Secret Sacrament

by Sherryl Jordan

  Again he heard the voice, soft and seductive: In the last great human experience, you’re impotent. But I can change that. . . . With a huge effort Gabriel shut out the voice. But he remembered, too, the letter he had received from Jaganath early in the winter; the letter in which the High Oracle hinted that he had seen Myron, and that he was willing to help Gabriel communicate with his brother through the veils of death. The offer was so tempting. . . .

  Gabriel groaned and wept, knowing that if he were not so utterly exhausted, this night he would have gone to see Jaganath.

  At last he roused himself, poked the fire back into life, and drew the curtains. The light, the growing warmth, gave him a kind of peace and eased his pain. He was drying his hair by the fire when Salverion returned.

  The Master looked ashen and suddenly very old. “It is bulai fever,” he said, dropping into the chair and rubbing his hands wearily over his face. “You did well to recognize it, Gabriel. It’s hard to do when there’s another disease present. I’ve had every other patient with fever checked. We found four more cases, all in the first stage of the disease. As soon as the weather clears we’ll have Biorn and the others taken with the trained physicians to the island. That way we may contain the plague. Tomorrow you and I go back to the Citadel with the other Masters of healing, and all the healer-priests.”

  “Why?” asked Gabriel, puzzled. “Why right now, when we’re most needed here?”

  “Because we can’t risk getting the fever.”

  “Why not? Other healers have to.”

  “Use your brains, my son. All the Citadel healers, all Navora’s top teachers, lawyers, politicians, and the Empress and her advisers—we all have to be kept in total isolation. We have no choice; it’s Navoran law. I don’t think you realize how contagious bulai is.”

  Remembering something, Gabriel said, “Shouldn’t the whole city be isolated? Do you realize that the last time we had the epidemic, people fled Navora? Most went along the old road and left through the mountains, but one man visited the Shinali on the way and wiped out nearly all their clan.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Gabriel picked up his tortoiseshell comb and began tugging at the knots in his damp hair. He replied, almost carelessly, “When I was on Mother’s farm for the funeral, I went for a run on the edge of the Shinali plain. I met one of the people. She told me.”

  Salverion contemplated his disciple’s bent head. “Is she the reason you’re not sleeping?” he asked softly.

  Gabriel gave up on the tangles and stood. “One of them,” he admitted.

  “What else bothers you, my son?”

  “Jaganath,” said Gabriel, after a while. “And what he offered to teach me, about the Other Side.”

  Salverion made no comment, and Gabriel added, with a faint smile, “In my weaker moments, I imagine that he knows more than we know.”

  “Maybe he does know more,” said Salverion. “But would you trust him to tear holes in the veil for you, and to give you control over whatever comes through?”

  Gabriel thought again of the painted demons on Jaganath’s wall and shook his head.

  “Do you remember that prophecy I mentioned once, about the rebirth and rise of the Shinali nation, the cleansing of Navora, and the one great unified people?” asked Salverion, and Gabriel nodded. The Master went on, “I told you that the prophetic vision was seen by three masters of the Citadel, at the same time. This was a great confirmation that the prophecy was true. One of those Masters was Jaganath.”

  Gabriel stared at him, astounded. “Jaganath! Jaganath was a Citadel Master?”

  “Yes. We don’t speak of it often. He was the only one to ever break his vows, to betray us and the wisdom we shared. He was one of our finest Masters, and the closest friend of Sheel Chandra. Jaganath was a great favorite with the Empress. At the time she had a small son, the only human being she ever truly loved. He drowned, and Petra was desolate. Jaganath contacted the boy in the other dimension, gave Petra visions of him, and messages. Petra came to rely on Jaganath for her happiness, even her sanity. He soon realized the great power this gave him, over her—and, through her, over the Empire. Slowly that power corrupted him. The vows he made with us restricted him, and he left the Citadel to become her chief oracle and adviser. Over the years his control over her has strengthened. If she complies with his wishes, she sees her son. If she does not, she is haunted by her worst nightmares, by demons and intolerable fears. Sheel Chandra and I have done our best to help her, but Jaganath’s hold on her is very strong. His hold over many people, including the army commander, Kamos, is strong. I fear that one day Petra will challenge Jaganath over something he won’t tolerate, and he’ll declare himself Emperor, supported by Kamos and the army, and all the other influential people he manipulates.

  “He’s a constant reminder to us of what pride can do, or greed, or lust. None of us are free from temptation, Gabriel, and corruption has very subtle beginnings. We must remain vigilant. You do well to resist him.”

  “It isn’t always easy,” said Gabriel.

  “I’m always here,” said Salverion. “Everyone at the Citadel is behind you. We give each other strength. But our bodies need strength, as well as our souls—especially with bulai fever to be dealt with. Get yourself some food. I’ll go and see the High Judge, Cosimo, and ask him to pass a law forbidding travel in and out of the city, to contain the fever. Guards should be put on all roads. It won’t be difficult preventing people leaving, with most of the city walled, and the grasslands and Taroth Pass the only way out. And everyone must be told of the gray patches on the back of the throat, so cases of the fever can be recognized early, and isolated. Ignorance is our worst enemy.”

  “Could I go and see Cosimo for you, Master?”

  “Thank you, but no. His wife has not been well lately; I promised I would see her again as soon as I could. Now is the last chance I may have for a while. I won’t be long.”

  He left, and Gabriel collapsed in a chair, drew the lamp closer, and broke the seal on the package from his mother. Inside were several folded pieces of parchment, and something wrapped in a square of soft leather that smelled of Shinali fire. Inside the leather was a small design woven of grass. It was like a figure eight, but was more complex and intricate, and woven, like his mourning bracelet, without beginning or end. Smiling, he held it in his hand while he unfolded the letter. It was dated almost two months earlier.

  Greetings, dear Gabriel.

  I have no idea when you’ll get this—if you receive it at all. I’m sure half our letters aren’t delivered these days, or they’re simply dumped in the snowdrifts if the messengers can’t get through. However, I need to write, and writing a letter to you is better than trying to write morbid poems. I’ve been doing that a lot lately—writing poems. Topaz says they’re good, though I suspect he’d say that if I wrote recipes for poison. There isn’t a lot to do these days when we’re all kept in by the snow. I teach the children, since we didn’t bring our own tutor when we came here, but it’s more like a carnival than a classroom. Normally I teach the children of some of the other farmers as well, though of course the weather’s too bad at the moment for them to walk, even between farms.

  Before the weather got bad Subin and Jayd visited the Shinali and took them blankets they’d collected from around the farms. I thought two children bearing gifts would hardly be accused of breaking the treaty. They also took a piglet. I hope the Shinali wait until it’s bigger before they eat it. I was afraid they would take the children out in the canoes and was ready to go and risk strong words with them if they did. But Subin said they danced around the fire instead, so I guess that wasn’t so dangerous. They came home with their faces painted with clay mixed with fish oil. Subin wouldn’t let me wash hers off, and she stank for days. And the Shinali gave them a flute each and seeds for us. We have to wait until the sickle moon to plant them, whatever that is. I have a lot to learn.

  I enclose a gift for you from one of t
he Shinali. A woman called Ashila asked Subin to give it to you, and told her the meaning of it. Subin is breathing down my neck at this moment, making sure I get the meaning right. It’s the Shinali sign for dreams, and it means (word for word direct from Subin, this!): “The spirit world and the earth world both the same.” By the way, Subin says Ashila is very beautiful. Should I be worried? Are you worried, or are you at peace? All your life you’ve chosen the difficult way of doing things. If I can help by taking messages to the Shinali for you, I will. Or at least Subin will; there isn’t much appeal for me in dancing around a fire with fish oil all over my face. Several farmers have taken the Shinali gifts of extra blankets and food, because of the extremely bitter winter. I hope that when the weather is better we may become friends with them. Certainly the children want to be friends. Not only mine; other farmers’ children, too, relish the idea of hunting rabbits with little stones in slings or dancing naked by a fire. I suppose there’s something of that freedom and wildness in all of us.

  The children are restless now that we can’t go out. Jayd breaks the boredom by carving animals in the doorposts. I was angry at first, then decided I quite liked them. He’s doing the doors now, and the banisters down the stairs. We’ll have the most decorated house in the farmlands.

  I feel very distressed and angry that Myron’s murderers haven’t yet been found. Aren’t those strange words to write? It all seems so unreal. I have awful dreams that I’m killing things. It’s my craving for vengeance, I suppose. I remember what you said about powerful men being behind this, and I can’t understand what’s happening in our Empire. Are high lords really so powerful that they’re above the law? I remember years ago there was a controversial court case, and many people thought the judge had been bribed, but everyone was too afraid to speak out. Your father was very angry over it. He said that the Empire was going rotten at the heart. He cried when he said it. It was the only time I ever saw him in tears, ever saw him not strong, not proud and sure and fiercely Navoran. He said if he had the courage, he’d expose the rot himself. But he didn’t; and now the evil’s spread. I never thought the rot would come so close to my own heart.

  There is still plenty you can do, I suppose, even if you are confined to the Citadel. At least you have lots of company.

  Talking of company: I have something to tell you, and I hope you won’t think badly of me. Topaz is living here. He was going to build his own house nearby in the hills, but we want to get married in the summer, and it didn’t make sense for him not to be here in the meantime. I would love to have discussed this with you face-to-face. I hope you’re happy about the marriage.

  Do you think Salverion would let you come? The wedding will be here on the farm. And you could bring a friend. I don’t mean your bodyguard, either.

  All the children send their love, and Subin says to tell you she is making a present for you, for your birthday. You’ll probably already be nineteen, by the time you get this. I think I’ll save your present until I see you. I don’t want to risk sending it by messenger, not in this weather. I hope you’re happy. I pray every day for God to bless your life. I love you more than you know.

  Lena

  14

  THE HONOR-FEAST

  FERRON KNOCKED ON Gabriel’s door. “Gabriel?” he called. “There’s a message for you.” There was no answer, so he went in, picking up scattered clothes and straightening rugs and cushions as he went. The bedroom was in disarray, the floor strewn with letters Gabriel had received, and half-written notes he had begun and abandoned. Above the disorder, fixed to the wall over Gabriel’s bed, was Myron’s sword, diagonally crossed with the scabbard. It had been restored by the best smith Ferron knew, and it looked splendid again, bright and enduring.

  Ferron began with the letters, putting them in a tidy stack on the table. He noticed one that Gabriel had begun and not yet finished. It was addressed to someone called Arik, care of the headquarters of the Navoran army. Glancing over the words, Ferron realized that Gabriel was asking Arik to teach him the Shinali language. The keeper shook his head in bafflement and placed the note with the others. Under one letter he found a small leather bag stitched carefully with surgical silk. A blue cord was threaded around the neck of it, drawing it tightly closed. The knot in the cord had frayed and broken. Ferron had never seen the bag except about Gabriel’s neck. Curious, he opened it and shook the contents onto his palm. There was the bone carving Gabriel had always worn, with its etching of the eagle and the man combined; the grass bracelet, frayed till it had broken; and a strange, harmonious pattern also made of grass. Ferron replaced the things carefully, made the bed, and put the amulet bag in the center of the cushions. Then he picked up the boots lying on the floor, placing them in the clothes cupboard. He noticed that Gabriel’s old shoes, which he wore when he went running, were not there.

  The weather had cleared, and only a light powdering of snow remained on the ground. In the garden the trees were in bud, and a fountain made tinkling music. Outside Gabriel’s window two people, unseen, were walking in the fresh evening air, and Ferron recognized the rich accent and resonance of Sheel Chandra’s voice. He was talking about the epidemic in the city, saying that the island quarantine had been most effective, since only four hundred and seventy had died. Ferron strained to hear more, but Sheel Chandra and his companion had moved on.

  There was the sound of stamping and heavy breathing in the doorway, and Gabriel arrived, coming in through the door from his garden. He wiped his arm across his sweating face, pulled off his damp shirt, and dropped it on the bedroom floor. Then he noticed Ferron and picked it up again. “I see you’ve just ruined my mess,” Gabriel said. “I’ll never find anything now.”

  “How were the Shinali?” Ferron asked.

  “Too far away to see well,” said Gabriel. “They were hunting deer. I didn’t see any weapons, but I suspect they were using slings and stones. Whatever they used, it was deadly. They killed three deer. I saw them carry the bodies back.”

  “Feasting time tonight,” announced Ferron, taking a crimson robe from the cupboard and placing it carefully across the bed.

  “What’s that for?” asked Gabriel. “I’m not going out.”

  “Yes, you are. For a feast,” Ferron replied.

  The strangest expression passed over Gabriel’s face: a mixture of absolute bewilderment, hope, doubt, awe, and joy. “With the Shinali?” he croaked.

  “Come back to this world, brother,” said Ferron. “It’s only the Empress. You’re invited to the palace.”

  Gabriel sighed heavily and sat down on the bed, running his hands through his damp hair. His fingers were shaking. “I was thinking of the deer,” he said. “Of the Shinali feasting. My mind’s still out there.”

  “As well as a few other vital organs,” remarked Ferron.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your heart, for one. And your soul, if it’s an organ. Not being a healer or a priest, I’m not sure.”

  “How come I’m going to the palace? No one’s authorized to leave the Citadel yet. Travel in and out of the city is still banned.”

  “We’re authorized, you and I. I’ve already spoken with Salverion. The epidemic’s over, and travel’s no longer prohibited.”

  Gabriel glanced at the cushions and picked up the leather bag. “Where was this?” he asked, pleased. “I turned the place upside down, looking for it.”

  “I noticed. It was on the floor under some parchments. You’d better hurry and get ready to go out. The Empress’s chariot is already waiting for us at the gate.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “What I’m in. I won’t be feasting. I’ll wait in the outer courtyard for you, same as usual.”

  “Are you sure? If it’s a feast we’ll be there for hours. I could invite you as my friend; I don’t think the Empress would mind.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll wait as usual.”

  As Gabriel picked up a towel and headed for the washrooms, he felt a deep se
nse of unease. Over the next hour it intensified. By the time he was ready to leave for the palace, he felt ill.

  The palace was ablaze with lamps, and there were musicians playing in the courtyard, their flutes and harps festive in the late winter air. Gabriel and Ferron stopped in the courtyard, looking up the steps toward the great entrance hall to the palace, where braziers burned between the fountains, and people wandered, sipping wine from goblets and laughing softly as they talked. They all were dressed gloriously, with jewels winking in their hair and on their hands. The women were heavily made up and wore silks and fine linens, ignoring the cold for the sake of fashion.

  “It’s going to be quite a party,” observed Ferron, moving into the shadows behind a large potted tree. “Good luck. I’ll wait here.”

  “I wish you were coming with me,” said Gabriel, trying to smooth down his hair. It was still damp from the bath, and tangled from the windy ride through the hills. “I’ll be like a crow among the peacocks, with that lot. I don’t know what I’ll talk about. I’ll probably make an absolute fool of myself. Do I look all right?”

  “Too perfect for your own good,” said Ferron. “The Empress will adore you.”

  A slave approached to greet Gabriel and take his cloak, but Gabriel pushed the fur into Ferron’s arms. “You hold it,” he said. “Just in case. And don’t move. Wait right here.”