Time of the Eagle (34 page)

“He didn't,” I said.

Two heartbeats later Salverion snored, and I smiled to myself, and waited for sleep. But although I was unutterably tired, the stillness of the great house, the smell of its polished wood and stone, the memories locked within its walls, kept me awake. A long time I gazed at the wooden ceiling with its shining beams, knowing that my father, too, had looked up as I had done and listened to the silence, and dreamed his fine Shinali dreams.

I have been thinking lately of my childhood, and the home we had, and of the things that shaped me into the person I am. You know, Mother, that from childhood I have felt a bond with the Shinali people. I cannot tell you what first began that bond, but it became the strongest thing in my life, stronger even than the desire to heal. It was a bond that drew me to their land, to Ashila. With her the bond became love, sublime and beautiful and above all else. The Shinali have a prophecy about an age to come, called the Time of the Eagle. The prophecy is also known in Navora, by a few brave enough to believe in it, the Empress Petra among them. I have a feeling that the time is close. If I can do anything to bring about the Eagle's Time, to bring to Ashila true and total freedom, to make restitution for what my nation has done to hers, then I will do it gladly.

—Excerpt from a letter from Gabriel to his mother, kept and later gifted to Avala

A
ll the next day Salverion and I worked, and near evening Elanora returned. She still looked pale, but she said she was well, and that there was something in the city I needed to go and see. She added, seeing my worried look, “It's not work, Avala, it's something wonderful. I've asked Rhain if you can go with me, and he said you must. But you'll need to wash, and change your dress.”

So I did as she suggested, and soon she was leading me through the streets. Gradually our way became more and more crowded, and before long we were pressed in by a large multitude all going in the same direction as ourselves. There was an air of festivity,
of great excitement and anticipation. I asked Elanora where we were going, but she only smiled and held on to my arm tightly, so we would not lose each other in the throng. It was sunset, and the huge pillared buildings of the inner city soared rose colored against the skies, and the shining white stone of the towers and domes seemed almost translucent. Up wide flights of steps we went, along streets lined with pillars, and under noble arches so high and graceful it amazed me that human beings had built them. Sometimes Elanora pointed out splendid buildings and called their names to me, but I could hardly hear her, for the noise of the crowd.

We came at last to a vast open space, the city square, and there we all stopped, pressed close in a gathering that must have numbered many thousands. In front of us was an imposing white building reached by a short flight of stairs, and at the top of the stairs was a wide space like a stage, lit by fiery torches. By then it was almost dark, and the torchlight glimmered red on the pillars all around, and on the faces of those around me. For the first time I studied the people about me and saw that they were from many nations. I saw Hena with mud-caked hair rubbing shoulders with Navorans and smiling at them, and people from my own tribe pressed close with Igaal warriors. There were fathers with children in their arms, and young people from many nations smiling shyly together, or trying to talk with gestures, admiring one another's painted clothes or jewelry. I glimpsed Shinali friends, and waved to them, but we could not reach one another, for the closeness of the crowd.

Suddenly a great hush fell, and I looked up over the hundreds
of people in front of me and saw two people walk onto the lamp-lit floor at the top of the wide white stairs. One of the people was my beloved Sheel Chandra, and when the Navorans in the crowd recognized him, they went wild with cheering. A long time the cheering and applause went on, and Sheel Chandra waited, humble and gracious, in tears, his face alight with that beautiful smile of his. For him, too, this was a time of freedom, of coming home. At last he lifted his arms, and people fell quiet. Then he beckoned to the person with him, an Igaal boy about ten summers old, and he stood with the child before him, his hands on the lad's small shoulders, and said, “Thank you. Thank you, and welcome. I am Sheel Chandra, and my young Igaal friend here is called Olikodi. He is now free, but he was a slave for many seasons, and learned to speak Navoran well. He will interpret my words for those who cannot understand them.”

The lad interpreted the words so far, his voice high and clear in the calm night. Then Sheel Chandra welcomed us, naming each nation represented, and made his speech. And while he spoke there was a light about him more than the light from the burning torches, more than the light of the stars, and I think each one of us watching must have been aware of it, for there was not a stir, not a murmur, in all that huge gathering. Sheel Chandra spoke about the Time of the Eagle and how it was a time for a new beginning, a time for peace and tolerance, a time for love. He also spoke of forgiveness. It was a beautiful speech, simple and profound, and he ended with the words, “Forgiveness is not a feeling, but an act. There is a very great thing I would ask each of you to do: I ask that you turn to a person near you who is not
of your nation, and greet them, and wish them peace.”

For a few moments no one moved, and the stillness seemed immense. Then a beautiful thing happened. Every single person in our great company turned to someone next to them and spoke a simple greeting—and not only spoke, but embraced them as if they were kin, and kissed their cheeks. All through that huge city square, under the stars, it happened over and over again—the quiet embracement, the kiss of peace, and not just once for each person, but many times, until we all had shown this tiny act of forgiveness and love to many of those who once had been our enemies. It was more than Sheel Chandra had asked, more than I would have dreamed possible; it was a holy thing, an impulse of hearts, true and powerful and unforgettable.

At last we all were still and very quiet, and Sheel Chandra spoke a prayer. Then he left, holding the Igaal boy by the hand, and the flaming lamps were put out. Into the covering dark came the sound of Shinali pipes, heartrending and beautiful, and soon they were joined by Navoran instruments, and then a woman's voice. A tiny light moved in the darkness at the top of the stairs; we saw the singer, a young Hena woman carrying a small lamp. Still she sang, her voice pure and strong and incredibly lovely. There was another light, another voice, and an Igaal man joined her, and then a Navoran woman singing. Other singers came, bearing other lights, and their voices wound about one another in the night, rich and harmonious.

After the singers the lamps were lit again, and some Navorans danced to Igaal drums, and it was wild and wonderful, and strangely like our own Shinali dances. Elanora whispered to me that it was the famous Navoran fire-dance, performed by the
most renowned dancers in the Empire. Then there were the finest dancers from my Shinali people, and from the Hena and Igaal; and the drums throbbed and the music filled the night, and all of us watching clapped and stamped, and sometimes the dancing was so breathtaking that we all cried out without knowing that we did, and we applauded and called and whistled until our voices were hoarse and our arms ached.

After the dancers came more singers, and some of the musicians from Ravinath. There was glorious music, chanting, and songs so sublime they made many of us weep. Some of the words we could not understand, for the singers were ex-slaves from far countries, singing the old folk songs they had loved. I remember one song a young girl sang that was so hauntingly poignant that, when I looked around at the people about me, I saw that they all were swaying in time to her song, lost in the wonder of it, bound by its beauty. It was wonderful to see that freedom of the slaves, not only the freedom of their bodies, but also the freedom of their souls, which let them sing again, and sing with joy.

It was an awesome night, and I hold it in my knowing as one of the finest of my life. My only wish was that I had been with Ishtok, and I hoped that he was there somewhere, for I wanted with all my heart to share it with him.

Afterward, without speaking but with our arms about each other's waists, Elanora and I went back to the house that had been my father's; then she went on to her own home, while I went upstairs to my little room to sleep.

But until dawn I lay awake, marveling at what I had witnessed, at what I had been a part of; for I knew that what I had seen was unique in the troubled history of our world, and that centuries
of injustice and hate had at last been transcended by love, and the Navoran Empire was forever changed.

Eight days I stayed in the hospital in my father's childhood home, for a fever broke out among the sick, and we were afraid that it might spread to the rest of the city. Salverion kept checking people's mouths for signs of the bulai fever, which was so deadly, but he found no evidence of it. Those who had no fever, and had someone to look after them, were sent home, and all those from the courtyard were carried inside. Santoshi steadily got well, and the fever passed her by, but she could not be moved and stayed in the hospital. I had someone with her constantly, though she chided me, with the old smile I remembered, for giving her special care.

Slowly the sick who remained got well, but it was a busy time. I heard that my mother still worked in the Navora Infirmary, where they, too, battled fever among their patients. Sometimes people brought me messages from her, verbal assurances that she was well, and full of joy to be healing with an amazing man called Taliesin. But mostly, during the fever-days, visitors were not allowed, in case of bulai fever, and we were cut off from the rest of the city. I thought so often of Ishtok, and longed to see his face again.

During this time I went to visit Sheel Chandra, still staying not far away, with his friend. I found him sitting in a chair in the sun, resting, looking out across a garden of fountains and statues and potted trees and flowers. He looked frail, yet his arms were strong as we embraced each other, and I spent a blissful hour sitting at his feet the way I had in Ravinath, my head on his knee.

We talked of that amazing night in the city square, with its profound healing and harmony, and of how the whole city had been changed. But I sensed a sorrow in him, and he told me that over the past two days he had been called upon to act as one of the twelve judges at the trials of Jaganath's supporters and family. “There have been many executions,” he said. “I grieve for the guilty, Avala. They knew no better, some of them. Others had acted out of fear of Jaganath. But they all had committed terrible crimes—all, save one. One we allowed to go free. She was Syana, Jaganath's youngest daughter. I believe your father healed her, many years ago, when she was a little girl. She was the only one who defied her father on behalf of the slaves, and had suffered for it. As for the rest . . . I can only say I'm glad it's over. Now begins a new order. Arrangements are being made for the people of Navora to elect a Council of Seven, who will jointly rule the Empire in the future. They wanted me to put my name forward for election, but I declined.” He sighed, though a sudden humor leaped in his great dark eyes. “I'm getting too old for all this excitement, Avala,” he said. “I want peace. I want to go back to the Citadel. But there's much work to be done there, too. Salverion and I went there the other day. All this time it's been neglected, the gardens gone to ruin, the vineyards overgrown. The place is damp, the murals on the walls are cracked and peeling, the floors covered with leaves and dust, the fountains full of slime. It made my old heart break. It will be restored, but that will take time.”

“I have heard that the Citadel was once even more glorious than the Navoran palace,” I said.

“It was. And it will be again. But it will be different, this time.
We used to have very strict rules there, Avala. Only men for disciples, and they were not permitted to visit their friends or families for seven years, except in dire emergencies. We demanded total dedication, perhaps unfairly. This time there will be women as well as men taught there, and husbands may live there with their wives, and people will be able to visit their families as often as they wish. There will be gifted disciples chosen not only from the Navoran Empire but also from the tribes, from the Hena, and Igaal, and Shinali. It will be a great day, when we open its doors to all.”

Then we talked of other things, of Jaganath, and my battle-hour with him. We spoke about Ishtok, and the Shinali. Sheel Chandra told me that the bloodied land was cleared of battle signs, the funeral pyres had finished burning, and a new Shinali house was being built, a single large underground dwelling like the last, with a thatched roof.

“I found out something about your Navoran grandmother, and your Shinali land,” Sheel Chandra said. “Years ago, when the Navoran authorities put the land up for sale, she bought over half of it and persuaded her farmer neighbors to buy the rest, so that the plain could be kept free for when the Shinali returned. She's a far-sighted and wise woman. And a brave one.”

“I look forward to meeting her,” I said.

Sheel Chandra began to look very tired, and I stood up to go. As I kissed his cheek I said, “I could have accomplished nothing without you. I can never thank you enough for everything you've done, for everything you are to me.”

“You thank me just by being in my life,” he said, smiling.

Kneeling down by the mattress, I put my arm about the shoulders of a Navoran soldier and raised his head so he could drink. His fever had almost gone, but he was very weak, and I held the cup against his lips while he drank. Afterward, I laid him down and smoothed the bandage about his head, slipping my hand behind his neck to ease the pain that still lingered. He smiled a little and thanked me.

“When will you go, Avala?” he asked. “It's ten days since the battle. Salverion's gone off to clean up the Citadel, and everything's peaceful in the city. Surely you must want to go to your own land. My cousin came to see me this morning, from his farm on the edge of your land, and he said they've finished the Shinali house.”

“I'll go soon,” I replied.

I stood up and stepped between the orderly rows of mattresses with the people resting in the sun, with clean white sheets over them. Some reached out to me as I passed, asking for water or relief from pain, and I knelt to help. Others simply smiled or greeted me by name. Many of them talked quietly together or read or played Navoran games given to them by the people of the city. I saw a young soldier and an Igaal youth playing a Navoran dice game, their heads bathed in sunlight, one head flaxen, one dark. They were laughing. In a joyful kind of peace, I went out into the wide entranceway, past the huge mural of the ships. In the doorway I stopped.