Secret Sacrament (13 page)

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.

In the dining room, Jaganath had the slaves light the lamps again, then dismissed them. Kamos glanced at his host, and poured himself another wine, splashing it over the table. “Well, that wasn't exactly a successful evening, my lord Jaganath,” he said. “Instead of winning the talented Gabriel to our side, we've accomplished exactly the opposite: we've driven him away. We must be losing our touch.” He raised his dripping goblet. “To the lovely Petra. And to her precocious new adviser; may his life be brief.” He added casually, “We could arrange for it to be brief.”

“You're a drunken fool!” hissed Nagay, standing up and leaning over him, his dagger drawn. “He may be young and naive, but he is an Elected One!”

“Sit down, Nagay,” said Jaganath. “We've already lost our judge and our treasurer; we're not losing our army commander, too.”

“Not unless he drowns in his own vomit,” hissed Nagay, sitting down and sheathing his dagger. “You should have him replaced, Jaganath, when you're emperor.”

“Maybe I will,” said Jaganath, smiling.

Kamos clicked his tongue and wagged a hairy forefinger in Jaganath's face. “Be very careful, Your future Majesty. If that Elected One continues to twist similar messages out of Petra's dreams, you
and I—and all of us, for that matter—may well have our glorious plan exposed before its time. To say nothing of having our necks exposed to the executioner's blade. And if that happens, gentle Majesty, you will need me and my army, rather rapidly.”

Jaganath lifted his arm and gripped the army commander's wrist. “I don't
need
you, my drunken friend,” Jaganath said softly. “You need me, remember, when the wine can't keep your demons at bay, and you crave peace from them, and I'm the only one with the power to give it to you. Remember that. Threaten me again, and I swear your demons will take physical form and strangle you.”

Kamos fell back into his chair, looking sickly.

There was silence for a long time. Then Jaganath said, “You may be drunk, Kamos, but you do have a point. It would be most expedient if our young healer-priest did meet with a fatal accident.” He added, in a voice as smooth as a sword being withdrawn from its scabbard, “And such an event is not impossible.” He smiled, selected another grape, and crushed it between his teeth.

T
HERE ARE ONLY TWO
people sleeping in the sanctuary tonight,” Sheel Chandra said to Gabriel as their chariot rolled through the snowy hills toward the Navora Infirmary and the Sanctuary of Healing Dreams. “There's an elderly man who is trying to come to terms with an incurable disease. There is also a woman. She's had a hard life and suffered a great deal and is now destitute. For many months she's been ill. The physicians at the Academy treated her, and she's over her disease. However, she suffers intolerable depression and was advised to seek healing in the sanctuary. I would like you to work with her. As always, protect yourself carefully; her dream images may be distressing, even shocking. And there will almost certainly be pain.”

It was late afternoon, and already the sun was setting. The air was clear and cold, and Gabriel wished he had walked to the sanctuary, for he had been inside all day. Often he walked this road,
preferring the exercise to the harsh jolting of a chariot, or battling with Rebellion. He did not run in the winter, as the road was treacherous with ice. He was the only one from the Citadel who traveled this way by foot and was well known for it.

Against the sunset the Sanctuary of Healing Dreams gleamed pale gold, its splendid pillars and terraces lit by fiery lamps. On the top steps Gabriel stopped and looked along the frozen road toward Navora. The city lights glimmered in the dusk, and the long road was marked with chariot and wagon wheels, the tracks dark and crisscrossed on the snow. Between the sanctuary and the road were park-like grounds, the smooth lawns overshadowed by the huge pines about the gate.

As Gabriel turned to follow Sheel Chandra into the sanctuary, he noticed a figure standing on the steps a little way off to his left. It was a youth, wearing a long black cloak almost identical to Gabriel's. To his astonishment and joy, Gabriel recognized him.

“Myron!” he called.

But Myron remained staring up at the deepening skies and did not hear. The younger brother cupped his hands over his mouth, warming them on his breath, then pulled his cloak tighter about
him. For a while he stared along the terraces toward the long road and the city, his gaze passing through Gabriel as if he were not there. Myron was smiling slightly, as if something had recently pleased him. Then he ran lightly down the steps toward the trees. A terrible foreboding fell over Gabriel, and he called out again, but Myron vanished.

Gabriel felt a gloved hand on his shoulder and turned to see Sheel Chandra watching him, his black eyes searching and concerned. “What's wrong?” the Master asked. “What vision was it?”

“My brother,” Gabriel said.

“You must pray for his protection before you begin work here,” said Sheel Chandra.

“I'm already doing that,” Gabriel replied, walking up into the lamp-lit sanctuary.

Only a short way along the road, in a private room in the Infirmary, Myron sat on a bed and held the hand of the girl who lay there. “Are you sure you're not in pain?” he asked anxiously. “I can go and tell the physician to give you more medicine.”

She shook her head, her auburn curls tumbling on the blue pillow. “Don't fuss, Myron. I'm all right. It's only broken ribs. I can go home tomorrow. And you should go now; it's getting dark.”

“I don't want to leave you yet,” he said. “And I'll be safe. I have my sword.”

“You're not immortal, you know. It's dangerous in the streets at night, and you've a long way to walk.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Eva?” He leaned down and kissed her, his hand roaming in the warmth under her blankets. “They've bandaged you up,” he said, disappointed. “How restricting.”

“It's meant to be.” She giggled, and winced. “I'm not supposed to move too much, or take deep breaths.”

“You just lie there, then, and I'll do enough deep breathing for both of us.”

“Stop it, Myron! Get off the bed! Someone might come in!”

“They all think you've gone to sleep.” He lay on the top of the bed beside her, cradling her gently in his arms.

“The physician might come,” she whispered. “Maybe your brother. I don't think even he would approve of this.”

“I'm being remarkably well behaved, at the moment. Besides, Gabriel isn't here. He's in the Sanctuary of Healing Dreams tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me in a letter. He's there for ten nights. I want to call in on my way home and ask if I can
visit him. It's eight months since I saw him last. I have a hankering to see him again.”

“And I thought you were staying late because of me.” She sighed.

“I am,” he said, softly nibbling her ear. “If you weren't here, I wouldn't be here either. Thank God for icy stairs, and a woman too busy blowing kisses to watch her step, and—at last!—a private boudoir, solitude, and a hundred stone walls between us and your father.”

“I'll remember not to blow you kisses again,” she said, “since they get me into so much trouble.”

“This isn't trouble,” he murmured, his lips on her cheek. “This is bliss.”

She turned her head and kissed him. “It might be bliss for you, but it's pain for me,” she said. “I'm sorry, but I'm very tired.”

“If you want me to, I'll go.”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course I mind. I'm devastated. I've spent months scheming for this opportunity.” He got off the bed carefully, so as not to disturb her, and buckled on his sword. He had taken it off when he arrived to visit.

“That crimson tunic suits you,” she said, watching him. “You're a gorgeous man, Myron Eshban Vala.”

“Not gorgeous enough, or you'd be head over heels in love with me.”

“But I am,” she said, smiling. “You swept me right off my feet.”

“True. All the way down the stairs,” he said, bending to kiss her again. “Skip the acrobatics next time. Try to fall in love less dramatically.”

Eva laughed, holding her ribs.

He grinned, flung his long black cloak about his shoulders, and blew her a kiss as he left.

In the sanctuary, the woman lay on the mattress on the polished wooden floor and waited for the healer-priests to arrive. She was in a circular room, and there were white pillars all around the edge, with lamps flaming on stands between them. A brazier burned close by her bed, its smoke fragrant with incense. She glimpsed slaves moving silently about, tending to the lamps and braziers and making sure there were enough blankets for the people who would sleep here tonight. There were only herself and an old man lying on the other side of the room.

A slave brought her a heavy woollen blanket, and tucked it gently about her. “Are you warm enough?” he whispered.

She nodded, though she was shivering.

“Is there anything else you would like?” he asked. “A drink, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.”

Two healer-priests came in between the pillars. One was elderly and dark skinned, with a beautiful countenance. He went and sat by the man on the other mattress. The other was young, and her heart fell. Coming over, he sat cross-legged by her bed, his hands folded peacefully in his lap. She could smell lavender on him and sacred herbs. Nervously she waited for him to speak. He was silent, meditating. Slowly he opened his eyes and smiled. “Greetings, Zaidan,” he said.

“Greetings,” she replied, looking up at the ceiling again, two spots of red in her pale cheeks.
In the name of God,
she thought,
why on earth did they give me a novice?

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I'm all right.”

“If there's anything you want at any time, tell me.”

“I don't want anything.” She fell silent, her fingers picking nervously at a loose thread on her blanket. She was an attractive woman, but there was a soul-hardness in her expression, and shades of pain and sleeplessness about her hazel eyes. She looked older than she was.

They remained quiet, while the fire in the brazier crackled, and the smoke gave off a sweet incense.

“I suppose I have to tell you my life history,”
she said, after a while. “That'll complete your education.”

“You don't have to tell me anything,” he said, and she could tell from his voice that he was smiling. “All you have to do is sleep.”

“I know. It was all explained.” She sighed and turned away, tears sliding down her cheeks. “But I seldom sleep. I can't. And when I do, I dream that I'm being drowned in dark water. Every time I close my eyes, I drown.” For a long time she wept, and Gabriel waited, and the peace of the place soaked into them both. Presently he began talking very quietly, and Zaidan closed her eyes and listened. Soon she slept, and the old nightmares stormed over her. But through them she heard a voice, calm and compelling, and she followed the words into places glorious and empowering, and filled with light.

There was a long underground passage leading from the Infirmary to the Sanctuary of Healing Dreams. It was used by patients who needed to sleep in the sanctuary, and by Myron now, on his way to see his brother. The tunnel led to a back room in the sanctuary, where families of patients could wait if they wished to. Myron had been in the room only a few seconds when a slave accosted him.

“Are you a patient, sir?” asked the slave.

“No. I wanted . . . I hoped to see Gabriel. Is he busy?”

The slave's face broke into a wide smile. “You must be his brother, sir.”

“Yes.”

“You look so alike. I'm sorry, but he cannot be disturbed. He's with a patient. It's vital that people in the sanctuary are not interrupted, except in dire emergencies. Can I give him a message for you, in the morning?”

“Not really. I just wanted to see him. I haven't seen him since he entered the Citadel. I was visiting a friend in the Infirmary, and I thought it might be possible to see Gabriel on my way home.”

The slave was thoughtful. “I have a brother of my own, sir,” he said. “I haven't seen him for many years and would give my right hand to look on his face again. I know what it means. Come. But you must be totally quiet.”

Myron followed the slave through several passages to a wide place bordered by high pillars. Beyond the columns stretched a vast room, aglow with lamplight. Across the floor, his face in profile and misty with the smoke from a brazier, sat Gabriel. His eyes were closed, but his lips moved as he prayed. For a long time Myron looked at
him, while the slave waited. Then Myron turned away, and the slave showed him the way to the front door of the sanctuary.

Outside, Myron stood for a few minutes on the terrace, looking up at the starry sky. There was no wind and there had been only a light snowfall during the day, but the air was bitter. Myron breathed on his hands to warm them and smiled to himself, thinking of Gabriel. Then he looked out at the long road back to the city, deciding he would enjoy a walk. He was used to walking in the city at night, between the gymnasium and Eva's home, and had never yet been assaulted or robbed. Besides, he had his sword.

He pulled his cloak closer about him, ran down the sanctuary steps, and made his way toward the trees. As he walked under the overhanging branches, sniffing the richness of pine and damp grass, a man stepped out from behind a tree. Myron could hardly see him in the darkness.

“You've finished early tonight, healer-priest,” said the man. His voice was muffled, for he wore a scarf over his lower face. “Walking back to the Citadel?”

Myron noticed the flash of a blade in the man's hand, and he drew his sword. A twig crunched on the earth behind him, and as he spun around something smashed into the side of his head. Blinded
by pain, already falling, he slashed out wildly with his sword.

Gabriel remained beside the sleeping woman, softly chanting prayers for her. While he prayed, a sudden dread fell on him. He saw trees tall and black against the stars, and a naked sword. He opened his eyes and leaned close to Zaidan, pressing his forehead lightly against hers. There was no fear in her, only peace. Gabriel sat upright and continued meditating. But the images returned, and he could not shake them off. He covered himself with protection again, praying light over his body and mind. He wondered if he was picking up dream-images from the old man across the room and imagined a wall of light down the center of the sanctuary, shielding him. But still the visions came.

He saw wheel ruts on a road, very close to his face, and stones gleaming with ice, and heard a rumbling in his ears. Pain went through him and he doubled over, crying out. His own voice startled him out of the vision, and he glanced at Zaidan. She was asleep, tranquil. Still the pains tore through him, cramping his bowels and making him retch. He staggered to his feet and rushed out to the latrines. Crouching over the deep drain, he vomited. Then he leaned against the white stone walls, his eyes closed. His head
ached, and he felt a crawling down his left cheek, as if blood ran there. Before him rose the face of the demon in Jaganath's painting, and that other visage behind it, terrifying and predatory. The rumbling came nearer, surged over him, and all was thunder and chaos and pain. He opened his eyes. On the wall beside him a lamp sputtered, and a slave came in to replenish the oil in it.

“Can I help you, sir?” asked the slave, concerned. “Are you ill?”

“I'm all right,” said Gabriel. “A bit of a headache, that's all.”

“Should I call a chariot to take you back to the Citadel?”

“No, thank you. I'll finish here.”

The slave went out, and Gabriel walked slowly back to his place by the sleeping woman. He sat down, his gaze fixed on the glowing brazier. Sweat ran down his face and into his eyes, and he shook with the agony that went through him. He rocked slowly, trying not to cry out. Darkness surrounded him. He felt as if he were floating above his body, high above a winding road. He saw himself lying on stones. He was covered in blood. But when he looked more closely, it was not his own face he saw. It was Myron's.