The Divining (33 page)

     "Only you can do that, Ulrika, for they are part of your personal destiny."

T
HE CARAVAN STAYED FOR
only a few days, and now the merchant trader was eager to depart, for an early winter was coming. Ulrika had been able to buy passage southward. She was anxious to return to Babylon and start her search for the Venerable Ones.

     And to be there when Sebastianus returned.

     But when she emerged from her makeshift shelter in the ruins, wrapped in her traveling cloak, her packs on her shoulders, she looked across the plain and saw that the caravan had already departed. It could still be seen, winding its way along the southern road that would take it through treacherous mountain passes before it found the peaceful coast. Ulrika knew she had to hurry to catch up.

     But when she turned to Veeda and Iskander sitting forlornly at the fire, she stopped cold.

     Her friends were tragically caught in this place: Iskander a slave to ancient traditions of rivalry and revenge, Veeda a prisoner of her love. They are like me, Ulrika thought. They do not know where they belong.

     She looked at the two who had been her close companions for many weeks, and she thought: they, too, need to leave this place. But she did not know how to convince them. Iskander was so obsessed with taking revenge on his tribal enemies that he could not see anything else. And Veeda, having no family, nowhere to go, was doomed to stay with him. They will sit here forever, Ulrika thought. Frozen in time like the men etched into the stone walls of this dead city.

     "I must go now," she said as she picked up her medical kit. Their camp was now like a little home, with makeshift walls of timber, a floor covered in pelts and hides, and windbreaks to protect them from the elements. Ulrika had slept and eaten and laughed and cried in this strange little camp. She would never forget her short time here.

     "Please do not leave us," Veeda said. She was a beauty, Ulrika thought, and soon would no longer be a coltish girl but a lovely young woman.

     Ulrika glanced out at the vanishing caravan. "Come with me, both of you. We will leave this valley together and seek a new road. But we must hurry."

     Veeda began to cry and Iskander stiffened with righteousness. "What you ask is impossible, Ulrika, for I have a duty to my family to carry out a final revenge upon my enemies. And I have a duty to keep Veeda safe, for it was by my actions that her tribe were annihilated."

     Ulrika chewed her lip. There was still time to catch the caravan ...

     
But I must set my friends free.

     She sighed, knowing what she must do.

     Praying that the caravan was not the last that would come through this valley, Ulrika lowered her packs to the limestone floor and murmured, "Let me help you."

     They watched as she sat on a comfortable goatskin, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes. Clasping the scallop shell with both hands, she began a whispered prayer. They had seen her do this many times. She had told them the exciting news of finding the Crystal Pools through this meditation. But they were curious why she was engaged in this ritual now, when she had been so intent upon leaving with the caravan.

     They waited in silence.

     Anchored by the scallop shell, with the glowing soul flame filling her inner vision, Ulrika divested herself of fear, impatience, anxiety, and even the disappointment of not having left with the caravan, until her soul was set free and Gaia appeared before her. "You have done well, daughter, for you have passed the final test. There will be no caravans after this, as winter has come to the mountain passes. Your act of self-sacrifice has proven to Us that you are worthy of the gift. And now you will be rewarded, for We know the questions that fill your heart.
Behold!"

     Lights suddenly materialized around her, pink clouds of fire and heat, golden explosions dripping with sparks, soft glowings of blue luminescence. They swirled around Ulrika like giddy butterflies, engulfing her in a frenzy of hope and joy. They sparkled like drops of water sprayed from a fountain on a hot summer day. More arrived, swirling, soaring, pale phosphorous and glistening incandescence, filling the air with their melodious crooning. Beings made of cool golds and warm silvers. Rainbow colors! Shining miracles!

     Ulrika cried out as she felt delicate, feathery wings embrace her and cover her and with their touch came such peace and serenity that she wept with joy.

     
I am hagia. I am sanctus
, the feathery wings whispered.
We are eternal, we are pure. And we are with you always, watching, guarding...

     And then Ulrika sensed—

     She held her breath.

     There was Something beyond the angels and benevolent beings. Ulrika tried to reach it, to understand. But she could not. She felt tremendous love flow through her, intense waves of reassurance and compassion.

     And then it all faded away and she knew she would not experience this again.

     When she opened her eyes she saw two pale faces looking at her in worry and concern. It took her a moment to find her breath. She realized tears streamed down her cheeks.

     "I have news for both of you," she said when she was composed again. "News that will set you free."

     Veeda and Iskander exchanged a puzzled glance, then Ulrika said, "I
was permitted a glimpse into a wondrous world which we can only imagine. Veeda," she said. "A being named Parvaneh spoke to me."

     The girl gasped and traced a protective sign in the air. "That is an angel, a very important angel! But it is taboo to utter the names of angels!"

     "The angel spoke to me and said that Teyla is gathering flowers in the marble halls of Kasha. Do you know what this means?"

     Veeda's eyes grew big. She pressed her hands to her chest and looked at Ulrika in astonishment. "Teyla is my mother! How did you know this? How do you know the name of Parvaneh? And Kasha! Only my people know of Kasha!"

     When Ulrika turned to Iskander, she saw bleak eyes holding a question he did not want to ask.

     Ulrika smiled gently and said, "The beings that dwell in this sacred place showed me many things. I know now that we do not die, that existence is eternal, and that death is but a transformation—"

     "No!" he cried, jumping to his feet. "I will not hear it! Asmahan is alive. I have searched for five years, and I will search for the rest of my life if I must."

     "Iskander, listen to me—"

     "No!" he screamed, turning away, putting his hands over his ears.

     Ulrika rose to her feet and reached out for him, laying a hand on his arm. "I am sorry Asmahan is dead. But please believe me when I say she is in paradise."

     He turned bleak eyes to her. His shoulders slumped. "I believe you, for you have seen the sacred fire altar of Zoroaster. I believe in your gift. And I suppose I have known all along that my wife is dead. I should be happy that she is in paradise," Iskander said in a tight voice, "but I am not. Asmahan and I were robbed of a life together. And those vile men who camp down the mountainside will pay. I will no longer be satisfied with merely killing them, I shall torture them for days and see that they suffer greatly."

     "Iskander," Ulrika said softly, "listen to me. You are the last of your tribe. I saw that in my vision. Just as Veeda is the only survivor of her people. If you carry out this mission of revenge, you will surely get yourself killed. You have to think of your people, Iskander. Through you, they can still live. But if you die, then they will truly be dead."

     He covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly. Veeda came to him and took him into her arms. He sobbed on her shoulder as she held him tightly and made soothing sounds.

     Presently he collected himself and said, "You are right, Ulrika. If I slay my enemies and burn their village, someone will survive, and that man will spend the rest of his life in pursuit of me, until he kills me and my tribe is utterly erased. Yes, I have a duty to my ancestors to carry out revenge, but I have a greater duty to my
descendants
, and to Veeda, and to her people, for through us, our two bloodlines will continue."

     Ulrika placed her hand on his cheek. "Iskander, make Veeda proud to be the wife of a prince. Build your house and fill the rooms with many children, for you will be the founder of a new tribe." As she said this she recalled that, before arriving at this place, Iskander had planned to go eastward, but she had persuaded him to take her to the City of Ghosts. Had he traveled eastward, she realized now, his pursuers would most likely have caught him and killed him. And so Ulrika had saved his life, fulfilling the prophecy of the prophetess Miriam—that Ulrika was to help a prince save his people.

W
HEN THE SNOW CAME,
the three abandoned their camp in the ruins and lived for a while with Zeroun and his family while Iskander built a small house, after the tradition of his tribe. They lived there through the winter, Iskander continuing to build, helping with repairs on other houses, while Veeda entertained the villagers with her singing and dancing, and Ulrika helped nurse those who came down with winter fevers. She went daily to the stone archway, where she easily summoned the vision of the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar, and there she meditated and prayed, honing her spiritual gift and its power.

     At the first snowmelt, a caravan came from the north, and accepted Ulrika as a paying passenger.

     Iskander and Veeda were there to say good-bye, and she embraced them in love.

     When she said good-bye to Zeroun, she asked if he were the last of his kind. He said, "I am not the first Magus of Shalamandar, nor will I be the last. For as long as there are seekers of truth, there will be a Magus in this valley."

     As Ulrika took her place in the caravan, she thought of her newly discovered destiny.

     In Babylon, she would search for the Venerable Ones, and she would watch each day for news of a caravan making its return journey from distant China...

T
HEY ARE CALLED DRAGON BONES
," the third interpreter said to Timonides, "they predict the future."

     The Greek astrologer watched in fascination as the fortune-teller, a local man from a mountain village, smeared the ox scapula with blood, then inserted it into the hottest spot of the campfire. As everyone watched for the bone to crack and reveal a message from the ancestors, Timonides glanced over to where his son was preparing the night's dinner—a curious dish comprised of long fat threads made from rice flour, called noodles, boiled in a broth and mixed with vegetables and meat. Nestor's round face glowed in the light of his cook fire, a smile on his face as he added spices to the pot.

     Timonides sent a silent prayer of thanks to the stars. His son was safe. Nestor's crime back in Antioch was behind them, and although the caravan was not far now from its destination—the Imperial Court of China—by the time they returned to Rome, Nestor and Bessas would be forgotten. The gods had clearly forgiven Timonides for falsifying horoscopes, he concluded
gratefully. Perhaps they did not blame a man for wanting to protect his son.