Secret Sacrament (5 page)

Gabriel thought of his father, and the old regret ached in his heart. It was four years since that momentous day of Jager's funeral, and the loss of him, the loss of the possibility of ever receiving love from him, still hurt. Shutting the pain away,
Gabriel left the old business area of the city. As he crossed the city square in front of the marble temple, he passed a colossal golden statue of the Empress Petra. The statue and the city square were new, recently built by the Empress as her eternal gift to the Empire. Not protesting that taxes had been raised to meet the cost of the so-called gift, the city's prosperous came here every day to recite prayers and to leave offerings in the money urns. They were here now in crowds, to celebrate her birthday. Pressing through the throngs, Gabriel came at last to the grand streets of his own neighborhood. At his home the gates were open and his seven-year-old sister, Subin, waited between them, crouching down with her arms around her knees. She leaped up when she saw him coming and raced to meet him, waving frantically.

“There's a man here to see you!” she cried. “He's got a letter for you. It's got a blue seal and a green ribbon around it, and he wants to give it to you his own self.”

“He's probably from the lawyer's office, with something about my inheritance,” he said, picking her up and carrying her over his shoulder. Giggling, she tried to talk while he jogged through the gateway and across the courtyard to the front door.

“Mama gave him a glass of wine. Father's best. He's waited a long time.”

“I wish I'd come home sooner,” Gabriel remarked, setting her down unceremoniously on a cushioned seat between the stone pillars and sitting beside her to remove his shoes. “What does he look like?”

“Old.”

“Any more useful details?”

“He's got a mole on his eyelid.”

“That narrows the field. It's not one of the lawyers.”

He went inside, and the house enveloped him in shadows, wonderfully cool.

“They're upstairs,” said Subin, skipping behind him.

He hurried up the stairs, feeling his shirt wet under the wide belt, and he decided to visit the city baths later. His mother waited in the hallway at the top of the stairs, in the small alcove with the window overlooking the sea. She wore a simple long green dress with a gold sash and looked cool and tranquil, but he noticed that her hands were clasped tightly together in front of her, and her fingers were tense. In one of the carved chairs beside a small table sat the visitor.

Before he looked at the man's face, Gabriel saw the long crimson robe with its rich gold-embroidered hem and the white tunic embroidered with seven silver stars, sign of the Citadel.

S
PEECHLESS WITH ASTONISHMENT
, Gabriel bowed low. “Greetings, Grand Master,” he managed to say at last, wishing his voice were steadier. Raising his head, he looked into Salverion's face. He saw eyes steel gray and discerning, yet full of gentleness and affection, and a smile that enveloped him like a warmth. It was impossible to judge Salverion's age. His hairline was receding, and his waving hair was white, yet his face was almost without lines. Gabriel noticed a small mole on his right eyelid and another on his clean-shaven chin.

“Greetings, Master,” he said again, flushing scarlet, guilty for staring too long.

“I'm sorry if my visit is a shock to you,” said Salverion softly. “I did ask your tutor, Hevron, to tell you to expect me. Did he not mention it?”

“He told me to see him before I came home, but I . . . I'm afraid I forgot, Master. I'm sorry.”

Salverion smiled again. “I wanted to deliver this
to you myself,” he said, handing Gabriel a small scroll.

Gabriel's fingers shook as he undid the ribbon and broke the blue wax seal, imprinted with the seven stars. He unrolled the parchment and read it, unaware of Subin leaping about him or of his mother telling the child to be still. Three times he read it. When he looked up his face was a shade deeper, and he looked confused. “I think there's been a mistake, Master,” he said.

“No mistake,” said Salverion. “Read the letter aloud, my son, so your mother knows what is in it.”

In a voice still shaking with disbelief, Gabriel read the words.

For a while there was total silence. Then Subin whispered to her mother, “Is he going away with that man?”

“I don't know, dear,” said Lena softly, hugging the child and smoothing her auburn curls. “I don't know. Gabriel has a lot to think about, and he and the Grand Master must have a lot to discuss.” Firmly taking Subin's hand, Lena bowed to Salverion. “Would you like me to bring you another wine, lord?” she asked.

“No, thank you. But it's excellent wine, and I enjoyed it.”

“We'll leave you to talk.” She bowed again and left.

Gabriel and Salverion heard them going down the stairs, and Subin's voice, piping and loud, asking, “Why was that funny old man wearing a dress?”

Gabriel covered his face with his hand, embarrassed, but the Grand Master chuckled. “The refreshing honesty of children,” he said. “Please sit down, Gabriel, and relax. I'm here as a friend.” When Gabriel was seated, Salverion continued.
“Please know that you are not obliged in any way to accept our offer, and that if you decide against it, no one will think any less of you or dispute your decision. The commitment we demand is total, and seven years a long time. You have tonight and tomorrow morning to think about it.”

“I don't need time to think, Master,” said Gabriel.

“I would like you to take the time, anyway. If you decide not to come, send me a message by noon tomorrow. If I don't receive a message, I shall send a chariot for you at nightfall. There are certain things you need to know, before you make your decision. Perhaps you have heard of the kind of healing we do?”

“I know you have the skills to wipe out pain, Master.”

“That is true. We work in the regions of the human mind and spirit, as well as in surgery and medicine. That's why the training in the Citadel is a sacred calling, and our disciples are healer-priests bound by laws of secrecy and honor.”

“The letter you gave me mentioned vows, Master,” said Gabriel. “Would the vows apply only during my training at the Citadel?”

“The vows are for life. You would always be a healer-priest, so long as the wisdom was imprinted on your mind.”

“I could never marry, then?”

“We would never demand that no one marry, only that during the seven years of training their time remains consecrated wholly to learning, and that their first loyalty is always to us. Why, my son? Are you betrothed, or wishing to be?”

“No. There's no one. Only my family.”

“You'll be able to keep in touch with them by letter. I'm afraid you may visit them only under special circumstances. No one may visit you; outsiders are forbidden to the Citadel. There is not a great deal I may tell you, unless you do join us; but are there any other questions you would like to ask?”

“I can't think of any right now, Master. My mind's a bit scrambled, I'm afraid. This is the last thing on earth I expected.”

“God often gives us the things we least expect, my son. Sometimes I think he delights in surprising us.” Salverion stood up, and Gabriel walked with him out to the gate, where a chariot waited. To Gabriel's surprise, the Grand Master embraced him warmly as he said good-bye. Then he was gone, his chariot rattling on the cobblestones, the seven silver stars on the sides of the chariot burning in the rosy sun. Gabriel watched until the chariot vanished around a corner in the street; then he went back inside.

From the kitchen doorway the slaves peered at him, wide-eyed with curiosity and awe. Then bedlam broke loose as Subin and his three youngest brothers came stampeding down the stairs, shrieking his name and a dozen questions. Above them stood Lena, very still and calm, her face shining with tears of wonderment and pride.

The streets were deserted, since most people had already begun their feast. The Empress's birthday coincided with the Festival of Plenty, and the citizens celebrated both events in a frenzy of overindulgence. They would eat until midnight, then surge out into the streets for the festivities. There would be musicians, dancers, magicians, and street performers; vendors selling pastries and sweets; and stalls giving away free wine from the palace. Heavily guarded, the Empress would come and walk down the main avenues. The people would go wild. But for now the city was peaceful, waiting, while the people feasted.

Hurrying through the sector of the city where only the elite lived, Gabriel headed in the direction of the west city wall. He loved running on the wall in the evening; the sea breeze was always cool and exhilarating, the solitude guaranteed. Few people ran in Navora; most exercised, as
Myron did, in the city gymnasium.

The city walls were ancient, built in the early days when Navora was only a small town defending itself against the marauding barbarians from the hills. The renowned Navoran army had tamed most of the barbarians by now, and parts of the walls were falling into ruin; but on this seaward side the walls were intact, wide, and safe enough to run on in good weather. The north wall, facing inland, had been partly pulled down to make way for the expanding city, its stones used to build the aqueduct that carried water to Navora from the upper part of the River Cravan, before it became contaminated with the city waste. Beneath the aqueduct were the houses and slum areas, spilling over the arid ground toward the hills. Eastward, beyond the hills, was the plain where the Shinali people lived. They were the most peaceful of the native tribes, and eleven years ago had signed a treaty with the Empire. Though the treaty held strong, there were few dealings between the barbarians and the Navorans. Only the army went through Shinali land, on its long marches to settle trouble in far provinces, or to subdue hostile tribes and bring back new supplies of slaves. But on the highest hill overlooking those grasslands, standing between the barbarians and the capital of the mighty Navoran Empire, was the Citadel.

It filled Gabriel's thoughts as he ran. Often he had gazed at its shining walls, a hopeless yearning in his heart to learn what was taught there—the remarkable methods of healing, the skills that banished pain. Now they were within his reach.

Breathing hard, he stopped halfway along the coastal wall and looked down at the cliffs plunging steeply to the sea. Far to his left were the towers and ramparts of the palace, with banners flying. The palace stood on the southwest corner of the city, on a rocky point of land safeguarded by impregnable cliffs. Looking out to sea, his eyes narrowed against the light, Gabriel watched the sun go down. The evening was glorious, its peace approaching holiness.

He raised his arms and spoke the famous Navoran prayer, recited since he was a child, but spoken now with deepest significance: “Sovereign Lord, give me wisdom to know your dream for me. Give me courage to live that dream. Give me strength to fulfill the task before me, knowing it was designed for me alone. Give me peace in the knowledge that I have been given everything I need. So that what I do has value in your sight, give me love. Make me a worthy son of Navora.”

He lowered his arms and for a long time stood on the sea wall staring at the ocean, unaware of it, or of the moonlit night, or the glittering, turbulent
city behind him. A hundred different emotions swept through him, indescribable joy alternating in moments with uncertainty and fear. Behind him in the great city the celebrations had begun. Suddenly someone slapped his shoulder, and he turned to see Myron.

“I heard the news,” said Myron. He looked strained, his expression a mixture of gladness and pain. Then he and Gabriel were embracing, hugging each other hard. “Oh, brother! I'm so proud of you!” cried Myron. “I can hardly believe it—you, an Elected One!”

“I can hardly believe it, either. I'm scared, Myron. I'm half drunk with joy, but I'm scared, too.”

“You'll be all right. You'll love it there. They say the Citadel is the most beautiful place, far better even than the palace. You'll have the best tutors, the most gifted people in the Empire for company.”

“But they won't love me like a brother,” said Gabriel, hugging him again. “You'll write to me, won't you?”

“You're not going to prison,” said Myron, trying to sound cheerful. “There are bound to be times when we can see each other. The healers from the Citadel often visit the city to treat the aristocracy. I bet by this time next year you'll have felt
the pulses of all the prominent women in Navora. More than their pulses, probably. I could be envious.”

“No need to be,” said Gabriel, releasing him. “You know what the pampered rich are like. I'd rather give my services to the poor.”

“It's a bit late to decide that. You're more likely to end up being private physician to the Empress herself.”

They fell silent, listening to the sound of the sea booming on the rocks far below, and the clamor in the city streets. In the skies behind them fireworks exploded, and the colors flashed across the steel scabbard of Myron's sword. He wore it whenever he was in the streets and knew well how to use it. He trained every afternoon in the Navoran gymnasium. In the moonlight his face, like Gabriel's, was strong and resolute, with that almost fierce expression they had inherited from their father. They looked very alike; even their hair was the same, long and coppery and curling. They could have passed as twins, except that Gabriel was taller and of a slighter build.

Walking back along the wide summit of the wall and down a flight of steep steps, they entered the crowded streets. They jostled their way through, avoiding the vendors who tried to sell to them, and the wild whirling of the
performing dancers. In one square, experts were dancing the Navoran fire-dance, men and women in pairs, taunting one another with flaming torches. At times the dance was frenzied and impassioned, at times slow and enticing. The brothers watched, fascinated, then moved on, struggling through the crowds.

Suddenly a great cry went up: “The Empress! Long live the Empress!” The people rushed about, shrieking, working themselves into hysteria. Temple bells, brassy and echoing, pealed out across the uproar.

Swept helplessly in the throng, the brothers found themselves in one of the major streets of the city. Torches blazed on walls, and flowers hung in garlands across the roadway and from every terrace and window ledge. Palace guards and soldiers lined the road, at times beating back the revelers with the flats of naked swords. Watchful bowmen stood on balconies and in upper windows, their bows ready and fitted with arrows.

Almost crushed in the crowd, clinging to Myron's sleeve, Gabriel could barely see the procession as it came. But he heard the music, the singing of the slaves, and the roar of the crowd sweeping toward him like a wave as the Empress approached. Then he saw her, lifted high on a golden chair with a purple canopy, her robes pure
white and her face aglow in the lamplight. Only a moment he saw her, before she was borne away; but it was long enough to fill his heart with joy, with the reverence that there, before him, was the epitome of everything Navoran—of everything that was highest and best in the world. A huge pride went through him and he wept, overcome by the thought that tomorrow she would hear his name and know that he, out of all the sons in her Empire, was chosen to study medicine at the great Citadel. He passed his hand over his eyes, but not before Myron saw his emotion and gave his shoulders an understanding squeeze. Then, silent, they returned home, Myron's hand on the hilt of his sword.

The atmosphere at the next evening meal was a strange mixture of gaiety and sadness. Little Subin wept constantly, convinced she would never see her oldest brother again. Myron was his usual stalwart self, teasing the younger ones, and entertaining the family with the latest gossip from the gymnasium. Every now and again he looked at Gabriel, his eyes full of affection and pride. The others did not fully comprehend the magnitude of the honor given to Gabriel and were more concerned with the hurt of losing him, and the fact that he would no longer be able to take them
fishing in the Cravan or sailing on the harbor. They joked and argued as they always did at mealtimes, but there was a sadness underlying the talk. Lena did her best to keep the conversation light and cheerful, but she, too, dreaded the sound of the Citadel chariot outside the gates, and the call of the slave to tell Gabriel it was time to go.