,” he said. “And if you're lonely I'll invite Zalidas and a few of the others up here.”

She leaned up on one elbow and caressed his hair and face. “It's good having a light,” she said. “I love your face. And your heart. And your spirit. And everything that is you. All my life, it seems, I've had knowing of you. When I first saw your face, it was not a stranger's. What made you come to us, Gabriel? Why did you run on our land, that day of your brother's burning?”

He did not answer immediately but lay looking
at the timber beams of the tower roof. The candle flickered on the wooden floor beside him, its glow ebbing and flowing across his features. “When I was little,” he said, “I broke a marble statue of the Empress. I ran away, and found . . . I found a Shinali bone. That's when it all started.”

Ashila touched the small leather bag on his chest, feeling for the Shinali bone. Gently, Gabriel removed her fingers from the leather and held them tightly in his own. Beneath their hands, his heart thudded.

“It was
her
bone!” Ashila whispered. “The daughter of—”

“Please say nothing else,” he said. “It's gone, the bone and my feelings about it. It's gone now, to the All-father.”

“I'm wanting to ask you just one thing.”

“Then ask. But I may not answer.”

“The All-father, he has given you peace?”

“More than peace,” he replied, lifting her fingers to his lips and kissing them. “He has given me you.”

Ashila settled down again, her head on his chest. A moth came in and fluttered about the candle flame, searing its wings. In the sky beyond their windows a night bird shrieked, and the wind from the sea sighed about the tower.

In that huge, beautiful, silent solitude they loved one another, freely and with joy. Afterward they lay in each other's arms, watching the stars traverse the sky, and Ashila sang an old Shinali prayer for restoration and tomorrow.

G
ABRIEL CROUCHED BY
Tarkwan, and inspected the unhealed wound in his thigh. “I need to clean this with a heated knife,” Gabriel told him. “If the infection goes unchecked, your whole leg may go bad.”

“Do what you must,” said Tarkwan. “I'll be needing my legs for walking on my land again, in freedom.”

“I'll ask Razzak if I can borrow a knife. Ashila will help, and I'll stop what pain I can.”

“If Razzak's in a good mind, ask him for our spears and slings, as well,” said Tarkwan, with bitter humor.

Gabriel grinned and got up to go to Razzak's office.

He returned shortly, accompanied by two armed guards, and carrying a cloth containing a small pair of scissors, a needle and thread, and a knife. Ashila was with him, with a bowl of water and her medicinal herbs. Other Shinali gathered
about, silent and watchful, as the guards positioned themselves one at Tarkwan's right shoulder and one at his left, their swords bare. Zalidas crouched at Tarkwan's feet, chanting a prayer for his spirit to journey in a good place while his body endured pain. In the courtyard, not far away, Thandeka had lit a small fire. Gabriel was about to give her the knife to heat, but one of the soldiers forbade it. “Only you touch the knife,” he said to Gabriel.

Gabriel placed the blade across the flames and returned to Tarkwan. Kneeling by his head, he moved his hands behind the chieftain's neck, his fingers tracing deep pathways to block the pain. Tarkwan relaxed, his eyes closed. With one hand he held the bone
torne
on his chest.

“The pain, it is gone?” Gabriel asked Tarkwan, in Shinali.

Tarkwan nodded, and Gabriel picked up the scissors and began cutting the stitches that remained across the gaping wound. It would all have to be scraped and burned back to the healthy flesh before he washed it out with lotions made from Ashila's antiseptic herbs, and stitched it closed again. Sunlight poured over his hands, for he worked in the bright light at the edge of the Shinali barracks. A few flies buzzed over the wound, and Ashila brushed them away. Then
Gabriel got the knife from the fire and began cutting away the infected parts, at the same time sealing the blood vessels with the heated blade, preventing fatal bleeding. All the time the Shinali clan watched, and the guards waited, tense and suspicious. Not understanding Gabriel's way of stopping pain, the soldiers marveled at what appeared to them to be the chieftain's incredible self-control and endurance.

Suddenly there was a commotion near the gates, and several of the Shinali shouted that someone had arrived. Fearing authorities from the city, Gabriel glanced up but could see only Shinali people gathered on the steps. Then he remembered his communion with Sheel Chandra last night, and fear changed to hope.

“Keep working,” said one of the guards, seeing Gabriel's hands still. “The sooner that knife gets safely away from these savages, the better.”

Gabriel continued, while Ashila used clean rags to wipe away the gathering blood and the bad tissue he cut free.

Some of the children came running in, yelling about women from the farms, and baskets of food. Understanding some of their words, Gabriel thought of his mother. Had Salverion been to see her, told her he was here? Again, his hands faltered. With cries of delight other Shinali raced to
the gates. Only the elderly stayed to share their chieftain's healing, to give him the strength of their presence. Zalidas chanted on, quietly, and Tarkwan remained motionless, though he smiled a little, hearing his people's pleasure. Gabriel worked on, cutting away the last of the infected flesh. Then he heated the knife again and burned the wound clean. Just as he began to suture it closed, a guard came up the barrack steps, with one of the visitors. “This woman wants to speak to a healer,” the guard announced. “Says she's got medicines and ointments.”

Not moving from his position at Tarkwan's side, Gabriel looked up. His eyes met his mother's, and for a moment they both smiled. Astonishment crossed her face as she saw his dark hair. Very slightly, warning her, Gabriel shook his head. Then he looked down again, hoping his joy did not show. “If you don't mind waiting, I have to finish here first,” he said. “I won't be long.”

“I don't mind waiting,” she replied. “At least it's relatively quiet here, compared to my house. It's full of rowdy children whose father loves them too much to discipline them. It'll be chaotic there when I get back. But I shouldn't complain. I ought to be thankful they're all healthy and happy. And free.”

Having told him that much of his family and her
recent marriage, she fell silent. Gabriel continued his task, not knowing what to say, longing to look again at her face.

Lena waited, the basket of medicines in her arms. Trying to appear casual, ignoring the guards with their drawn swords, she watched her son as he sutured the Shinali's wound. Never had she seen him heal before, and she marveled at his swift skill and the surety with which he worked. A scene came back to her from long ago: that terrible day of Jager's funeral, the argument with the uncles, and Gabriel's startling announcement that he wanted to help people. She smiled to herself, remembering the look on his face that day, so fiercely determined. And here he was, doing the work he had always longed to do. She felt inexpressibly blessed to see it, to witness at last a part of the life he had chosen.

Tarkwan groaned, and Gabriel asked him in Shinali if his pain had come back. Tarkwan nodded, and Gabriel touched the base of his skull again, and the upper part of his spine. “I'm near finishing,” Gabriel said, also in Shinali. “The woman here, she's my mother. Soldiers, they must not . . . ah . . .” He groped for the right words.

Ashila said, also in Shinali, “We're all knowing, Darshan. Don't be fearing.”

Lena listened, thinking how strange it was to
hear Gabriel speak Shinali. She remembered Myron's funeral, and Gabriel's visit then to the Shinali; and she remembered the name of Ashila, the one he had grown to love. She looked at the young woman who helped him now, wondering. The girl glanced up at Lena and smiled, and Lena knew. A great joy went through her, and a sorrow. She thought about the Shinali carving she had seen sometimes about Gabriel's neck when he was a boy, and wondered if he still wore it. What was the connection? Lifelong it was, powerful, and she could not even begin to understand it.

She looked past him, to the interior of the barracks. Beds were spread on woven grass matting, all in tidy rows, with narrow pathways left between. Several Shinali lay there sleeping, and Lena wondered if they were ill. There were cooking pots and bundles of clothes piled tidily along the walls. Dust lay over everything, and the place was grubby, despite the obvious attempts at cleanliness. From somewhere came the smell of latrines, and the warm air was full of flies. They buzzed about Lena's head and crawled over Gabriel as he worked.

Tarkwan's eyes opened a slit, and he studied Gabriel's mother. “Were you one of the farmers who sent us blankets and food, when the winter was a high lot bad?” he asked.

“Yes. I organized it,” she replied. “I hope you didn't mind that we came on your land.”

“Your blankets warmed our bodies as much as your kindness warmed our hearts,” said Tarkwan. “I thank you. We'll not be forgetting.”

“I hope . . . was hoping that this spring we'd be able to trade seeds for crops, and that you would show us how to care properly for sheep,” said Lena. “I was hoping we could be friends, living together in peace. I want you to know that I love the land I bought from you, and will look after it well.”

“The time of peace will come,” said Tarkwan, “and we will be helping you.”

One of the soldiers gave a hard laugh and lowered the point of his sword to Tarkwan's throat. “Keep your mouth shut, dog!” he spat. “The only peace you'll get is in the grave.”

Fortunately, just then Gabriel finished. “It's done now, Tarkwan,” he said, standing up and leaving Ashila to wash the wound and bind it. Thandeka brought him a bowl of water, and he washed his hands, and also the scissors and knife. He handed the instruments to the guards, hoping they would leave. But they did not.

Not daring to ask them to go, in case it aroused suspicions, Gabriel said to Lena, “Thank you for waiting. You'd better show me these medicines
you've brought, and explain what they are.”

“Just simple herbs and potions, all labeled,” Lena replied, taking the cloth off the basket, and picking up a small pot of ointment. She handed it to him, and for an instant their fingers touched. Longing to embrace, to speak freely, they simply smiled. “It's good of you to bring them,” Gabriel said. “My helper here, Ashila, she's grateful, too.”

Ashila stood, and Lena saw that she was almost as tall as Gabriel himself. They looked fine together, so fine. Lena bent her head over her basket, hiding her emotion. “There are other things here,” she said, fumbling with the contents. “There are bandages, too. But no soap. I wish I'd brought soap. I should have thought . . .”

Conscious of the soldiers, Gabriel put his hand across Lena's, steadying her, giving her peace. “What you've brought is priceless to us,” he said. “Thank you. It was thoughtful of you to come. It means more to us than I can say.”

“Other farmers came with me,” she said. “We've brought food for the Shinali, clean clothes, and some games for the children. I don't know if we'll be able to come again. The commander said we weren't to make a habit of it. But if we can come, is there anything else you need?”

“News,” he said. “Do you know how long we are going to be here?”

One of the soldiers stepped forward. “This isn't a social visit,” he said to Lena. “Just hand over the medicines and go.”

As Lena handed Gabriel the basket, she said, “A friend of mine, also a healer, visited me early this morning. He is going to talk to the Empress. He said—”

“Enough, woman!” said the soldier. “And I'll have the basket. I'll search it first.”

It was given to him, and he rifled through it, removing a pair of scissors and a needle.

“They were for simple surgery,” protested Lena. “They're hardly weapons.”

“With the Shinali,” said the soldier, “even little stones are weapons.” He gave the basket to Gabriel and indicated with his sword that Lena should go.

One last time she gazed at Gabriel. They were both near tears, both longing to speak. Suddenly, before they could give themselves away, Lena turned and hurried back to the gates. As she crossed the courtyard, a Shinali child ran up to her and shyly thanked her for the apple he was eating. Lena took the child's hand and they walked together to the gates. It was the last image Gabriel had of his mother—that walk of hers across the yellow dust, hand in hand with the Shinali child. He thought of the Time of the
Eagle, the prophecy of the renewed nations; of what Ashila had said about the farmers being the good branch, that part of the old Navora that would survive and live in unity with the restored Shinali people. For the first time he realized the full worth of his mother's dreams and decisions and insights. Overwhelmed with gratitude and hope, he watched as she walked through the gates with the other farmers and disappeared into the brightness outside.

A month passed, and spring blazed into summer. Every five days supply wagons came to the fort, bringing firewood and food, but if Razzak received new information about the fate of the Shinali, he kept it to himself. The physician he had requested never arrived. Several times Gabriel pleaded with Razzak to let the Shinali wash in the river and drink fresh water, but the commander refused. He also refused Gabriel's request that some of the soldiers hunt deer in the mountains, to supplement the paltry supplies allocated to the Shinali. Adult prisoners often went hungry so children would have enough to eat, and they all suffered diarrhea and vomiting from the contaminated well water. Moved to pity, some of the soldiers shared their rations with the Shinali children, and often brought them fresh drinking
water from the river. But even this was a mixed blessing; one of the soldiers, suffering from measles, passed it on to a Shinali child. Having never known measles before, the Shinali had no natural resistance to the disease; it spread like wildfire, killing four of the children and two adults. Several more remained seriously ill.

Twice more the farmers came to the fort, bringing baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables, along with medical supplies and bundles of firewood, but Razzak did not let them through the gates. Gabriel did not see his mother again.

Almost every night Gabriel meditated, trying to commune with Sheel Chandra. Though he could move in his mind within the Citadel and once saw Salverion slumped wearily in a chair, his head bent in his hands, unreachable, he never found the Master of Mind-power. After a time he no longer tried, saving his energies for healing, and to assuage the unrest and desperation he sensed in the Shinali. Healing was becoming increasingly difficult, as his body became weaker.

One morning, exhausted after sitting with a boy critically ill from dysentery, Gabriel left the stifling barracks to go and rest. The morning was only half gone, but already the trapped air between the high stone walls was close and suffocating, and the flies were intolerable. As he
crossed the courtyard, Gabriel stepped carefully between the rows of Shinali bedding and sleeping mats spread out to air in the sun. The children played as near to the shade of the porch as they dared, and some of the married soldiers, missing their own children in Navora, were showing them tricks with cards, or telling them stories. The young people were gathered in a shelter in the back of the fort, where firewood had once been stored. It was little more than a broken tile roof propped up by wooden beams, but it gave shade and was their own place.