The other day I met a friend who was recovering from a chariot accident. He had broken a leg and ruptured something inside—his spleen, whatever that is. But he said you were his healer when he was in the Infirmary. It was a while ago, before the winter. He described what you did for him, how you healed him after the surgery by moving your hands over him, just above the wounds. He said it was strange, and it frightened him at first, but then the pain went and he could feel forces of some kind flowing through him, like warmth. He cried when he told me. It almost made me want to go and leap headfirst out of a racing chariot, just to have your healing. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, how much joy I have thinking of this wonderful work you’re doing. Surely nothing in the world could be greater than giving another human being life.
Thank you for all your letters. I’m glad you’re enjoying your training with Sheel Chandra. He sounds an amazing man. I can’t imagine why you have to spend so much time meditating, but no doubt it’s to do with the mysterious dream healing. I wish you could tell me more about that kind of work, but I know you’re not allowed. I try to give myself nightmares, so I can sleep in the Sanctuary of Healing Dreams and let you chant prayers over me. So far I just have nightmares about chasing Eva and catching her father instead, but I don’t think they qualify me for a sleeping place in the sanctuary. Mother says it’s a place for people with hurts or fears so deep, they can’t bear to think about them when they’re awake, and they must sleep in the sanctuary and be healed through their dreams, while healer-priests pray for them. She seems to know quite a lot about it; did she ever sleep there? Sometimes I think she must have been very unhappy with Father. I hope she marries the surveyor. I’ve met him and like him very much. So do the others, especially Subin, who wheedles cakes and little pet turtles out of him. She misses you. So do I. I think of you every hour, with love.
Myron
Smiling to himself, Gabriel read the letter through several times. Though it was afternoon, the lamps were lit, and they gleamed on his high boots and fur cloak. Under the cloak his crimson winter garments were rich, each of the thick quilted shoulders embroidered with seven silver stars.
There was kindling wood in his fireplace, and a supply of coal in a basket on the hearth, but the fire had not been lit. A brazier burning in the middle of his room had scarcely taken the chill off the air. Outside his window the garden was white with snow, and the trees were almost bare, their last leaves ragged and dark against the azure skies. But behind him, glimmering in the lamplight, were the summer hills Ferron had painted on his wall, and a flock of sheep and a Shinali shepherdess.
Reluctantly he placed the letter down on the table and put out the lamps. Over the metal brazier he placed a heavy lid, so the flames would die out. There was a sudden stamping outside his door, and it was flung open. Freezing air whipped into the room as Ferron entered, slamming the door shut behind him.
“The chariot’s waiting,” Ferron announced, shaking snow from his cloak, and stamping his boots hard on the mat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“I’m positive. I just hope the child isn’t seriously sick. I shouldn’t be going without Salverion. Why does he have to be out at dinner, tonight of all nights?”
“Why, tonight of all nights, is it Jaganath’s child that gets sick?” asked Ferron. “Be careful, Gabriel. The man’s evil. He hates you. You’re doing his work and stealing his influence. I wouldn’t be surprised if he injured his own child just to lure you there.”
“What for—so he can harm me as well?” said Gabriel, half laughing. “You’re too suspicious, Ferron.”
“You don’t know him. I do. For years I’ve watched him. He’s corrupt, powerful, and dangerous. They all are—he and his soothsayer cronies. They run the Empire.”
“You sound like Salverion,” said Gabriel, grinning as he picked up his leather bag of medical instruments and essential medicines. “I promise I’ll treat the child and come straight home. Will you have supper ready for me?”
“Of course. Take care.”
In the long porchways the air was brittle with the cold. Gabriel pulled up the hood of his cloak, wrapped his scarf about his throat and the lower part of his face, and hurried along to the arched door that led to the main gate. In the courtyard someone had wiped the snow off the sundial, and its bronze surface shone. The fountains were frozen into stillness, and the trees were stately and dark, their branches bending under the weight of the snow. All else in the garden was pristine white, unutterably peaceful. But in spite of the serenity, a deep uneasiness fell over Gabriel. He stopped and for several moments stood staring at the white garden, his lips moving in a prayer for protection and safekeeping. Then, feeling more at peace, he went out to the waiting chariot.
The child lay writhing in her bed, her skin wet with sweat. Her right arm ached where the snake had struck, and breathing was difficult. She tried to sit up to call for her mother, but no sound came, and she collapsed back on the silken pillows, distressed. Ten years old she was, with her father’s dark skin and blue-black hair. Her eyes were green, for her mother was a red-haired slave. She became aware of her father bending over her, stroking her hair. His lips on her cheek were hot, and she turned away, whimpering.
“Just a little longer, Syana, and the healer will be here,” Jaganath whispered. “Lie still, else the poison will only run faster through your veins.”
Syana obeyed, though tears slid down her cheeks, and she trembled from fear and pain. She tried to look up, but her eyes would not open properly, and she saw only a blur of dark skin, and two deep spots that were her father’s eyes. Then there was a different voice speaking, and someone golden and scarlet bent over her. Her shift was moved aside, and cold fingers gently brushed her shoulder. She did not mind that the hands were cold; she was burning up and welcomed the touch, like cool water flowing over her. She closed her eyes and lay very still. The unfamiliar voice, quiet and calm, was asking questions. And she could hear her father’s answers, though sometimes the pain got bad again, and her arm cramped and ached, and she could not hear what was said. Then cool hands were on her again, easing the pain, binding her arm firmly but gently, so she could not move it. The stranger was talking again, telling her that everything was all right and she would soon be well. She relaxed and let the hands heal her, not caring about anything except breathing.
“It was a little black snake,” Jaganath told Gabriel. “It had two yellow spots on its head. The child was playing in the courtyard and knocked over a potted plant. The snake must have been sleeping underneath it.”
Gabriel checked the child’s mouth and saw that her gums were bleeding. Gently he asked her if she felt nauseated, and she nodded slightly. He asked her to open her eyes wide, but she could not, and he knew the poison had been enough to begin paralyzing her. Every vein in her body still carried the venom, and she needed the deepest kind of healing—the kind that called forth the body’s own energies and powers to cleanse and restore and heal.
Gabriel stood up. “I have to ask you to leave, my lord,” he said to Jaganath. “What I have to do requires all my concentration, and I can’t be distracted. Would you please send me Syana’s mother?”
“There’s nothing she can do to help you that I cannot do,” said Jaganath.
For a moment Gabriel was at a loss. How could he tell Jaganath that his energies were disturbing, even destructive? That everything in the man repelled him, and that healing was impossible in his presence?
“For this kind of healing I must have total peace,” Gabriel said, carefully. “I’m sorry, but your forces and mine are different.”
“Then I’ll leave, and you may be alone with her,” said Jaganath.
“I’d like her mother present.”
“Very well, since you insist.” Jaganath turned and went out, and Gabriel put away the unused bandages and washed his hands in a silver bowl of water that had been placed on a table for that purpose. There was a soft sound behind him, and
Syana’s mother came in. She saw Gabriel, and her green eyes widened in surprise.
“You’re the healer-priest?” she asked.
“Yes, lady.”
She blushed deeply at the title he gave her. “I’m not Jaganath’s wife,” she said softly. “I’m one of his slaves. Will Syana live?”
“Yes. The venom is seldom fatal. But it’s caused some paralysis and bleeding in her mouth and stomach, and she’s in a lot of pain. I need to give your daughter mind-healing, to pray for her. It takes a while, and I mustn’t be disturbed while I do it. But I wanted you present. And I need your permission.”
The woman nodded.
Gabriel turned back to the child. She was barely conscious, but she sobbed sometimes from pain, and her breathing was still labored. He had done all for her that an ordinary physician would have done, but it was not enough. He stood for a few moments praying, gathering his strength and preparing himself. When he was ready he leaned over the child, his hands on either side of her small shoulders, his forehead close to hers. He closed his eyes, aligning all his mind, all the forces of his body and soul, with hers. He was hardly breathing, no longer mindful of his own body. His whole world became the child, became her energies, her torment, her battle to survive.
He was acutely aware of her brain, of all the delicate nerves and blood vessels of her head. Beginning at the top of her head and following the contours of her skull and brain, he imagined healing light. Through all her head it flowed, about the swollen tissues and veins of her eyes and face, through all her tortured nerves, down even to the taste buds and the surface of her tongue. He envisaged every major blood vessel and poured the white light through, cleansing and healing, negating the bleeding, the forces of the venom. Then he renewed her thoughts, casting out the fears and hurts, restoring her peace, and making strong her wavering will to live. Briefly he explored the images he saw there; he glimpsed a favorite doll and a pet monkey in a cage. There were impressions of her father, lofty and terrifying. And a snake, a tiny black snake with yellow spots on its head, gliding out of an upturned basket of toys. The snake image was dominant, made sharp by fear. He saw the reptile raise its head, preparing to strike. Gabriel’s breathing, like the child’s, became quick and afraid. It took all his will to wipe out the snake, to replace it with silver light that comforted and healed.
Praying, he poured the light through her neck, easing the paralysis in her windpipe as she breathed, then on to her shoulders and arms, making the light very bright about the wound. Every muscle of her arms and hands he saw filled with healing; every chamber in her thudding heart, her lungs, the marrow of her bones, her intestines, and the vital organs that strove to deal with the invading poison. The light rushed, swift and strong like a river, through all of her, overwhelming the venom, fighting it on a huge scale and in every minute cell of her being. He baptized her with it, bathed her in it, until she was reborn, restored. And only then, when her breathing was easy and her sweat had dried and her pain had gone, did he stand up.
Very slowly he stood, and he said nothing for a while but watched her face while she slept. Her mother stood with him, her shoulder against his. She hardly touched him, but he staggered and almost fell. She took his arm, leading him to a nearby chair. He sank onto it, his head bent.
“Would you like a glass of water, sir?” she asked. He nodded without raising his head, and she hastened to get it. But it was Jaganath’s hand that offered him the goblet, and it was not water, but wine. Gabriel sipped it cautiously, longing for water. Well he knew the vulnerability after this kind of healing, the emptiness that left him defenseless and open to outside forces. He had a niggling fear that Jaganath knew his weakness at this time and intended to exploit it. He struggled to gather his scattered forces, to be alert.
Jaganath bent over the sleeping child and lightly brushed her face with his fingers. For the first time in that long afternoon, her eyes opened fully and focused properly on his face.
“Where’s Mama?” she asked.
“She’s with our guests, dear heart,” he replied. “But she was with you while you were healed.”
Syana leaned up on one elbow and looked at the young man sitting in the chair. He grinned at her, and his smile was like her brother’s, warm and full of humor. She smiled back. “Am I allowed something to eat?” she asked.
“Anything you like,” Gabriel replied. “But you should drink plenty of water, too. It will cleanse your body, chase out the last of the poison.”
“It’s already chased out,” she said. “I had a dream. I was swimming in a sunny lake, only I was turned inside out, and the water went everywhere.” She giggled. “Even in my bones.”
Gabriel stood up and smoothed her hair gently back from her face. “You might like a bath,” he said. “We’ll ask your mother to give you one.”
Syana nodded and lay down, a blissful expression on her face. “I didn’t know I had a lump in my ribs that went in and out,” she said, making a pumping motion with her hands. “Did you know?”
“I was vaguely aware of it,” he said. “I think it was your heart, Syana.”
In the hall outside, Jaganath offered Gabriel a velvet bag heavy with precious gems. “For healing my favorite child,” he said. “What you did was like a miracle. Even Salverion could not have been more skillful.”
“I don’t want payment, thank you,” said Gabriel.
“None at all?” asked Jaganath, his lips curled disbelievingly. “Is that because of those absurd vows they force you to take?”
Gabriel did not reply, and Jaganath gave a humorless laugh. “They have you under their control, don’t they, healer-priest? Still, I accept that you won’t be paid. Allow me instead to give you dinner. No—do not protest! I insist. As it happens, I have some important guests who would very much like to meet you.”
“Thank you, but I’d like to go back to the Citadel,” said Gabriel.
“I said I insist.” Jaganath’s tone was velvet-smooth, but his eyes were like flint. “I will not have it said that my daughter’s healer was allowed to go away with no reward, not even a dinner. Come.”
He led the way along gleaming black marble floors to the dining room, rich with silken hangings, glorious lamps, and luxurious cushions. The room was firelit, colorful, and warm, yet to Gabriel it felt deathly cold, and he longed to run from it. Instead he bowed politely as he saw the other guests. They were indeed important; they were four of the Empress’s most influential advisers, next to Jaganath himself. Three of them Gabriel had seen before at the palace; one he knew from childhood days.
The men were seated on cushions at the low table, but they stood as they were introduced, and Gabriel went to them and shook their hands in the Navoran way. There was Nagay, the commander of the Navoran navy, who had attended the funeral of Gabriel’s father. He had not altered; he was still handsome and imposing, with an easy smile and great personal magnetism. As he shook Gabriel’s hand, he said, in his gravelly voice: “You’re Jager’s son, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” said Gabriel. “I met you four years ago. You were at my father’s funeral.”
“Of course. It was a sad day for Navora, that. And for you. If I remember rightly, there was a commotion over you not wanting to take up Jager’s business. Your decision was the right one, obviously, since you’re an Elected One now. I offer you my congratulations, as much for your determination as for your ability. Jager’s brothers would have been daunting opponents.”
“They were, my lord,” said Gabriel, his unease diminishing under Nagay’s disarming smile.
The next guest was Kamos, commander of Navora’s army. He was a formidable man, not unlike the navigator in appearance, but without Nagay’s magnetism. He was blond and tanned and still as muscled as if he had fought his latest battle only yesterday. A distinguished warrior, he was responsible for most of the treaties signed between Navora and foreign nations over the past fifteen years. Now he lived at the palace and was known for his decadence and
the considerable influence he had with the Empress. With Nagay, he advised her on all matters to do with foreign nations, and wars were waged on the basis of what he said.
There was Sanigar, esteemed astrologer. He was short, with a bald head and a benign, innocent look. Believing in the influence of the stars, the Empress seldom made a decision without first consulting him. “It’s good to meet you at last, Gabriel,” he said in a soft, effeminate voice. “I have heard many things about you, all remarkable.”
There was nothing Gabriel could say to that, so he turned to the fourth and final guest. The intensity of this man struck Gabriel like a blow, and he felt the man’s energy flowing from him as they shook hands. He was Kanyiida, the High Priest from the Navoran temple. Like Jaganath, he was very tall and dark and charismatic, and his eyes, an unexpected blue, were perceptive and disturbing. Gabriel knew nothing about the High Priest, except that he had tremendous control over the Navoran people. Gabriel could understand why. Feeling awed by the man’s presence, he shook hands, then sank gratefully onto the thick cushion Jaganath indicated to him. It was not a good place; he was alone on one side of the table, with Jaganath on his right, and the other four opposite him. He felt alienated, like the accused in a court. As he thought that, he realized that the only influential adviser absent was the new High Judge, Cosimo.
“We have already finished the main part of our meal,” said Jaganath pleasantly, “but I will have the slaves prepare for you whatever you wish.”
“Just fresh fruit, please, and some water,” said Gabriel. The little wine he had sipped in Syana’s room had affected him more than he would have believed possible; the golden utensils and platters of round cheeses on the table were hazy, and the lamps were overbright. There was a confused buzzing in his head, which he knew was a forewarning. He rubbed his eyes and tried to gather his wits.