Secret Sacrament

  When he had finished, Ferron said, “You took on a mighty opponent, accusing Jaganath. Surely you realized he’d twist your words, turn the blame onto you? Why didn’t you defend yourself?”

  “I had no chance. He was cunning, lied about me being the Navoran in the prophecy, but mixed the lie with enough truth that everyone believed him.”

  “Did he lie?”

  “I’m not a traitor, Ferron!”

  “Neither is the Navoran in the prophecy. From what I can see, he rights a great wrong. A cleansing won’t be a bad thing, for an empire built on slavery and the seizure of native land.”

  “Don’t you start! I’ve had all this from Ashila.”

  “Hold your peace, brother. I’m only trotting out my thoughts.”

  “Trot out something useful. What’s going to happen now?”

  “I’m going to take you along the coast, and up the cliff to the hills and a cave where I used to hide fugitive slaves until it was safe for them to travel. Then I’ll go and see Salverion, ask him what we should do.”

  “I meant, after that?”

  Ferron did not reply, but began climbing down the rocky slope from the cave, turning left toward the harbor, the rugged bluff, and the hills.

  Gabriel lay sleeping in the dirt alcove carved years ago into the cave wall. It had been the bed of slaves, and their terrors and griefs mingled with Gabriel’s own, in troubled dreams.

  Rain slashed the leaves over the cave entrance, and there was an echoing tumult of waters splashing and trickling and surging all around. Thunder boomed, and lightning tore jagged strips across the skies. Waking suddenly, Gabriel stared at the dirt roof above his head. For a few seconds he had no idea where he was, or why; then, like a fist slammed into the pit of his stomach, the events of last night hit him.

  Groaning, he rolled out of the alcove. He stretched, feeling cramped and tense, then went and stood in the cave entrance, gazing through the leaves at the storm-ravaged hills. Bushes and a colossal rock blocked most of his view and shielded the cave from anyone outside. Cupping his hands beneath a rivulet of rain that ran off the rock, he drank thirstily, then washed, wishing the cold water would ease the throbbing in his head. It was hard to tell the hour, with the skies so glowering and dark. Late afternoon, maybe.

  “Where are you, Ferron?” he muttered, going back into the cave again and sitting on the flat rock in the center, that for years had been used as a table. Gabriel’s crimson robe was torn and stained, and very damp. Rain had started to fall before they got to the cave, and Gabriel was cold now, and aching all over. Ferron had warned him against lighting a fire, though there was dry wood and kindling in the cave. Pacing to get warm, Gabriel considered the fire. Ferron had left the candles and flints, and the temptation was great. Gabriel was about to reach for the flints when he heard a rustle in the leaves outside. Rigid with fear, he peered through the dimness.

  Ferron appeared, rain streaming off his thick cloak. He was carrying two full leather bags, oiled against the rain. He was breathing hard, and his face was white and strained. Coming into the cave, he dropped the bags on the rock.

  “What’s happening?” demanded Gabriel. “What took you so long?”

  Ferron leaned on the rock, his head bent. “It’s not good news, brother.”

  Gabriel’s heart sank. “I can’t go back yet?”

  “No. Palace guards and sentries have already been to the Citadel. They were there when I arrived. I saw their chariots outside the main gate. They searched the place, though it’s sacrosanct. They even went into the Great Library. I waited in a farm shed until this afternoon, when they left.”

  “Well? What did Salverion say? I have to wait a few days, until it all blows over?”

  “It’s not going to blow over.” Ferron hesitated, then said in a low voice that shook, “You’re wanted for treason, Gabriel. If you’re caught, it’s the death penalty. The Empress did her utmost to revoke the law, with Cosimo’s help—and she might have succeeded, but she needed the agreement of all her other advisers. Jaganath refused to bend. If you had only sworn that you would never visit the Shinali again, all would be well. But you refused, and Jaganath insists that in your refusal you have sworn alliance with our enemies. He wants you dead. You have to leave the Empire.”

  Gabriel shook his head, stunned, his face ashen. Ferron opened one of the leather bags and took out a change of clothes and some rolled letters, sealed with the blue wax of the Citadel.

  “I’ve got letters from Salverion and Sheel Chandra,” he said. “And there’s this.” He held out to Gabriel a leather bag with a drawstring cord. Gabriel did not move, so Ferron opened the bag and poured gold coins across the dark rock. Each coin was worth five hundred hasaries. The bag held a fortune.

  “It’s enough to buy you a passage on the ship Endurance,” Ferron said. “It leaves in six days, from the port at Timano. It’ll take you four days to walk there. I wanted to bring Rebellion for you, but Salverion said a horse is too easy to track. So you have to walk. Leave the day after tomorrow. The Endurance sails to Shanduria, Sheel Chandra’s country. In the letter is the name and address of a friend of his who speaks a little Navoran, and who’ll help you. He’s a qualified physician. You can work with him and finish your training in surgery. At the same time you’ll learn the language and get to know the people. Shanduria is outside the Empire, so you’ll be safe there. You have enough money to buy a house and later a clinic of your own. There’s food in the bag for you, and a few clothes. I hope they’re all right. I didn’t have much time to think. And there’s a packet of seeds there, for you to crush and mix into a dye. You’ll have a better chance if your hair is dark. I’ve put in your shaving things, too, and some soap. You won’t be able to grow a beard if your hair’s black. Make up a false name for yourself, and a family history. Your life now depends on your ability to lie, so for God’s sake get a talent for it. I also brought you this.” From his belt he drew Myron’s sword, adding grimly, “You might need it.”

  Gabriel took the sword in both his hands and ran his fingers along the beautiful etching of the scabbard. He tried to speak but could not. The world seemed to spin around him, fast out of control.

  “I wish I could come with you,” said Ferron, his voice catching in his throat. “But I’m going home to Amaran.”

  Gabriel looked at him, his eyes like those of a man drowning. “Why?” he asked. “Why do you have to leave, too?”

  “I was seen at the palace with you,” said Ferron. “They’re looking for me, as well. I’d be interrogated. I’m not staying around for that. Salverion’s given me money.”

  Carefully, Gabriel placed the sword across the stone. Then he turned to the keeper, distraught. “I’ve ruined both our lives, Ferron! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Ferron shook his head. “Not ruined them,” he said. “Just changed them.” He went over to Gabriel and hugged him. “I’m going now, brother, while there’s still light. My ship leaves tomorrow from the next port around, between here and Timano. I’ll be there in time if I go now and walk all night. Will you be all right here?”

  Gabriel nodded and wiped his face on his sleeve.

  “There’s food in your bag,” said Ferron, “and some red wine. Don’t forget; your ship leaves in six days, from Timano. You’ll be safe here until you go.” He searched Gabriel’s face and added gently, though the words were a warning, “Remember that if anyone shelters you they’ll be breaking the law and be liable for punishment. It’s better if no one knows where you are; then they don’t have to lie.”

  “I know,” said Gabriel. He tried to say something else but shook his head instead. Suddenly they were embracing again, hard, and crying. Ferron kissed both Gabriel’s cheeks, said an Amaranian blessing over him, then picked up his bag and went out again into the rain. Gabriel watched until his dark figure faded and vanished in the gray landscape; then he went into the cave, sat on the stone, and gave in to grief.

  Much later he lit one of the ca
ndles Ferron had left, and read the letters from Salverion and Sheel Chandra. Often, while he read, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and sometimes he smiled.

  You will always be in my heart, Salverion ended. If you are able to write, please sign yourself Darshan. It was the name of my only son, who died some time ago. I think he would be proud for you to borrow it.

  Please destroy these letters, your Citadel clothes, and everything by which you might be recognized. You are, of course, absolved of your vows of obedience to us. Your vows of healing are between you and God. May he go with you. My prayers will cover you, every hour.

  Sheel Chandra’s letter was similar, full of concern, sound advice, and love. Gabriel memorized the name and address in it, then burned the scroll, with Salverion’s, in the candle flame. The parchments curled, flamed briefly, and darkened to ash. The sealing wax melted onto the rock, two shining pools in the dark.

  Then, by the flickering candlelight, Gabriel took off his crimson Citadel robe. He folded it carefully, and looked at the firewood on the floor of the cave. He stroked the rich crimson and the seven stars, and could not bring himself to destroy it. Hiding the purse of money deep within its folds, he pushed the robe to the end of the leather bag, and pulled on a pair of his own trousers and a green quilted tunic. He ate a piece of bread and cheese, and drank a few mouthfuls of wine. Then he packed his bag again, blew out the candle and placed it with the others in the bag, pulled on his cloak, and strapped Myron’s sword to his leather belt. He left the cave as he had found it, except for the tiny pile of ashes on the rock, and the pool of wax hardening to Citadel blue.

  Outside, the storm had passed. The first stars glimmered, and a crescent moon rode between the tattered clouds. Slithering on the wet grasses of the steep hill, Gabriel began walking.

  16

  SANCTUARY

  ASHILA WOKE AND lay looking at the thatched ceiling. It had stopped raining, and the men on watch had dragged the upturned boat off the smoke hole. The sky was clear, the stars bright. It was quiet after the storm. She could hear the men on watch talking quietly, and smell the smoke from their pipes. They were sitting on the roof, rustling the thatch as they moved.

  Ashila turned over to go back to sleep, but a sense of urgency and gladness swept through her. Careful not to disturb her mother next to her, she got out of bed. She pulled on her dress, wrapped a saffron-colored blanket around herself, and went up the dirt steps onto the grasslands.

  The eastern skies flushed pink behind the mountains, and the plain shone after the rain. The river was the color of silver, and swollen with the rain and melted snows. Ashila looked toward the sacred mountain and saw someone walking along the riverbank, coming her way. Though he was far off and coming from the direction opposite Navora, she knew who he was. She guessed he had crossed to this side over the old bridge by the fort and knew he must have traveled all night. She walked quickly to meet him, her bare feet making soft imprints on the grass.

  He began to run. As they drew near to each other, they stopped. She could hear his breathing, hard after his run, although his face was shadowed and indistinct. He was troubled, the light about him variable and not as shining as it had been; but he smiled as he came to her. They stood close, looking at one another, not speaking. At the same time they lifted their right hands and joined them in the Navoran handshake. After it he did not let her go, but lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her fingers and the back of her wrist. Then he held her hand to his breast, tight, drawing her to him. He kissed her forehead and cheek, his lips gentle.

  “I think you messed up the Navoran greeting,” she said, smiling.

  He laughed a little and released her hand. Suddenly he was serious, and she felt a pain go through him. “I’ve messed up a lot of things Navoran,” he said.

  “I’m knowing you’re in trouble,” she told him. “Last night men came looking for you. They were all dressed the same but were not soldiers. They went first to your mother’s house. They were there a little time, then they came here.”

  “They were sentries. They uphold the laws. What did they say?”

  “That they were wanting you for treason. A strange word. What does it mean?”

  He looked away, over toward the Citadel hills. The Citadel was rose colored, its windows and golden domes glinting in the first light. “It means I have no loyalty to the Navoran Empire,” he said, his voice broken and hoarse. “It means I’m a danger to my nation, and for that I have to die.”

  “Why are you a danger, Gabriel?”

  “At a feast the Empress commanded me to tell her the meaning of a dream. So I did. I warned her about the evil, the rot at the heart of the Empire. I even named the rot—it’s her chief adviser, Jaganath. But he pointed the finger at me, twisted everything I said, said I was the evil one. Because he’s powerful and cunning, everyone believed him.”

  “Oh, Gabriel.” She came close and rested her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest. “Your heart, it’s like a Shinali’s,” she said. “Brave, and full of strongness.”

  “That’s not bravery you feel beating there,” he said. “It’s pure terror.”

  “Braveness isn’t being not afraid,” she said. “It’s being afraid, and still doing what we must.”

  “I have to leave, Ashila. There’s a ship sailing in six days, from a port farther east. I have to start walking there tomorrow.”

  “Will you be staying with us until then?”

  “I can’t. I’m a fugitive now. If I’m found here, it’ll be an excuse for them to confiscate your land. Or worse.”

  “I’m not knowing all your words.”

  “If you shelter me, that’ll anger powerful people in the city, and they’ll send soldiers to take your land by force, as punishment.”

  “I’m thinking they won’t be coming again looking for you,” she said. “If they do, our watchmen will see. We watch all the days and nights now, since what you told Oboth. He died in the winter. We’ll ask Tarkwan if you can stay. He’s chieftain now.”

  She started to walk back, but Gabriel remained where he was. His eyes, full of despair, were fixed on the distant Citadel. Ashila came and took the bag from his hand, slipped her arm about his waist, and led him away to the Shinali house.

  Tarkwan dipped a piece of bread in the fish stew, sucked the dripping morsel into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. Over their breakfast meal Gabriel had told him and all the clan what had happened. His words had been simple and straightforward, and they had listened in silence, not looking at him when he wept, and honoring his truthfulness.

  When he had finished Tarkwan said, “You stay with us today and tonight, if none speak against it.” Then he waited, looking at the faces of the people around him. No one spoke, though one old man threw his uneaten bread into the fire and walked out.

  “I can’t stay,” said Gabriel, his own bread like a lump in his throat. He felt sick again, his nerves on edge. “If I’m found here, you’ll all be in trouble.”

  “We’re in that now,” said another man from across the fire. He was elderly. “Oboth told us soldiers would come, go through our house. All the time we have men on the roof, watching.”

  “We’ve had fever in Navora, and no travel was allowed,” Gabriel explained. “But they could come anytime now, if they still plan to.”

  “We’re ready for them,” said Yeshi, “thanks to you. The right’s yours, to sleep in our house. So I say.”

  Tarkwan looked at one of the elders across the fire. The man was lean and stately, with heavy-lidded eyes that saw deep. He wore necklaces of ancient human bones and animal teeth, and his long woollen tunic was painted with many signs and symbols. He was the clan holy man.

  “What are your words on it, Zalidas?” Tarkwan asked.

  Zalidas answered, in Shinali, “He protected us. We’re owing him the same. And I’m thinking he should read us the treaty, so we’re clearly knowing it. A long time ago we heard its words, and it may be that we have forgotten some of it.??
?

  One of the old women pulled up a hearthstone, and from the hollow underneath drew something wrapped in leather. She passed it to Tarkwan. “It’s the treaty,” Tarkwan said, handing it to Gabriel. “Will you remind us what’s in it, every word?”

  The leather was warm, the parchment within dry and well preserved. Gabriel read it through to himself first. There was silence while he did so. Even the children were quiet, solemnly chewing their bread and stew, the juices running down, making their chins shiny in the firelight. The house was dim in the early morning.

  “It’s hard to understand,” Gabriel said. “It’s written in legal terms. But it says that the side of the river where your house stands is protected. They can use the other side of the river for a route to the mountain pass. It says they can even build a road through, if they wish. But the treaty clearly states that they won’t come on the land where your house is. And it says the plain is yours forever—unless you give them reason to confiscate it. That means that if you do something they don’t agree with, they have the right to take your land by force.”

  “What if they do a thing we’re not agreeing with?” asked Tarkwan.

  “I don’t know,” said Gabriel. “The treaty doesn’t mention that.”

  “They were being wrong yesterday, coming in our house,” a young man said with rancor.

  “That was a bit different,” said Gabriel. “They would have been sentries, looking for me.”

  “They broke the treaty,” said Tarkwan. “But not again. I swear it, with sharleema.”

  “What will you do when the soldiers come?” asked Gabriel.

  “Fight them.”

  “They’re trained fighters,” Gabriel said. “Their crossbows shoot farther than you can throw your spears. You can’t possibly win; their weapons are better. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”

  “We have another weapon,” said Tarkwan. “One we all use, even the children. We’re ready.” He offered no further information, and Gabriel did not ask. But he was afraid, as he rolled the treaty within the leather and passed it back to the old woman.