Time of the Eagle (36 page)

“When my mother and I were with Grandmother Lena, today,” I said, “she told us she was the one who had made the garden here on our land, where the old Shinali house had been. She placed the banner over the garden, as a sign that the land was ours and that one day we would return.”

“How did she know your Shinali dream-sign?” Ishtok asked.

“When my people lived here before, after my parents had met and my father had returned to the Citadel, Lena sent her younger children to our Shinali house with blankets and gifts. My mother
sent back a gift for my father, a dream-sign made of grass, and told the children to be very sure to pass on the meaning of it. That was how Lena knew what the dream-sign was, and what it meant. She wanted to be friends with the Shinali. When my people were imprisoned in Taroth Fort, she took them medicines and fresh food. Only one time she was permitted to visit, and it was the first time she met my mother, and the last time she ever saw my father. She also met Tarkwan, our great chieftain. I feel that I have known Lena a long time, and not just from today. I already love her well. She's wanting me to take you, next time I visit her. What did you do while I was there?”

“I looked at carvings from Ravinath. Three more carts came through on their way to the Citadel, with stone carvings wrapped in cloth. They stopped and let me look at one of them. It was a white stone image of a boy, a high lot beautiful. I would give anything to be able to carve like that. Especially stone. I'm looking forward to carving again, when I have time of my own. When I don't carve, I feel that I don't breathe.”

“Time of our own,” I said, sighing. “How long since we've had that!”

“What will you do, tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow I'm going to walk right around the edge of our Shinali land.”

“It's a long way to walk,” he said. “It's not just this plain anymore. It's all yours again, Embry said—all the land from the west coast to the Napangardi Mountains, to the northern lakes. If the Navorans want to keep the crops and herds they've got there, they'll have to pay you for the use of the land.”

“Perhaps I'd better ride, then,” I said, “and see only part of our land tomorrow. I'd love you to come with me. Have you finished helping Embry in the city?”

“Yes, I'm free now.”

“That's a truth.”

He laughed softly, his breath tickling my ear. I was sitting with my back to him, leaning against him. He was holding me, and my arms were over his. I could feel the fine smooth material of his Navoran sleeves, and the jeweled cuffs.

I asked, “What will you be doing, now that you are free?”

“I'll go riding with you.”

“I wasn't meaning just tomorrow. I was meaning after that.” I added, suddenly unsure, with a rush of apprehension, “When your tribe leaves. What will you do then?”

He took a deep breath. “There's a woman I love,” he said. “Part Shinali, but mostly Navoran. A long time have I loved her. But she had a high destiny, a work to do. When last we spoke of it, she was not sure what that work was, and I'm not sure now if it's finished. I told her, once, that if she wanted me she would have to speak first, to say when she was ready. I'm still waiting.”

“I think the first part of her work, the task to do with the Time of the Eagle, is complete,” I said. “The rest of her work is to be a healer. I think she is ready, now, for the man she loves.”

“She only thinks she is? Can she not be more certain?”

“Very well,” I said. “Will you be my husband, Ishtok, son of Mudiwar?”

“Shimit's teeth, Avala!” he cried, jerking upright, so I almost fell on the grass. “That was my arrow, to shoot! I only wanted a little encouragement!”

I rolled on the ground, laughing, and he fell on top of me, holding me down, chuckling while he kissed my neck. Then he kissed my face, my eyes, my mouth. I put up my hand and covered his lips with my fingers. “No more kissing,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because you haven't answered my question.”

Raising his head, he looked down on me, his eyes glimmering in the shadow of his hair.

“I, Ishtok, son of Mudiwar,” he said, “agree to be your husband, Avala, daughter of Ashila of the Shinali and Gabriel of Navora—on one condition. I must be allowed to live here with you, on your Shinali land, near the stone city.”

“Why that condition?” I asked.

“Because I want you to know that you don't have to come and live with me in my father's tent. I already have two tribes, two homelands; another won't make much difference. But you—you have waited all your life to be here. Here, on this land, and in the stone city, your heart belongs. So this is where we'll stay, if you wish. Wherever in the world you are, that is my home.”

“You're a rare man, my beloved,” I said.

“That's very nice, but is the ban on kissing finished?”

“No, not just yet,” I said, my eyes beyond him, on something marvelous. “Keep very still, Ishtok. Don't move. Ah—it's wonderful!”

“What? I haven't done anything, yet.”

“The moon! You have the full moon sitting exactly on your right shoulder.”

He smiled. “How blessed I am!” he said. “The moon on my right shoulder, and the sun within my arms.”

“You haven't got the sun within your arms, Ishtok; you've got me.”

“I've got my day-star, my light, the reason for my life,” he said, and gave me a kiss that left me breathless.

M
y mother put the garland of wheat and wildflowers on my hair, and retied the sash about my waist. I was wearing a Navoran dress, tawny gold for joy, with a crimson sash for love. The front of the dress was threaded up with dark blue cord, and the sides were slashed to the thigh. I wore a white Igaal skirt under it, the most beautiful I had seen, patterned deep in the hem with exquisite cut-out designs. About my neck was a Shinali necklace of bone, wondrously carved, that had belonged to Yeshi's only sister, who had died many years ago, and which had not been worn since, until now. With the necklace I also wore Sheel Chandra's amulet, which Ishtok had returned to me.

My mother held me at arm's length, looking me over carefully. At last she said, with tears in her eyes, “You are beautiful, my love. Turn around, show yourself to your grandmother.”

I turned, and my grandmother nodded as if satisfied, and came and kissed my cheek. Over her shoulder, I saw the other old women of the tribe, their faces smiling, full of love.

From outside the house came the low sound of many people
talking. I knew the feasting-mats would be laid out, the feast prepared, dishes of gold and silver from Navora spread out upon the flax. And there would be another mat, the most beautiful of all Igaal carpets, out on a flat place by the river, where Mudiwar's family would be standing, waiting. And a young man would be standing with them, waiting for me.

I turned again and faced the door, and my mother. I trembled a little, but only from joy.

“Are you ready?” my mother asked.

“I am ready,” I said, and we walked up into the radiant evening light.

Silence fell, and people stood up and looked toward me. All along the riverbank, and out onto the plain, were fires, and the feasting-mats. And the people—so many there were! There was half a Hena tribe, and all of Mudiwar's family as well as the Shinali. So dignified they looked, in their beautiful painted and patterned leather garments, their best. There were Salverion and Sheel Chandra and Taliesin, and others from the Citadel, their long robes splendid in the setting sun. There was Embry and many of his soldiers, impressive in full uniform, and there were people from the farms, among them my Navoran grandmother and her family.

As I approached, the people all parted, and I walked between them to the mat by the river. I was barely aware of those all around, of the flames, the fiery skies above; there was only that long walk across the shining grass, to him.

In that great silence I came to him, and he was standing with the sun's last light full on him. Fine he was, in his Igaal garments of palest deerskin, and with the garland of wheat and flowers upon
his hair. He, too, wore a Navoran sash, crimson like mine, and his boots were Hena boots, painted with elaborate designs. Smiling, he held out his hand, and I went to him. He pressed his brow to mine in the Igaal greeting, then we both sat down on the carpet, facing each other, our hands touching.

There was a rustle of garments as all the people sat down, except for the priest, Zalidas, beside us, and Mudiwar behind Ishtok, and my mother behind me.

Then Zalidas sang a prayer, his voice wavering in the bright evening wind. When the prayer was finished he came and said a blessing over each of us, then placed two bowls on the mat between us. In one was a piece of bread, symbol of homeliness and earthly life. In the other was a yellow sauce mixed with bitter herbs and sweetened with wild honey, symbol of forgiveness of past hurts, of love, and acceptance of whatever the All-father might bring to our lives. Ishtok broke off a piece of the bread, dipped it in the sauce, and put it into my mouth. I ate, then fed him. The bowls were taken away, and it was time for us to make our promises to each other. They were simple words, heavy with meaning, and we had them strong in our knowing. I spoke first.

“Ishtok, son of Mudiwar, I promise to hold your dreams, your happiness, your heart's peace, as high in importance as my own. I will help you to become the person you were born to be, free and strong and true. This I swear, in the All-father's Name.”

He made the same promise to me, only promising he would help me to become the woman I was born to be.

Then Zalidas said to all those present: “People who love Avala and Ishtok, will you promise to help them keep their vows to each other, and to make their home a place of peace; and when their
children come, to help teach and guide them as if they were your own?”

All the people said, in one voice, “We swear it.”

A tray was brought with Zalidas's holy painting-things. I put out my left hand, palm down, and Ishtok put out his, beside mine. A sacred thread was wrapped about our hands, and then Zalidas painted signs on the backs of our wrists. Tomorrow, the signs would be tattooed into our skin, our marriage-signs, there for as long as we lived. Our signs were identical: an eagle within a circle, signifying freedom and strength, and the perfect fullness of time. As Zalidas painted the signs the sun sank lower, turning the wet black paint on our wrists to the color of fire.

As the stars came out Zalidas sang the final prayer. An old Shinali benediction he sang, a thanks for all things, and this time his voice soared, mingling with the music of the river and the sound of the wind as it swept across our land, and all of us who knew the song joined our voices with his, and the prayer became an anthem of triumph and of peace. Long after we stopped singing, the song seemed to hang in the air, transcendent and sublime.

Then Ishtok put his arms about me and kissed me, and we were wed.

My mother was the first to congratulate us, then old Mudiwar, and Grandmother Lena. After that everyone else came up, and Ishtok and I had never been so embraced and kissed in our lives. There were so many people, I cannot name them all—every one of them precious to me, every one of them having played a part in my life, and made me who I am. Ishtok and I were still
greeting friends when the drums sounded, telling us that the feast was laid out.

Out by the river we ate, with the firelight leaping high against the stars, and everyone talking at once, and laughing, while Ishtok and I gave each other loving glances in between rare bites of food, both of us too excited and overwhelmed to eat. When the feast was over the musicians brought out their pipes and flutes, and the Igaal musicians joined them, and we danced. Mad and wonderful dances they were, a marvelous mix of wild tribal leaps and twirls, and the more sedate Navoran moves. With all the noise and talking and laughter, I barely heard the Citadel musicians when they first arrived, but soon the strains from their beautiful stringed instruments soared high above all else, and we celebrated and danced to the best music in the world. Then Delano read a poem he had written for us, and one of the Navoran singers sang for us, and Salverion made a speech about love and unity and the power of healing, which had us all in tears.

As the moon rose the talk grew quieter, and the children were taken to bed in the Shinali house. People were sitting in groups, tribes and nations all mixed up: I saw Sheel Chandra sitting with little Kimiwe on his lap, his beautiful old hands smoothing the burn scars on her face; Taliesin looking happy as he and his wife talked, mainly through signs, with a freed Igaal slave; Embry and his soldiers joking with Igaal and Hena warriors; Shinali girls blushing as they talked shyly with the lovely Atitheya; Zalidas and Sakalendu communing together, their heads close, doubtless sharing visions of the Eagle's Time; Santoshi, still weak and supported in her husband's arms, talking with Chimaki; and,
across the dark grasslands, children from the farms coming to watch and being invited to join us.

Late in the night my mother and I had a happy time talking again with my Navoran grandmother. We sat with her on the edge of the firelight, and she told us stories of my father. “All his life he loved giving gifts,” she said. “When he was a child he was always bringing me home flowers or fruit, sometimes just a leaf he had found, that he thought looked beautiful. It always gave him great pleasure, to give to others.” She looked at me, her beautiful blue eyes brimming with affection, and lifted her hand and briefly touched my face. “But the greatest gift he ever gave me was you, Avala,” she said. “And I have something for you, a wedding gift. All the letters your father wrote to me while he was at the Citadel are in your tent, for you to read in the days to come. I have worn the pages thin, reading them. They are yours to cherish now.”

Overcome, speechless, I hugged her, and kissed her soft cheek.

Around us, guests were beginning to leave, for it was well past night's middle. Ishtok came for me, and we went together to say farewell to our friends. But many guests, mainly the younger ones, stayed on, talking and laughing around the fires. My mother came to us, and said, “You two may go now. Your tent is ready. Don't say any more good-byes; just go.” She kissed us both and whispered something to Ishtok that made him nod and smile.

I looked across the dark land toward the mountains, where a little tent stood alone, its sides glowing amber from the lamps within. It was Ishtok's and my marriage-tent, ours to sleep in for the first ten days of our lives together. I glanced at Ishtok;
for once he looked a little shy. But he took my hand, and kissed my mother's cheek, and we began the long walk across the dark grass to our sleeping place. To the sound of Navoran music we went, and some of the guests called out to us, and we waved to them, laughing, self-conscious. At last we came to our lamp-lit dwelling, and went in.

Ishtok lowered the tent door, and we were alone.

It was the first time we had been alone since the evening out under the full moon, two days ago, when I had asked him to marry me. In our Shinali house he had slept with the young men and I with the women, and it seemed strange now, to be just the two of us.

For a while we stood, looking around, our hands linked. The tent was luxurious, some of its furnishings Igaal, some Shinali, some Navoran. Everything in it was crimson or white or gold. On the floor was one of Mudiwar's best carpets, and there were elegant Navoran lamps burning on stands, and a long carved wooden clothing-chest, a gift from Ramakoda. On a flax Shinali mat were set out food and drink, and a golden bowl for washing, with soft Navoran towels. And on the floor in the center of the tent, splendid with tasseled cushions and rich red Navoran coverings, was our marriage bed.

I looked at Ishtok; he was watching me, his beautiful eyes luminous and moist. For a while we gazed at each other, and then he took off our garlands of flowers, and put them on the carpet. He began to caress my face, and I felt his fingers trembling. For the first time I felt awkward with him, and shy. For all the beauty of our lamp-lit tent, it was unfamiliar, the situation strange, and I wished we were out in the summer grass, under the stars and
moon. I thought perhaps Ishtok knew how I felt, for he drew me to him, very gently, and simply held me awhile. From outside came the sound of merriment, and then Shinali music, haunting and lovely.

“Can I tell you my heart's truth?” he asked softly, kissing my hair.

“I hope you never tell me anything else,” I said.

“Our sleeping place here is very fine, but it feels strange to me. I'm wishing we were out in the hills, the way we were the other night, and that I had the full moon on my shoulder again, to help me dazzle you.”

“You don't need the moon,” I said. “You dazzled me the first time I ever saw you. But if you want the moon, we can go for a walk.”

“Heart's truth? You don't mind if I don't sweep you into bed straightaway?”

“Heart's truth, that bed seems strange to me, too. And I feel wrought up still, after the ceremony. I'd like to walk and talk awhile, before you do any sweeping.”

He suddenly hugged me, relieved. “Thank the stars for that!” he said. “I'm taut as a bowstring, myself. I don't think I'd be a very satisfactory lover right at this moment.”

Letting me go, he bent and gathered up the rich red covering from the bed, and picked up a jar of wine and a hunk of the bread. “Let's sleep outside,” he said, grinning. “But we'll take plenty of food. I'm starving. I was too nervous to eat before. Is there anything you want to bring?”

“Only a satisfactory lover?” I asked, struggling to look devastated.
“I was hoping for a little bit more than that.”

“You won't be getting a little bit of anything,” he said, “if I collapse from starvation. Will you bring some of that venison? And more bread, please.”

“I can't believe it!” I said. “Aren't you the man who once said that one kiss from me was worth starving for?”

He faced me, his dark eyes full of humor, his arms full of blankets and edible supplies. “A kiss I can accomplish, on an empty stomach,” he said. “But a full satisfactory performance, I think not.”

Laughing, I gathered some food into a cloth and bundled it up, and we crept from the gorgeous tent out into the summer night. West we went, behind the Shinali house, and on toward the city, and found a place in the hills beneath the Citadel, where we could look across the Shinali land and the ebbing fires and the gray dawn creeping up over the mountaintops. There, wrapped in the blanket, we drank and ate our own wedding feast, and then, with the newly risen sun spilling gold across our grass green bed, we loved for the first time; and I was no more awkward or shy, and he was a high lot satisfactory.