“The Time of the Eagle will be a time of beginning again, for Navora,” he said. “Come, I’ll show you something.”
He took me down the winding stairs to a room with a painting along one wall. I stood before the images, lost in wonder. Three times higher than I that painting was, and twenty paces or more long. But it was not the size of it that caused me to marvel, nor was it the amazing skill with which it had been done, or the colors, which glimmered with life; it was the painting itself, and what it depicted. It was the stone city, beautiful beyond belief.
So many times I had thought of this place, and I suppose I had imagined black stone houses shaped something like our tents, hundreds upon hundreds of them. But nothing I had imagined had prepared me for this, this luminous vision of vast courtyards lined with gigantic statues, enclosed gardens, sweeping flights of stairs, glorious white domes, soaring arches and towers, and long white roads between buildings so beautiful they took my breath away. Beyond the city, beyond the farthest mighty buildings, was the sea, with sailing ships upon it. And to the left, outside the city walls, were gardens and trees, and a white road winding past other buildings, pillared and domed and very grand.
As I looked upon the city it was strong in my knowing that there, on those paths, my father’s feet had trod; and his eyes had looked upon those towers, those high and splendid places, and he had loved them. It was my city, too, mine by right of blood. And as I looked and marveled, it seemed that I heard the sounds of it, the talk of people walking on the stairs, the singing of the wind in the high towers, the sharp clip-clop of horses’ hooves on stone ways, and somewhere, far distant, the sound of music. And I smelled the sea, sharp and clean and tangy with salt. I shook my head, startled at the clearness of it.
I saw Taliesin watching me, his face thoughtful and grave.
“It’s a marvelous painting,” he said. “We all needed it, this memory of our city, after we left. We knew it might be a long time before we could return. Already we have been here in Ravinath for fifteen years.”
“The city, will you name me the parts?” I asked.
So we walked along the full length of the painting, slowly, while he pointed out the places. “This is the center of the city here, with the huge square lined with statues. This is the temple, and these pillared and domed buildings are the art galleries and theaters and houses of learning. All the roads and steps lead upward to the palace, that highest and biggest place with the towers, on the cliffs overlooking the sea. And along here we have the marketplaces, where goods and food are sold, and here the aqueduct carrying clean water to the city, from the river in the hills. Here outside the city walls is the little temple we call the Sanctuary of Healing Dreams, where Sheel Chandra did most of his work. This large place is the Navora Infirmary, where the sick are healed, and where your father worked with Salverion. And here, in the hills, is the Citadel. This is where he lived—where we all lived—and learned from the masters. It was the Empire’s place of highest learning. It is abandoned now, in Jaganath’s reign. And past this road, where the painting does not go, is your Shinali land.”
I looked back along the great city, and was near tears. “My people, how can they be saying they will throw all this down?” I said. “It is a high lot beautiful.”
“It looks beautiful,” Taliesin said. “But this whole city is built of stone, stone that was cut and carried and laid by slaves. Even today, Navora could not exist but for the work of slaves. I sometimes think that if every slave in Navora rebeled, the city would collapse. Navora may look beautiful, Avala, but it’s built on blood, and every stone was placed with pain. Our forefathers who planned this city, they had good ideas, but it all went wrong. The great laws were bent, evil men took power, and the most evil of them, Jaganath, took the greatest power of all. There is no freedom in this city, not for the slaves there, nor for the Navoran people. That city needs the Time of the Eagle. It needs throwing down, or at least it needs cleaning out, and it needs a new beginning. People need to be freed, good laws need to be restored, a new life needs to begin. And I look forward to that time, though it will break my heart to see it happen.”
“It will break my heart, too,” I said, “for it was my father’s city. It is half my city. I want the Time of the Eagle to come, and yet in a way I do not want it, if it means that this great city will be gone.”
“I think the city itself won’t be gone,” said Taliesin. “What will be gone is the evil that is in it. The Time of the Eagle isn’t about destruction, Avala; it’s about restoration, making things over again in a better way. In the Time of the Eagle, after the battle, this city will belong to all people, Shinali and Navoran, Hena and Igaal, and to the people of all the nations who were once conquered and enslaved. There will be no slaves. In your father’s time the Shinali were forbidden to leave their land, even to walk in the gardens outside the city. But in the Time of the Eagle you and your people will walk the streets if you wish, free, for the city will belong to you, to all of us. And everything we have here in Ravinath will go back to the city, and will be for everyone. These great places of learning, that for generations were only for the children of the rich, will be open to all. And the Citadel will be opened again. It will be for all those who are gifted, men and women. Knowledge will be shared, and we will learn from one another. Navora will be better, richer, freer, than it ever was before.”
I tried to imagine walking in the streets of the city with Ishtok, under the colonnades and gigantic statues; but I could not.
At that moment there was a sound that came from far away, pealing out again and again, silver-toned and beautiful, which echoed and hummed along the old stone walls, and did not stop.
“The bells!” cried Taliesin, and to my surprise he looked alarmed. “They’re a warning. We must go quickly to Sheel Chandra’s tower. Your people are in danger. We must shield them.”
15
When we got to the tower, almost twenty people were gathered there under the glass dome. Most wore green sashes, so I knew they were healers, but a few wore silver, and I knew they were artists, and there was one astronomer. I realized they would all be experts in mind-power.
There was utter silence, for already Sheel Chandra had begun his work. He was as he had been the other night when I had found him here, still and silent as a statue. But this time he was standing, and Salverion and other masters and disciples were with him, as still as he was, their eyes closed, their faces uplifted, as if they listened.
Taliesin pressed a finger to his lips, and signed for me to stay where I was, then he went and joined them. I stayed near the door, though I wished I could move, for they were facing me and I felt conspicuous, worrying that I might somehow block the power that came from them. Like a wind that power was, an invisible force that flowed over and around me, and passed behind through the stone walls and out across the mountains. Then it seemed that the masters grew strangely dim, and mist blew about them, and the air in the tower grew cold as ice. Wind blew my hair across my face, and I wiped the strands away. When I looked again, the tower was gone. The masters were indistinct, dreamlike, and I could see through their pale crimson robes to a frozen lake beyond. Yet the air was clear and still, and the lake shone steel gray under the blue sky, and children played on it. Shinali children.
I stared, hardly able to believe. I could hear the children laughing as they slipped and slid on the ice, and heard someone call to them not to go far out. I turned, saw a forest of pine trees behind me, and people gathering fallen branches and pinecones from under the trees. Behind them, half hidden in the shadowy depths of the forest, were ragged tents. A small fire burned in front of the tents, and people were bent over it. The scent of pine mingled with the smell of roasting meat. The scene was homely, beautiful, and the laughter and shouts of the children, and the sound of the soft Shinali accents, tugged at my heart. I looked for my mother but could not see her. I saw Neshwan and his friends, their bows in their hands, going off along the forest’s edge, no d
oubt to hunt. Then one of the wood gatherers stood up, very slowly, and I saw that it was my grandmother. She had aged twenty years, and all her hair was white. I wanted to call to her, but when I opened my mouth no sound came. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes and looked at the land behind me. Alarm showed in her face, and she turned and called for Yeshi.
I looked where she had looked, and saw a black smudge moving across the snow. And I knew, then, why Sheel Chandra was here to guard and shield: the black smudge was a large battalion of soldiers.
Terror broke out among my people. Someone shouted to the children, and I heard, weird upon the bright winter air, the high, wild war cry of the Shinali, a warning. Neshwan and his friends rushed back, and other men ran to the tents and got their bows. My grandmother dropped her wood and ran to the lake, calling the children, crying to them to hurry. People stamped out the fire. Others ran out of the tents, bows and spears in their hands, their faces pale with fear. Some were running away through the trees. Yeshi shouted orders.
I looked back along the plain, saw the soldiers nearer, much nearer. A huge company it was, at least five hundred. The pale sun glinted on swords and bows, helmets and shields. Black they were, against the snow, strangely silent, approaching fast.
Behind me, people screamed and shouted, and children wailed. Mothers with babes were fleeing into the forest, some dragging little children by their arms. It was terrible, a scene of utter confusion and frenzy and fear. The soldiers were so close now I could see their faces, their drawn swords. Fast they rode, bloodlust in their eyes, and they shouted and laughed as they neared the forest. Some lifted strange bows to their shoulders, made of steel. They wore bronze armor on the upper parts of their bodies, and white plumes on their shoulders and helmets. Black cloaks streamed from their shoulders, and the red horse of the Empire pranced across their shields.
I looked at the masters again. Still they faced the forest and my people. I could hear Sheel Chandra speaking, his words low and mystical and sounding gray, like mist. And mist seemed to come from him, from his words, flowing out toward the pine forest and my people. But as the mist flowed past me it seemed like water, then like wood. And then I saw that it was trunks of trees, huge and ancient, standing close, their great roots twisted like snakes across the frozen ground. The mist wove about them, coiling about the enormous trunks, along the low branches. And far beyond them, as if in another world, my people were running, crying, and Yeshi was still shouting. I glimpsed Neshwan standing steadfast, unafraid, his bow lifted, an arrow in place. Then he vanished.
I blinked, and stared again. The pine forest and the tents were gone, covered, shielded, lost behind the illusion of mist and ancient trees whose branches and roots were too tangled and close to allow an army through.
I stepped back, moving like a shadow through the gigantic trees. Then the soldiers were there, not an arrow flight in front of me, pulling their horses to a halt, staring, mystified. Afraid, the horses reared back, away from the trees that were not there. Behind them, the other soldiers shouted and swore as they were forced to a sudden stop. A man with red plumes on his helmet and shoulders lifted a gloved hand, and they were all silent, still. He rode back and forth in front of the huge gnarled trees, struggling at times to control his wary horse, his eyes narrowed as he peered between the interwoven branches. Once he looked directly at me, through me, his steely eyes searching the forest depths. The images of ancient trees and mist remained intact, strong. I could still hear Sheel Chandra’s chant, and marveled that the soldiers seemed deaf to it. Behind the soldier with the red plumes, his men were uneasy. One of them rode forward and spoke to him.
“These trees were not here before, sir, I could swear to it,” he said, his voice low. “God knows I’m not a superstitious man, but there’s something unearthly happening. There were natives here. I saw them through my telescope. And it was a pine forest. I’m not a fool, sir. I know what I saw.”
“I’m not calling you a fool,” replied the other. “I’ve seen such things myself, in Jaganath’s palace. Things that change, things where no such things should be. I have the same feeling now, that I had then, with Jaganath: to get out, fast.”
“There’s something else, sir,” said the other man, pointing to the ground with his sword. “Footsteps in the snow, going nowhere. Children’s footsteps.” Looking bewildered, he glanced upward into the treetops, as if he expected to see children perched up there.
But the man with the red plumes said a word I did not know, and backed his horse away, and returned to the company. Raising his arm again, he barked an order, and they all turned around and began to go back the way they had come. They left the ground churned and muddy, a scar on the earth’s whiteness. And on the other side of the churned earth, their images wavering like smoke as the soldiers passed by, were the masters and Sheel Chandra, standing in the gap, protecting and powerful and majestic.
Then the soldiers were gone.
I turned and looked behind me. Already the twisted old trees were dissolving, and the straight pine trees emerged, magiclike, out of their mist. I saw Yeshi and others, and heard cries of astonishment and disbelief. I saw my mother, her bow in one hand. Her other hand she put over her face, and she bent her head, as if praying. The fire had not quite been stamped out, and the smoke drifted across her feet. Other people stood about, their faces full of wonder and fear and astonishment. I wanted to go to my mother, but the trees and mist swirled about me, and when I tried to walk to her, there was a huge rock in front of me. Then it was not rock, but the wall of Sheel Chandra’s high tower.
I leaned my head against the stone, feeling confused, misplaced, close to tears. I felt someone behind me, his hand on my shoulder.
“They are safe, Avala. They are well,” said a voice, and I turned to see Taliesin. He looked very tired, but his smile was victorious. “We shielded them. But it was the hardest shielding ever.”
“I know they are safe,” I said. “I saw them, there in the pine trees by the lake.”
“You saw?” he said, astounded. “You saw?”
I looked past him, to where Sheel Chandra sat on his chair. He looked exhausted, slumped forward, his head dropped on his breast. The others stood about him, and Salverion had his hand on Sheel Chandra’s head. I wanted to go and thank them but did not like to interrupt. But at that moment Sheel Chandra looked up and turned his gaze full upon me, and I knew that he knew all that was in my heart.
“You saw what happened?” asked Taliesin again.
“All of it,” I replied, and could not help smiling at the look on his face.
“By God, I knew the daughter of Gabriel would have some powers,” he said, “but I did not think she would know, by instinct, the skills I’ve taken twenty years to learn!” He added, trying to look disgruntled, but with a twinkle in his eyes, “Some things are simply not fair.”
I leaned over the statue on the table, marveling. It was of a woman, life size, but all her parts—her skin, muscles, ribs, lungs, heart, all inner organs, even her skeleton—could be removed, one piece at a time, so I could see exactly where everything belonged. She was carved of wood, and everything was painted. Some of the organs I had seen before, in my healings, and they were the right color. It was a wondrous thing, for even the smallest bones were carved and fitted into place, and the main nerves and blood vessels were made of stuff Salverion called rubber. It was incredibly intricate, and Salverion let me take it to pieces and examine it for several days, telling me the Navoran names for parts, explaining what each organ did, how they were all connected.
“When we lived in Navora,” he explained, “my disciples learned anatomy by dissecting the corpses of unknown criminals, or beggars. It was the best way to learn. But here no one has died, and even if they did, we would not use their body for such a purpose. So I had our artists create this model. We call her Ebony, after the tree she is made from. Now most of my teachings here must be done from her, and from models, charts, and books. Your father lear
ned his skills in the infirmary in Navora, and in people’s homes when we were called there to heal. You will not be so lucky. It is difficult teaching healing under these circumstances.” He added, smiling, “You will never know how well Ebony feels when you put her back together with all her organs and bones in their right places.”
“But she will not be dying, either, if I don’t do it right,” I said, and he laughed.
I learned a great deal from Ebony, especially about the heart and liver and brain and other deep organs I had not seen during healings I had done. I learned about various diseases that could attack organs, and how to treat them. I also heard, for the first time, about the plague the Navorans called the bulai fever.
“It attacks the liver and the brain,” Salverion explained. “It is always fatal, and many thousands die from it. There is bulai fever in the city again, at the moment. Sheel Chandra has seen it in his visions. That is why the soldiers came out yesterday, looking for more slaves. It is the first time they have come out on winter raids. Many in the city have died. When we shielded your people, the soldiers were not actually looking for the Shinali, but for an Igaal or Hena tribe to take back as slaves.”
“Sheel Chandra, can he see Mudiwar’s tribe, and if it is well?” I asked, thinking of Ishtok, astonished at the intensity of the fear that went through me.
“Mudiwar’s tribe will be well,” he replied. “The soldiers went back with Hena slaves.”
My relief must have been obvious, for Salverion said, with a knowing smile, “I did not think you loved Mudiwar’s tribe so much, Avala. Or is it only one there, who is tied so vitally to your heart?”
I surprised myself again by blushing. I asked, to distract him, “Why does Sheel Chandra not shield all the tribes?”
“It would be too much for him. Shielding exhausts him, even though we all help as much as we are able. Most of the work falls on him, and it puts an almost intolerable strain on his heart. So, harsh though it seems, we shield only the Shinali, since they are the chosen ones.”