Secret Sacrament (18 page)

“Can you tell me what those things are?”

She thought before answering, not wanting to offend him. “The prophets say Navora will rot
from the inside, like a tree with a worm in it. Not all of it will rot. But the part that does, that has no strongness, will be cut down by the new Shinali nation. We'll wipe the Navoran city into the sea and take back the lands that were ours. But one part of the Navoran tree will remain, a good branch that will fall to the ground and become a new tree. It will grow side by side with the Shinali tree, the roots separate and strong, but the leaves and branches will weave together like one tree. The eagle will make its nest in the branches of both.”

“We have a similar prophecy,” said Gabriel. “My Master, Salverion, told me of it. It will be a time of cleansing for our nation, a beginning again.”

Ashila looked across at the farms, toward his house. “There is the good branch,” she said. “People already wanting harmony with us, with our life on the land. People like your mother. Like you. In the Time of the Eagle, you'll be the tree that grows beside ours, on this land.”

He smiled. “I wouldn't complain about a Shinali way of life. But why call the new time the Time of the Eagle?”

“The eagle is the sign of our people. It's the sign carved on the sacred
torne
, the bone that Oboth wears. The
torne
holds great power, all the
memories and wisdom of our clan. It also tells a prophecy, that our victory will begin with one man, a man with a high lot of braveness, who does one thing great for us. It's his face on the
torne
, with the eagle. We won't be knowing who the man is; the prophets say he'll come and go, and most of us won't even recognize him, or know what he does. But he will begin the Time of the Eagle. It's ancient, the
torne
, and is passed down from chieftain to oldest son, and from chieftain's wife to the women of the family. Oboth's daughter had one, but it's lost with her.”

Abruptly, Gabriel turned and walked on. But Ashila had seen his azure eyes darken like the skies when the sun was gone, and she followed, confused, sensing more in him than sorrow for the huge change to come in his people's destiny. There was something else, something deep and lifelong and secret, and it disturbed her profoundly.

Eventually Gabriel stopped and waited for her. He looked distraught. “Maybe I shouldn't be here,” he said.

“Why? Because our people, yours and mine, were old enemies?”

“Not that. You don't know me, Ashila. I have no right to be here on your land, a guest in your house.”

“You are having the right. Your spirit has long
visited our house, our land. You dream Shinali dreams. You have more right than you know.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated, then said quietly: “There's another thing, about the face on the ancient
torne
. The man who will begin the Time of the Eagle . . . he's Navoran.”

“What's that to do with me?”

She was silent, solemn, and he realized what she implied. Astounded, he shook his head, then laughed a little. “You don't know me, Ashila! I dream Shinali dreams, that's all. But as for being the one to bring about the rebirth of your nation—by God! You couldn't be more wrong! That man will be a far better person than I.”

“He will bring about the rebirth of the Navoran nation, too. A man who loves both peoples, both ways. He will unite them, make them one.”

“He'll be a good man, Ashila. Brave. True. Not me.”

“You're brave. You went with Tarkwan in his canoe. And your heart is true. I see it.”

“No, you don't.”

“I see pain. That is different from not-truth. Why are you here this day, Gabriel? Are you thinking it's chance?”

“You're terribly mistaken. I'm not the person you think I am.”

“My knowing is never wrong.”

“This time it is wrong.”

“My knowing is this right,” she said, driving her right fist violently into her left palm.

Gabriel looked away from her impassioned face, appalled at this sudden disunity between them, at what he thought was the huge folly of her belief.

Ashila sighed deeply and made a graceful sign with her hand, as if to apologize. “I'm being sorry, Gabriel,” she said quietly. “You're my guest, a friend on our land. Also, this is your mourning time. I'm being sorry I shakened your canoe.”

“I don't mind you shaking my canoe,” he said. “Just don't turn it upside down.”

“That is for the All-father to do, not me,” she replied. “I would be happy if we could paddle our canoes together, side by side.”

He smiled, and it transformed the strong angles of his face, banishing whatever tormented him. They began walking again, close, and came to a group of trees beside the river. One had fallen, its colossal trunk and tangled branches making a natural shelter from the wind. Ashila leaned against it, facing the mountains. The tree had obviously fallen a long time ago, and the ground about it was trampled smooth into a comfortable hollow.

“We're not the first to stop here,” Gabriel observed, putting his cloak down so they could sit
on it, and noticing stylized pictures of animals and weapons cut into the trunk beside his head. There were flocks of birds, each one the same.

As she sat down with him, Ashila explained: “This place we call
Ta-sarn-ee
. It means ‘The place where no one sees.' This is where people come to get away from the clan.”

“I suppose there's not much privacy, all of you living in one house.”

“Arik, the soldier who lived with us, he told us that Navorans have one family in one house. It must be hard for you, in our place. So much noise.”

“Yesterday I needed the noise,” said Gabriel. “I enjoyed my time with your people, Ashila.”

“Will you eat with us tonight, before you go?”

“I'd like to, but it's my last night with my family for a long time.”

“Oboth is pleased someone from the farms has come to us. He wants Navorans to meet with us, though the treaty forbids them on our land. That's why he sold a little land for farms; he hopes to trade, and that Navorans who love the land will be our friends. He'll be glad that you've talked on these things with your mother.”

“What's wrong with the chieftain? He's in a lot of pain.”

“He doesn't tell me that, and I can't help him till he does.”

“What kind of healing do you give?”

“With medicines from plants and trees. And sometimes, if I'm feeling very strong, I can heal just from here.” She placed her fingertips on her forehead and watched his face, expecting him to laugh.

“I heal that way too,” he said.

Ashila looked astounded. “Arik said the only way for healing was with a knife, and strong drink to kill the pain.”

“That's the way it is for most of the physicians in Navora, especially the ones who travel with the army. Though they also use herbal medicines. I think your mother's met some of the healers I know. I'd like to talk to her again and find out.”

“What other healings are you knowing?”

“At the Citadel we learn to stop pain so people feel nothing if they have to have surgery.”

“What's surgery?”

“Healing with the knife.”

“How do you stop the pain of that?”

“I can't tell you; I'm sorry. We make vows that we won't ever teach our skills.”

“Can you show me? Not show me how to do it, but only what happens.”

He hesitated. “I don't know. I've never done this.”

“Not even for another healer, whose heart is like yours?”

“You make it hard to say no, Ashila. If I stop the feeling in your hand, is that all right?”

“Yes.”

“It's best if we stand so you can have your spine perfectly straight.”

She did as he suggested, and he explained that he would touch the back of her neck and her shoulder. She turned her back to him and waited, relaxed and trusting. Gently he brushed aside her hair, then moved his fingertips across her spine. Her neck was long and lithe, her skin like warm satin, and he had trouble keeping his thoughts on his work. When he had finished blocking the necessary pathways, his hands stayed there and he had an almost irresistible urge to move his mouth over her skin. Never before during his work had he felt such an impulse, and it shocked him.

“Have you finished?” she asked, because his fingers were still.

“Yes. Try to make a fist of your right hand.”

She tried, then turned to face him, her eyes wide with wonder. “I can't!” she cried. “I can't move it.”

“The paralysis will wear off by tonight.” He lifted her hand and squeezed each of her fingertips
in turn, hard, until her nails were bloodless.

“I'm feeling nothing,” she said. “You could sew up a cut on my hand, and I'd be not knowing it.”

“That's why we learn that skill.”

“And you're not allowed to show me how?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“How long did it take you to learn?”

“I can't tell you that either. I can't say anything at all about the healing arts I learn. I'm sorry.”

“I understand. Thank you for showing me this.”

He was still holding her hand, massaging it gently to hasten back the feeling. “Can you tell me how you heal with your mind?” he asked.

“Words are hard. When a person is sick, say with fever, I sleep with them, see their pain and sick-being, but not with these eyes. Then, with a high lot of strongness, I see them well. You're knowing what I mean?”

“Yes, I know. Did your mother teach you healing, Ashila?”

“Yes. And an old woman gave her the knowing when she was being young.”

“And you'll teach someone, one day?”

“That's our way.”

“Who will you teach?”

“My daughter, when I have one.”

“Do you have anyone in the clan you want to marry?”

“I was loving Tarkwan, long in time.”

“All your life, you mean?”

“No. Long time past. I was six summers old, and he was twelve.”

“What happened?”

“He was being a man before I was being a woman. He chose Moondarri.”

“Are they married?”

“Since they were fourteen summers old. He's always bringing her to
Ta-sarn-ee
, and the people laugh at them for it. Tarkwan carved all the birds in the tree, a bird for every time they're being here.”

Gabriel was still holding her hand, lightly stroking her fingers and palm and wrist. She withdrew it and gave him the other.

“You want me to numb this one, too?” he asked, puzzled.

“No. But if you're pleasuring my hand,” she said, her lips curled, “I'd like it on skin that can feel.”

Reddening, he laughed softly and let her go. “Sorry,” he said. “I was forgetting myself. Forgetting a lot of things.” He picked up his cloak and flung it about his shoulders again, and stood looking at the mountains. The snowy peaks shone, turned golden by the sun setting on the far side of the sky.

“Sometimes forgetting is good,” Ashila murmured. “Do you want to walk on?”

“For a little way.”

They walked up out of the shadows into the dazzling light and on toward the mountains. They stopped after a while, looking at the peaks.

Ashila was wearing only her woollen dress, and she shivered, putting her paralyzed hand under her arm. Gabriel stood behind her and enfolded her in the cloak with him. Their shadows merged into one, stretched out in front of them across the bright Shinali land. The evening was serene. The only sounds were the calls of homeward-bound birds and the chuckle of the river as it rushed across the stones. The mountains were breathtaking, their valleys streaked with misty purple, their summits on fire with the last light of the day.

“What do you call the mountains?” Gabriel asked.

“The highest one, on the other side of the river, we call Sharnath. It's our sacred mountain.”

“Why is it sacred?”

“The All-father lives there.”

“You go there to worship?”

“This word . . . worship?”

“To pray. Talk to the All-father.”

“No. We worship wherever we are. But we
journey to the mountain, one time in a turning of the seasons, those of us who need to. We have a time we call the Moon of the Seventh Sacrament. It's the seventh season, the little last one, only one new moon to the next. It comes at the ending of the winter, in the time of the yellow flowers.”

“What do you do, on the Moon of the Seventh Sacrament?”

“It's our holy time, when we let go things of the old seasons and prepare for the new. The earth-changes are also in the spirit world. If we need to, we can journey up the sacred mountain and make a sacrament to the All-father.”

“Like a sacrifice?”

“I'm not knowing that word.”

“Sacrifice means to give something up.”

Ashila repeated the word several times. “It's like that, like a sacrifice,” she said. “On the mountain we leave a sign of whatever we want to forget, and when we return home it's finished. We can leave there anything, and it's a secret between ourselves and the All-father. It may be a debt we can't pay, a hurt we can't forgive, a guilt, a grief. Anything that's heavy on our hearts, that we can't carry. The sacrament is a letting go. It's a work of the All-father, not of ourselves, something we leave with him to finish or mend.”

“It's a beautiful belief.”

“Do you have anything like that in Navora?”

“I suppose the nearest thing is our Sanctuary of Healing Dreams. People sleep there who need healing in their minds.”

Without warning, images of his last night in the sanctuary crowded into his head, and he thought of Myron being there, wanting to see him; saw Myron standing on the sanctuary steps, running down them, going to his death. To the death that should have been Gabriel's. Grief went through him, deep and hard like a physical pain.