Secret Sacrament

by Sherryl Jordan

  “What’s wrong with you?” muttered Ferron, suddenly alarmed. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Are you all right?”

  The slave bowed low to Gabriel. “Her Majesty wants to see you, sir,” he said. “Please come with me.”

  He was taken up the steps to a secluded part of the interior gardens, where the Empress sat on a cushioned bench by a fountain. She turned as he approached, and he bowed low. As he stood, he looked straight into her face and was shocked.

  Paint and powder could not hide the sharper angles of her face, nor the heavy shadows about her eyes and the lines of strain around her mouth. She smiled when she saw him, but there remained in her look something desperate and haunted. She was also very drunk. She staggered a little as she came toward him, and he could smell spiced wine on her breath.

  “I’ve been looking forward all winter to seeing you, my dear,” she said, almost falling against him as she kissed his cheek, her lips too close to his mouth, leaving a scarlet stain there. She had not been so familiar with him before, and he blushed deeply, surreptitiously wiping off the sticky makeup with his fingertips. She did not notice but clasped her hands firmly about his right arm, and led him along the marble court under the lamps. She was wearing white silk, with a necklace of amethysts to match her eyes. Her eyes were still beautiful, in spite of the anxiety in them.

  “It’s been the most terrible winter,” she said, slurring her words. “I’ve had shocking dreams, Gabriel. So many times I’ve wanted to see you. But you were unable to travel or busy at the Infirmary, and then locked up in the Citadel again because of the epidemic. You know how to deal with bad dreams, don’t you? You’re trained to do that sort of thing.”

  “I think you should sleep in the Sanctuary of Healing Dreams, Lady,” he advised. “And Sheel Chandra is far better qualified to deal with nightmares than I am.”

  “But I want you to deal with them,” she said, with an alluring smile. “And we can do better than the sanctuary.”

  They walked on, the Empress leaning against him, her steps unsteady. He did not feel too steady himself, with the sudden nausea and horror that surged over him.

  “You have many guests, Lady,” he said. “I feel that I’m keeping you from them. They’ve looked forward a long time to seeing you, I’m sure.”

  “And you, Gabriel? Have you looked forward to seeing me?”

  “I’ve often wondered how you are, Your Majesty.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Gabriel said nothing else, and the Empress sighed and became agitated. “Oh, Gabriel! I’ve never been so lonely in all my life as I have in these weeks while travel was banned. I was a prisoner here, locked in with Sanigar and Kamos and that dreadful Jaganath. He used to be so kind, so compassionate. I trusted him with my life. But he’s changed. He terrifies me now. Sometimes I feel that my mind isn’t my own, that he somehow overrides my will with his. I refuse to consult him anymore—to consult any of them. They’re plotting something. I know it. Still, they’ll come to grief. I’ve had a very vivid and prophetic dream, and that will put an end to it.”

  Dizziness swept over Gabriel again, and all his nerves jangled. “You should talk to Sheel Chandra about this, Lady,” he said.

  “Not him. I’ll talk to you about it later, my dear. In the meantime, I suppose I shouldn’t keep you all to myself. Come and meet everyone.”

  He took a deep breath and allowed himself to be led back to the courtyard. Gradually his dizziness and confusion passed, and he managed to make polite and attentive conversation with most of the guests. He saw Jaganath again, for the first time since the fateful night at Jaganath’s house, and the man was suave and very charming. “May I borrow our healer-priest for a moment, Your Majesty?” Jaganath asked. “I would like to speak with him about a personal matter.”

  “One moment only,” she replied, and Jaganath bowed and took Gabriel aside.

  “I trust you received my letter,” the High Oracle said.

  “I did.”

  “I had hoped for a reply. You rob yourself of a great joy, Gabriel, in this mad refusal to allow me to help you contact your brother. You have no idea how thin are the veils between you two. You could have the most wonderful communion with him.”

  Gabriel said nothing, and Jaganath added, in his most persuasive tones, “You are still angry with me, and I understand that. But the powers we have must transcend personal differences. And I know how you yearn to see your brother again. You were very close to him, and his death was such a tragedy.”

  “That it was,” agreed Gabriel, trying to keep his voice calm. “You must have been devastated when you heard they’d killed him instead of me.”

  Jaganath’s eyes narrowed, but his expression did not alter. At that moment the Empress interrupted, closing her hands firmly about Gabriel’s arm. “You’ve had your time with him, you old fox,” she said sweetly, to Jaganath. “He’s all mine now.”

  Clinging to Gabriel’s arm, she led him away. “Beware of Jaganath,” she murmured. “He hates you. He hates anyone he can’t control. Oh, look—there’s my darling old Konral! He used to tell me stories when I was a child. Come and meet him.”

  Gabriel wished she would leave him alone so he could go and speak with a few people he recognized, but she gripped his arm as if she were drowning, steering him erratically between her friends and introducing him with unrestrained flattery. Often she whispered witty comments in his ear, and several times she stroked his hair back off his cheek. Many of the guests were whispering, and some of the women gave him sly glances when he was introduced to them. He realized what they all were thinking and felt hot with shame.

  He saw the High Judge, Cosimo, and persuaded the Empress to excuse him for a while.

  Cosimo was with his scribe, a slave called Izben. Gabriel had met them before, when he visited Cosimo’s home with Salverion. Cosimo was a well-built, handsome man, though his blind eyes, pallid and shimmering, were disconcerting at first. His curly brown hair was graying at the temples. He was quiet-spoken, with an air of serenity that invited trust. He spoke softly now, as he greeted Gabriel, embracing him warmly and shaking his hand in the Navoran way. “I hear that Her Majesty is being especially congenial this evening,” Cosimo remarked.

  “Too congenial,” Gabriel replied. He greeted Izben as well, then said to Cosimo, “Do you mind if I stay with you for now, and sit by you for the feast?”

  “Of course not. We’d be honored. How is Salverion?”

  “He’s very well, thank you, after our enforced holiday. How is your wife now?”

  “Much better. And your family? How is your mother?”

  “They’re all fine. No one at the farms caught the fever. Neither did the Shinali. Your travel ban was very effective, my lord.”

  “It pleases me to know that.” Cosimo hesitated, listening intently to determine that they were quite alone. “Izben said you were talking to Jaganath before,” he murmured. “Your lawyer is certain that Jaganath was behind your brother’s murder. Have you anything substantial that could implicate him?”

  “Only my intuition.”

  “I appreciate that, but intuition, even that of a healer-priest with the Vision, isn’t enough to warrant an arrest.”

  “What happened with the two men you were questioning?” Gabriel asked.

  “They admitted nothing. As we had no real evidence against them, we had to release them. I’m sorry. I’ve interviewed over two hundred people who work at the palace, and not one will speak a word about the High Oracle. But if I find the smallest bit of evidence against him, I’ll have Jaganath arrested so fast he won’t have time to predict his own prison term. That I promise.”

  The musicians stopped playing, and the Empress’s steward announced that the feast was prepared. Everyone moved into the dining room. There were three long, low tables with cushions on either side. Bowls of exotic fruits stood on the purple cloths, and each place was set with an elegant Amaranian glass, a silver-handled knife and spoon,
and a golden plate. Over the head table hung a rich canopy. Slaves waited to serve, wearing white flowers in their hair and in garlands about their waists. Guests milled about the tables, vying politely for the honored places closest to the canopied area. With Cosimo and Izben, Gabriel stood behind sumptuous cushions at the table farthest away and waited for the Empress to enter.

  “Have you been at a feast like this before?” Gabriel whispered to Cosimo.

  “Several times. I always leave with a craving for a walk in fresh air, preferably in the places where the working people live.”

  “When can we leave?”

  “When the Empress says we can. In the morning, probably.”

  Gabriel groaned, thinking of Ferron.

  A hush fell and the Empress came in, accompanied by her high lords. She took her place at her table, the chief steward standing behind her. The cushion next to hers was vacant. She sat, and there was a rustle of silk and a ripple of color across the room, as all her guests sat as well. They were silent while the High Priest, Kanyiida, stood and said a blessing over the occasion. Afterward the guests waited, no one moving.

  “Before the first course is brought in, the Empress makes a speech,” whispered Izben to Gabriel. “Never long, fortunately.”

  But this time the Empress did not speak immediately. She beckoned her steward to her and whispered something to him. He nodded, then walked down the full length of her table and along the strip of crimson carpet toward the back of the room, his footsteps soft in the silence. He came all the way to the last table, and walked along behind the guests until he came to Gabriel.

  “Gabriel, son of Jager?” he asked, bowing low.

  Gabriel’s palms sweated, and he could not speak. He nodded.

  “Her Majesty would like you to sit with her, sir.”

  Shaking and feeling sick again, Gabriel got up and prepared to follow the steward. But the man bowed again and indicated that Gabriel should go first. Gabriel took a deep breath and faced the long lamp-lit carpet to the canopied grand table. Never had a walk seemed so long, nor had he felt this conspicuous, this naked under so many curious eyes. At the end of the walk was the Empress, flushed and smiling graciously, and looking amused. Gravely, he bowed and took his place beside her.

  “My dearest friends,” the Empress said, still sitting, “this dinner is a celebration for me. I celebrate dreams, and the wisdom and warnings they give. I celebrate true friendship, honesty, and the gift of knowing what dreams mean. I honor bravery and trustworthiness.” She had a little trouble getting her tongue around the last word, and some of the guests smirked behind their hands. She went on, her voice raised: “In this feast we honor my new interpreter of dreams. One I trust above all others. One who has never lied to me, never tried to exploit me, never let me down. We honor Gabriel Eshban Vala.”

  With a fond and triumphant smile, she picked up Gabriel’s limp hand, and kissed his fingers. “You could look pleased, my dear,” she whispered, leaning her head close to his. “This is your honor-feast, not your funeral.”

  Dimly he heard applause. He realized he should get up and bow, make some kind of speech himself, but his limbs felt paralyzed.

  “We’ll forgive him for his beautiful bewilderment,” said the Empress, so all could hear. “And we’ll excuse him from making a speech. Until later.”

  There was courteous laughter and applause, and the Empress nodded to her steward. People began to talk, and slaves came in bearing large trays of steaming fish and bowls of tangy sauces.

  The smell of the rich food made Gabriel’s stomach churn. He glanced across the table, and saw Jaganath sitting directly opposite. The Oracle’s lips were frozen into a smile, bloodless and deadly.

  Somehow Gabriel got through the first four courses. He noticed that all the food served to the Empress came in separate dishes with sealed covers, doubtless already tasted for poison by a slave. Sometimes, as a special favor, she offered him morsels from her plate. The food was rich and spicy, and he thirsted for cold water. But the slaves kept on filling his glass with wine, full-flavored and heady, and he tried not to drink much. Music and laughter mingled in his ears with the Empress’s murmuring, and often he missed what she was saying. At one stage she told him to call her Petra. He did, though her name felt alien on his lips, the intimacy dangerous.

  Kamos, the army commander, sat with Jaganath on the other side of the table, and Sanigar was beside him. Nagay, commander of the navy, was absent, and Gabriel assumed he was somewhere on the ocean. Mostly they ignored Gabriel, but during the fourth course Kamos said to him, in a voice so loud he was heard through the entire room, “We heard that you visited the Shinali, Gabriel. Friendly with the barbarians, are we? Or is there a kind of wild challenge in defying our treaty?”

  Gabriel reddened, and the Empress asked, “Are you friendly with them, my dear?”

  “I was invited onto their land, Lady,” he said. “When I was home for my brother’s funeral, I went running on the edge of the grasslands, and the Shinali saw me and invited me to their house.”

  Slowly the Empress smiled. “I can imagine you wearing nothing but paint, and dancing around a primitive fire,” she said. “Or were you doing something more serious, like studying their medicines?”

  “Our worthy Elected One wasn’t studying their medicines, Your Majesty,” said Jaganath, softly. “He was being extremely sociable, canoe racing down the rapids.”

  “Very brave of you, Gabriel!” said Petra. “Did your canoe win?”

  “I was with the chieftain’s son,” replied Gabriel. “Together we won.”

  “And what else did you do, to impress the natives with our Navoran excellence?”

  “Nothing, Lady.”

  “Nothing? None of your wonderful healing? None of the famous skills Salverion has been teaching you?”

  “I wasn’t there to impress them, Lady. I talked with one of their healers. They use many of the skills I learn at the Citadel. Our Navoran knowledge isn’t so superior.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, then Sanigar said, “These little strips of meat really are delicious, Your Majesty. Are they pork?”

  “They’re strips of defiant slave, my dear Sanigar,” the Empress replied, straight-faced, but with her eyes twinkling at Gabriel. She offered him some, and he shook his head, his cheeks colorless. Across the table, Jaganath and his friends laughed.

  Desserts were brought in, and the Empress placed tiny fruit pies and choice glazed fruits on Gabriel’s plate. Suddenly most of the lamps were extinguished, and the dancers arrived. The music became high and passionate, and the performers began a spectacular rendering of the Navoran fire-dance, dancing in the dark with burning torches, their seminaked bodies licked by the flames.

  Petra leaned close to Gabriel, her arm about his neck, whispering something he did not hear. Her skin felt warm, and her other hand was on his knee. He shifted his position so her hands were no longer on him.

  “I brought the dancers in just for you, my dear,” she said.

  The music changed, becoming a stirring throb of drums. The dancers were in pairs, moving close, their motions ecstatic and wild, and very erotic. It was the fire-dance as Gabriel had never seen it danced before. It was too much for some of the guests, and they grabbed slaves and pulled them down onto the cushions with them, and the fervid dark filled with the fragrance of the crushed white flowers.

  Gabriel looked down at the table and toyed with his wineglass. He felt overwarm, and his hand shook. Ashila filled his mind, his blood.

  “Well, do you like them?” Petra whispered. “They’ll dance again for us later, if you like. Just for you and me.” Her hand was on his thigh again, moving not so subtly.

  He could hardly breathe, and his head ached. “I can’t stay, Lady,” he said. “I have to go now. Salverion and I have surgery in the morning. It’ll be a long day; we haven’t been to the Infirmary since the epidemic started. I must sleep.”

  “But my dear, you’re sleeping here,�
� she said.

  “Thank you, Lady, but no.” He stood up and bowed to her. The drums still pulsed, and the guests, apart from the High Judge, had their eyes riveted on the dancers or were occupied with the slaves. No one noticed what was happening under the silken canopy. “Thank you for the dinner, Your Majesty.” Gabriel bowed again and began to walk out. He had not passed the first row of curtains, when the Empress called him back.

  “Gabriel!” Her voice was shrill and furious, and he stopped. Everything stopped—the music, the dancers, the rapt murmuring of the guests. All eyes turned in his direction, and there was absolute quiet. Very slowly Gabriel stopped walking. He seemed to hear his mother’s voice, from a time way back in his childhood: There are times to run, and times to stand firm. You’ll learn the difference. . . .

  But he did not know the difference, not this time. The Empress made the decision for him. “One more step,” she said, “and you’re exiled.”

  He turned around and bowed again. “I have to leave, Lady. I’m sorry. I have work in the morning.”

  “Gabriel, you are walking on the very edge of propriety,” she said, her voice shaking and low. “I forgive you, allowing for your youth and inexperience. But your behavior is unacceptable. Anyone else walking out against my will, I’d have whipped. I order you to come and sit down. I have a dream I want you to interpret. I want all these present to hear it.”

  “I cannot interpret dreams as a public entertainment, Your Majesty. I’m sorry.”

  “Come and sit down!”

  He obeyed, his face hard and furious.

  “Don’t ever defy me again,” Petra murmured, as she smiled and waved at the musicians. They began playing again. Amused, and making quiet comments to one another, the other guests returned their attention to the dancers. Gabriel picked up his wine and finished it in a few gulps. A slave filled the glass again. As if nothing had happened, the dance went on.

  Suddenly the music stopped, and the dancers bowed and waved their torches and left. The guests hooted and howled for more. When they were quieter, the Empress clapped her hands and there was silence. Slaves lit the lamps again.