Authors: Sherryl Jordan
Secret Sacrament (31 page)
“Are you Gabriel Eshban Vala?” he asked.
Gabriel nodded, and his hand tightened about Ashila's.
“I have something for you.”
The envoy pressed a scrolled letter into Gabriel's hand. Its wax seal was purple, stamped with the Empress's royal sign, and a purple ribbon bound it. Gabriel shook, and he could hardly break the wax. Turning away to face the window, he unrolled the letter. The words were indistinct, and he could not hold the parchment still. It was clean, so clean. A faint smell came to him, of incense and flowers. God, were there still flowers in the world?
Ashila took a corner of the page, holding it steady for him, and he read it aloud to her.
“To Gabriel Eshban Vala: Greetings.
“I have received your letter, and the pledge-ring. I had hoped that you were in a remote part of the Empire, safely away from the turmoil here. Yet when I think about it, I am not surprised that you are still here, and with the Shinali. The timing of your request is extraordinary; another day would have been too late.
“The weed has overrun the field, choked all the wheat, even noble sheaves I thought would stand strong. It threatens most of all to destroy the Shinali. I have wanted to give the command to let the Shinali go, but Jaganath's spies are everywhere,
and I have not been able to send a command to Kamos and the army, without Jaganath obstructing it. Neither could I leave the palace, for demons sat in doorways, barring my way. I have felt totally defeated, a prisoner in my own palace, and could give no orders for anything except through Jaganath. But then your pledge-ring and letter came, delivered directly into my hands by a courageous young soldier who defied half the guards and Jaganath, in his determination to hand them over himself.
“Your words reminded me of something wonderfully empowering, that I had forgotten: you reminded me that in my dream I freed myself from the weed; I was not overcome. With all my heart, I thank you for that. I thank you, too, for the pledge-ring request to let the Shinali go, though I know the cost to you is great. The promise of the pledge-ring transcends all laws and edicts, and even Jaganath cannot stand against my word in response to your request. The pledge-promise, at this strange time in our history, is the one thing that can save the Shinali nation.
“And so your Shinali shall go free. This order I give, for their unconditional and enduring freedom, is the last command I give as Empress. I have abdicated my throne to Jaganath. By the time you read this, I will be in a ship leaving Navora. My one true adviser, Cosimo, will be with me, along with his
family, and the few servants who remain true to me.
“I have no wish to see what Jaganath will do to this Empire I have loved; neither can I bear to think of its future collapse. However, I believe that when the eagle returns in full strength, it will bring not destruction, but a cleansing, and the restoration of what was best. I also believe you are the voice, the cry, that calls the eagle and begins the reformation. Your last words to me were that the weed had entangled us both; I prefer to think that you and I are in the wind that blows across the field of wheat; that we fly freely above the storm and, in spite of the chaos, play out our destined parts in the fulfillment of a great and splendid prophecy.
“I have always held you in my heart as a true friend. I wish now that I could ensure your safety, but the pledge-ring, as you know, was for one promise only. Know that in asking what you have, you have saved not only the Shinali, but also, ultimately, Navora.
“I wish so much to write more, to give you words of comfort and encouragement; but already my faithful steward stands waiting to help me prepare for my journey. It is a deep grief to me that I will not see your face again.
“With love and gratitude,
“Petra.”
Gabriel rolled the letter and tried to tie the ribbon around it. Ashila helped him. He placed the letter into her hands. “Guard it well,” he said. “It's your people's guarantee of freedom. Go and show it to Tarkwan.”
He walked with her to the office door. Before she went he whispered to her, “Do you remember everything I told you about looking after someone with bulai fever?”
Dismayed, she nodded.
“Only Tarkwan has it,” he whispered. “Take care, love.”
“I'll see you before you go?” she asked.
“Of course. And, Ashilaâplease don't tell the others about the pledge-ring. Not yet.”
She walked away across the shimmering dust and sat in the shade by Tarkwan. The chieftain opened his eyes, and she unrolled the parchment and held its strange scented whiteness in front of his face. “It's from the Empress,” Ashila said. “Gabriel sent her the pledge-ring, in trade for our freedom.”
Tarkwan nodded. “He did more than that, to save us,” he said hoarsely, and told her. She listened, motionless, tears rolling down her face. When he had finished speaking, Tarkwan slept, fatigued and at peace.
Ashila looked past him, past the searing dust
and the people waiting within the fortress walls. High above, an eagle soared on the summer wind, its wings dark against the sun. Her vision intensified; for a few breathless moments she could see the form of a man with a steadfast face and eyes that looked beyond, and red-gold hair that flowed and became a part of the wind and the sky, part of the joy-wild beating of the eagle's wings. She saw people on a journey, and a meeting of tribes; then a great nation, unified and strong, on its way to victory. She saw a battle, dark and terrible. When it cleared there was the Citadel shining, gathering to itself the golden remnants of an empire, of many empires; and below it stretched vast grasslands where animals grazed and crops flourished, and people harvested together. She felt a huge sense of peace, of restoration, and rightness. Touching the sacred
torne
on Tarkwan's chest, she tried to tell him, but he was past hearing. She had the feeling he already knew.
From the porch across the courtyard Gabriel watched them until their figures blurred in the brightness, then went back into the office. The room was pitch black after the sunlight. He staggered and almost fell, and someone put a chair behind him so he could sit down. There was shouting outside; Officer Razzak was calling the
Shinali and soldiers to an assembly. There was silence, and the people waited. Then came the announcement, the words loud and echoing about the old stones. “The Empress Petra has given her final command. You are free to go.”
There was stunned silence, for a moment, then a mighty cheer, and sounds of celebration.
Before the cheers had faded, the palace envoy said to Gabriel, “Gabriel Eshban Vala, I pronounce you prisoner of His Majesty, Lord Jaganath, eleventh ruler of the Navoran Empire. Do you understand the charge against you, and the sentence?”
“Yes.”
Razzak pulled Gabriel to his feet and forced his hands roughly behind him, crossing them at the wrists. The envoy started to bind him.
“Is this necessary?” asked Gabriel. “I want to go back to Navora of my own free will. I won't try to escape, I give my word. Besides, I haven't the strength to run.”
The envoy thought for a while. “Very well,” he said at last. “I'll ride; you walk unshackled. But if you do try to escape, I'll do the executioner's job for him.”
There was the sound of the colossal gates being pushed open, clanging back against the stone walls. The envoy left the office. Gabriel followed
him, though the light blinded him and he stumbled on the step. People were dark shapes moving across the shining dust. He could just make out someone being conveyed on a blanket toward the open gates. His eyesight cleared a little, and he saw that it was Tarkwan being carried. As the people took their chieftain into freedom, they sang a Shinali love song. They were still singing as they placed him by the river, overlooking the land he had loved. Soon afterward the song turned to a lament, and Gabriel, listening, knew Tarkwan had died.
The envoy touched his prisoner's shoulder, and Gabriel went ahead of him across the courtyard to where the horse waited. It seemed strange to have the gates open wide, and people going back and forth. The soldiers were already leaving. Shinali men were raiding the soldiers' barracks, looking for their slings and knives and hunting weapons.
In the courtyard the people were preparing to leave. Not realizing Gabriel had been arrested, they called cheerfully to him as he walked past. He wanted to speak their names, but could not see their faces clearly in the violent light. Everything was hazy. The sounds of happy voices intermingled with the brightness, and the clang of cooking pots sounded loud and harsh, like Navoran temple bells.
People were gathering just outside the gates, raising their hands and praying. Others were running down into the river, plunging into the cleansing coolness, rejoicing. Beyond them was the ancient fort bridge, and the road to the coastal hills and Navora. The road was well worn now, with wagon ruts deep in the dust.
The envoy mounted his horse. “Say your farewells,” he said to Gabriel.
Gabriel looked for Ashila but could not see her. People came over to him, asking questions, their faces anxious. They remembered his trouble with Navora, and that he was accused of doing a great wrong. He did his best to encourage them, praying that his voice was steady. “I'm not being a prisoner of this man,” he said. “I'm going where I choose. Where's Ashila?”
Reassured, they made jokes about a half-Shinali in the city and touched his chest with their palms, honoring him, loving him. He avoided embraces, though it was hard, and his friends looked hurt. “You want us to wait for you?” they asked. “Our journey, there's no hurry for it. We'll be staying here and getting fat on fish and mountain goats, until you come back.”
“Don't wait,” he said.
Behind them, Yeshi and Zalidas and some of the elders were already preparing a pyre. Tarkwan's
body lay wrapped in a sleeping mat, ready for cremation. People had found their stone axes and were chopping down the fort gates for wood for his funeral fire.
Yeshi came over, wearing the bone amulet, sign that he was chieftain now. Gabriel touched the bone, stroking with his fingertip the carved images of the man and the eagle merged. In the fort, musicians played, mingling funeral chants with songs of celebration. The flutes echoed in Gabriel's memory, and for a few moments he was a child again in Navora, lying hurt in bed with the Shinali bone clenched in his hand.
“Leave this place quickly,” Gabriel said to Yeshi. “The Empress gave you freedom, but it was her last command as ruler. An evil man is emperor now.”
“We'll be gone by high moon tonight,” said Yeshi. “I'll keep you in my knowing, brother. When we come back, in the Time of the Eagle, when the battles are past, people of your blood will tend the lands beside people of my blood.”
Gabriel thought of his mother and family, even now tending the land, loving it. And he thought of his child, Shinali and Navoran blood mixed, the unity already begun.
Yeshi touched his own chest, then placed his
palm on Gabriel's and spoke the Shinali farewell.
Ashila stood nearby, and, seeing her, the new chieftain and his people went back into the fort to prepare for their great journey. Gabriel and Ashila were alone, but for the envoy waiting on the bridge.
Lifting his hand, Gabriel lightly touched her cheek. She moved closer, her face uplifted, her mouth near to his; but he shook his head and stepped back.
“Not even one farewell kiss?” she asked.
“I can't, love.”
She was certain then, and gazed along the bridge, down the long road he would walk; but she saw only white light and a great unknowing. She bit her lip, trying to control the grief. For a while they stood like that, longing to embrace, to say a thousand things that were in their hearts.
“No one is taking my life from me,” he said. “I lay it down myself.”
“I know,” she whispered. She looked into his eyes and saw that he was smiling, radiant; and there was so much love in him, so much triumph and joy, that she looked away again, unable to bear it.
The envoy called to Gabriel, his voice impatient.
Ashila placed her right hand on her left
breast, then on Gabriel's. “Our hearts will always be together,” she said.
“Keep me in your knowing,” he said in Shinali.
“I will, and in our child's knowing.
Sharleema
.”
They linked hands one last time, their eyes full of tears. Then he walked away.
When he was far down the road, he looked back.
Ashila saw him turn around, and she lifted her hand in a final farewell. He waved back, then walked on. She watched until he vanished in the light, until all that was left were his footsteps in the dust, and his child beneath her heart, and the happiness in her knowing.
She returned to the fort and climbed the tower and looked along the road, but saw only the sun. She sat on the bare wooden floor where they had loved, and she wept; and it was sunset when she went down again to the river, to the fish cooking on hot stones, and the funeral fire, and the nation he had saved.
The envoy walked his horse slowly, so his prisoner could keep up. But Gabriel fell often, and finally the envoy lost patience. He stopped his horse under the trees beside the road, where the evening breeze blew in from the coast. He looked back, and watched as the young man staggered in
the dirt, and fell again. This time the prisoner was a long while getting up. Then he stumbled on, at last drawing alongside the horse.
“At this rate,” said the envoy, “we'll never get to Navora.”
Gabriel tried to speak, but his voice was cracked and rasping, and no words came. Slowly the envoy dismounted. Trained in safely diagnosing bulai fever, he covered his mouth and nose with a thick cloth, then commanded Gabriel to turn his face to the light and open his mouth. Keeping at a safe distance, Gabriel obeyed, and the envoy peered at the back of his throat.
