Secret Sacrament (22 page)

“The eagle is another power, another civilization,” he went on. “It comes, sees Navora already weakened, corrupted; and easily it conquers, levels the whole field. The fire signifies a cleansing, a purification, making the way for a new beginning. For not all is destroyed. Some of the wheat, the best of Navora, remains, and it grows alongside the new people represented by the eagle, and a new field comes into being, made of two nations unified, equal, and at peace.”

The listeners stirred, and there were angry mutters of treason.

“And myself, half strangled by the weed?” breathed the Empress. “What does that mean?”

Gabriel raised his head, looked at Petra, and tried to focus his eyes clearly. “Please don't ask, Lady. I can't tell you that. Not in this place, here. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not for everyone to hear. I beg of you, don't ask.”

“But I do ask, Gabriel. I know what it means, that part of the dream. It means that, out of all these treacherous people around me, there is one who plots my death. It means there's going to be an attempt to assassinate me, doesn't it? And that one demonic act is the beginning of the ruin of our Empire. Tell us, Gabriel. Tell us what the dream means. Point out the person who will do it.”

“I can't, Your Majesty.”

“I command you. Tell us.”

“If I tell you, Lady, it will endanger my life.”

“No it won't. The person named will be arrested in moments, and you'll walk out of here free, I swear. Now—speak.”

For the first time since he had begun to explain the dreams, Gabriel looked at the guests. They were white-faced, appalled. The High Judge, Cosimo, was sitting very still, his face turned toward Gabriel. He was shaking his head very
slightly, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. Gabriel dared not look at Jaganath. He took a deep breath.
Sovereign Lord, give me courage,
he thought.

Facing the Empress, he said in a voice that was heard by all, “The second part of the dream is nothing to do with assassination. The weed that tries to choke Your Majesty is the corruption that begins the fall of our Empire. There is one weed in the beginning: one man, very powerful and evil, and insidious at first. He tries to entangle you in his powers, to control you, and through you the Empire. The second part of the dream is a warning, lady. You must free yourself of him.”

“His name?” asked the Empress. “You must tell me, Gabriel. I command you.”

“It is Jaganath, Lady.”

The silence was absolute.

Then, in a voice like silk, Jaganath said, “The son of Jager lies, Your Majesty. He lies and deceives, to protect himself.”

“I think not, my old friend,” said the Empress. “It distresses and grieves me to say it, but I believe he is right.”

“He is not right, for he speaks only half the truth, interprets only half the meaning in your dreams,” said Jaganath, with lethal calm. “He conceals truths crucial to the survival of our Empire.
This night he has done you an unforgivable wrong.”

“You had better explain yourself, Jaganath,” said the Empress, her voice shaking. “And if you lie—if just one word is a lie—you will be dead by dawn. That is my solemn oath.”

Jaganath spoke again, every word softly laden with power. “Your dreams, Lady, are the reappearance of a great prophecy. It was first seen many years ago by three Masters of the Citadel. That vision, too, was of the field of wheat, and the Time of the Eagle. I know; I was one of those who saw it. This dream you had is to remind us of that great prophecy, to warn us that these are fateful times. But Gabriel has lied about the interpretation, told you only a part of it, concealed the central truths.

“One truth he conceals is that the eagle means the Shinali people. These he did not name, because he is their friend. They are the destroyers who will tear down our Empire. And the other truth—the crucial warning in your dream—Gabriel failed to mention at all. A part of that prophecy, signified in your dream only by a human cry, is that a Navoran is the catalyst in bringing about this huge change, this destruction to our Empire. The cry you heard in your dream is the call that summons the eagle to the golden field.
It's the cry of the traitor, the friend of the Shinali, the betrayer of us all. That cry is the danger, Lady, not me. We are in gravest peril from the Shinali nation, and from the Navoran traitor who would help them rise against us. That traitor, Lady, is Gabriel himself.”

There was stunned silence. Then the Empress asked, “Tell me, Gabriel, is this true? Is my dream the prophecy, and will a Navoran begin the Time of the Eagle?”

Speechless, he nodded.

“And is that Navoran you?” she asked.

“Of course it's Gabriel!” cried Jaganath, smashing a fist onto the table. “He's a friend to the Shinali! We all heard how he went canoeing with them, how he honors their ways, says they're equal with ours! He wears a sacred Shinali talisman, Lady—a bone carved with the image of the Navoran who will awaken the Shinali eagle. He's allied his dreams with them, his very soul.”

“Is this true?” the Empress asked Gabriel. “Do you wear a Shinali talisman?”

Gabriel stared at her, tried to speak, but could not. Guilt flooded his face. He fumbled with the cord about his neck, drew out the small leather bag, and removed the bone. The Empress took it, examined the images carved there, then stared long and hard at Gabriel's face. “Jaganath is
right,” she murmured. Then she gave the bone back to him, and he put it away.

All around them people broke into an uproar. They no longer whispered of treason or treachery; now they screamed the accusations. Some, stirred up by Jaganath, called for the death penalty. Through the tumult Gabriel was aware of Jaganath, overpowering and triumphant. Words spoken long ago by Jaganath echoed in his head:
The day will come when you'll interpret another dream and cause another death—and that death will be your own. You'll wish, then, you'd allied yourself with me.

At last people were quiet. The Empress opened her mouth to speak, but Jaganath spoke first. “We may not stop the rise of the eagle,” he said, “but the cry that begins its fatal flight we can—and must—silence. According to our laws, Gabriel Eshban Vala is guilty of treason and must die.”

“I will not pass that sentence,” said Petra, her voice shaking. “You will not command me, Jaganath. I am your Empress. And Gabriel has not betrayed us.”

“Not yet, Lady,” said Jaganath, his tone ominous. “But he will.”

The Empress pressed her hand on Gabriel's arm. “Will you swear to me, my dear, in front of all these witnesses, that you will never visit the Shinali again?”

For a long time he thought, his head bent. Then he said, very low, “I can't promise that, Lady. I'm sorry.”

Again there were cries of treason.

The Empress lifted her hand for silence. “I too am sorry, Gabriel,” she said. “I cannot help you. But I said that you would leave this place freely, and that promise I will keep. Go now. I grant you one hour, before another soul leaves this room.”

He glanced at her face, saw that she wept. “Your Majesty, I cannot forswear my friendship with the Shinali,” he said. “If respect for another people is a crime, then I am guilty of that, and will die for it if necessary. But I am not guilty of treason. My interpretation of your dreams was true, and my warning to you remains. The weed is strangling us both.”

“I will not forget. Go. Please.”

Shakily, Gabriel got to his feet, bowed, and walked out. He dared not glance back. Quickly he passed the rigid guards, the pillars and statues and curtained doorways. For a few panic-stricken moments he thought he was lost. Then he saw the dark plants in the courtyard and the still, cold light of the stars. He began to run. Ferron stepped out from the shadows, and Gabriel gripped his arm. “Get me out!” he cried.

W
ITHOUT A WORD
Ferron tossed him his cloak and led him out of the courtyard by a side corridor, unfamiliar to Gabriel. Breathing hard, feeling sick again, he ran after Ferron down steps, along other passages, and into a large kitchen. Ferron grabbed a burning torch and a few candles and a box of flints. The candles and flints he stuffed down the front of his black tunic, tightening his belt so nothing would fall through.

“What do we want those for?” asked Gabriel.

“Where we're going, if we lose our light we're finished,” Ferron replied. Then he led Gabriel to the back of the kitchen, where a small doorway led down a flight of stone stairs. The air was freezing, the stairs pitch black. Ferron held the torch high as they descended, their breathing and footsteps echoing.

“Where are we going?” asked Gabriel, stumbling on the stairs and almost falling. He felt dizzy
again and leaned, gasping, against the wall, but Ferron grabbed his arm and dragged him on.

“We're under the slave quarters, going to the cellars,” Ferron replied. “The vaults lead to catacombs underneath the palace. They'll take us out to the coast.”

The stairs seemed endless, the air cold as a tomb. Again Gabriel staggered and gripped Ferron's shoulders to support himself. Ferron smelled the wine on him and swore. “You're drunk, aren't you?” he snapped.

Gabriel turned away, leaned against the passage wall, and vomited. Ferron waited, sympathy mixing with his irritation. “I thought you'd have been more careful,” Ferron said. “So what did you do to enrage Her Majesty—throw up all over her table?”

Gabriel wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and shook his head. “Worse,” he said.

“It doesn't get worse than that,” said Ferron.

“Believe me, it does.”

Ferron shook his head in disbelief and hurried on. They came to a natural cavern in the rock. It was used as a storeroom, and was filled with discarded furniture, old curtains, abandoned statues, and cracked urns. The air was stale, and the flames of the torch sputtered and hissed. Ferron went to the end of the cavern, to where ancient wooden
screens leaned against the rocky wall. Gabriel followed, his face sickly in the flamelight. Ferron pulled aside the wooden screens, and through the cloud of dust Gabriel saw an entrance to a tunnel.

“I helped slaves escape through here,” Ferron said, thrusting the torch into the gloom. “I found this by accident when I was putting stuff in the storage room.”

The darkness was so complete, it seemed to crawl out of the tunnel and glide over them, covering their faces like a shroud, foul and suffocating. Gabriel felt the dark, felt the oppressive walls, the intolerable weight of untold depths of rock, the poisonous smell. He drew back into the cavern, leaning against the dusty remains of the screens. “I can't,” he said, choking. “I can't go in there, Ferron. There's no air.”

“There's less in a tomb,” said Ferron, gripping his arm and dragging him through the gap. He pulled a screen back over the hole and pushed past Gabriel into the tunnel. It stretched before them, its near walls glimmering in the red light. Beyond were only vague shadows, and then the utter dark. Ferron began walking, dragging Gabriel after him. He could hear Gabriel breathing hard and moaning and felt him stumble sometimes on the uneven floor. But he forced him on, while the torch spat and waned in the stifling dark. They
came to a large cave, and the torchlight showed two tunnels leading from it. Ferron took the one on the left. Gabriel hesitated. “I've been down here a dozen times,” Ferron said. “I won't get us lost.”

They entered the tunnel, bending their heads under the low roof. “How many did you help to escape?” asked Gabriel, hoping conversation might control his rising nausea and panic.

“About fifteen, in the two years I knew about the tunnels, and before Salverion gave me my freedom.”

“Why didn't more want their liberty?”

“Freedom isn't so easy for a fugitive slave. For most, freedom means poverty, homelessness, starvation, and the terror of being caught and punished. The lucky ones find labor in the coal mines in the north, if they make it that far. The mines are worse than bondage at the palace, from what I've heard. Only slaves in dire trouble wanted to escape.”

“You were never tempted to leave?”

“Sometimes. But I was in a high position for a slave. Besides, before I knew about these catacombs, I met Salverion. He'd seen my wall paintings and was impressed. He promised to obtain my freedom for me. A good freedom, with work and a home. So I waited.”

“Why didn't he simply buy you?”

“I wasn't for sale.”

The tunnel divided into two again, and they went to the right. The passageways began to slope upward, and in places where they widened were signs of human habitation: ancient burial crypts, remains of primeval fires, and fragments of pottery from bygone tribes. There were crude drawings carved into the walls, and fossils of shells and strange sea creatures. Gabriel realized the tunnels and caves had been carved out eons ago by the sea, and lived in down the centuries by primitive fisherfolk. Unfamiliar images flashed across his mind, and sometimes he could have sworn he glimpsed people leaning over fires or heard snatches of ancient chants. But it was only strange reflections on dripping walls, and echoes of waves booming on distant rocks. He hurried after Ferron, sweat trickling down his face in spite of the cold.

At last he saw a glimmer in the blackness ahead, and he pushed past Ferron and ran toward it, gulping the fresher air, smelling salt, and hearing the roar of the sea. The glimmer became a filmy gray, and he came up into a spacious cave. On the far side of it, unbelievably bright after the total dark, was a cave opening and a starry sky. The ocean below sounded tumultuous, thundering
against the base of the cliff.

On the cave floor were the remains of a fire, flat stones that had been used for seats, and a few bones. Gabriel went to the entrance, breathing deeply, watching the waves foaming over the rocks, luminous and white.

Ferron stood beside him, the wind tearing at the torch's fire.

“Are you going to tell me why we're fleeing?” Ferron asked.

Calmly, feeling as if he were speaking of someone else and not himself, Gabriel told him.

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.”