Time of the Eagle (19 page)

“Do you ever hear from them? Your wife and children?”

He shook his head, and I asked, “Did Sheel Chandra not take you to them, in your mind? As he took me to my mother?”

He shot me a surprised look. “Did he, now? You were exceedingly well blessed, Avala. No, he did not use his powers to help any of us in that way. We knew, when we came to Ravinath, that we would be cut off from the world and all who loved us. We also knew it could be for a very long time. But we could not risk contacting anyone, for Jaganath has spies everywhere, and ways of forcing people to give up what is in their minds. Not one soul
outside Ravinath knows the place exists—except you. You must never speak a word of it. Not to anyone, ever.”

“Not even to Ramakoda, or Ishtok?” I asked.

“No, you must not tell even them,” he replied. “If one of them was ever taken in slavery, he could possibly end up in service to Jaganath. And Jaganath could walk in his memories, and discover there your story of us. It would undo much of our work in shielding your people—could undo everything, and have everyone here killed.”

“I wish Sheel Chandra could shield everyone, and not just my people,” I said.

“He often says that himself,” said Taliesin, getting up. He forgot his foot was numb and almost fell over again. I put our cups away and offered to help him to his rooms.

“Just give the feeling back,” he said.

“I don't know how to do that.”

He sighed again and tried to look annoyed, though he grinned. “Just drop me in the dining hall,” he said. “It's almost morning. By the time I limp all the way down the stairs to my quarters, it'll be time to come back for breakfast. Next time I invite you to practice your powers on me, remind me to ask you first if you can reverse them.”

I did learn to reverse the effects of blocking nerves, and many other things besides. The deeper healings I learned from Salverion were similar to the ones I had learned from my mother—the sending of light through pathways in the body, to heal and ease and restore—but with Salverion I learned to make the healing deeper and more extensive. Because I knew much more about
anatomy, I knew where to send the healing light, and precisely what to do with it. It was as if, before, I had been working blindly; now I worked with sharpened vision, and could send the light to exact places, along exact nerves and blood vessels. Also, he told me much about surgery, though I could not put it all into practice. I did do some dissecting, however; Taliesin and some of the other disciples often went hunting for deer or rabbits or wild goats in the mountains around Ravinath, and when they brought back the carcasses for the cooks, Salverion and I were allowed to have the organs. The cooks got used to me practicing with my scalpel on the contents of their casseroles.

There was one sad interruption to my learning; at the beginning of summer one of the old Masters, a musician, had a heart attack and died, and the whole of Ravinath mourned for him. So for the first time I saw a Navoran funeral and joined in the prayers and listened to the wonderful words they said about him who had died. He was buried in a long silver casket in the Garden in the Gap, under the apple trees in the orchard. In the dappled sunlight there in the garden the musicians played some of the music he had composed, and it was so soaring and sublime that I wept at the beauty of it. That music seemed to reveal the spirit of the great Empire my father had loved, before it was spoiled by the shadow of evil.

The death affected Sheel Chandra deeply, for he loved music, and the old musician had been his great friend. So it was decided that I would not begin my training with Sheel Chandra until summer's middle; and, as I had learned all that Salverion wanted to teach me, in the meantime I was permitted to do whatever I wished to fill my days. I worked in the garden, helped Amael
with his herbs, and went hunting in the mountains with Taliesin. I spent many nightly hours with Zuleman, looking at the planets and the stars, and learning, and wishing again and again that Ishtok were here with me.

I also spent many hours with the scientists of Ravinath, asking questions. My curiosity became a joke with them, and when they saw me coming they threw up their hands, pretending horror, exclaiming, “Oh, no, not more questions! Can't someone break a leg, and keep her busy with Salverion?” But their joking was always with fond good humor, and they willingly told me all I wanted to know. At last I learned about gravity, the speed of light, the size of our galaxy, and a hundred unimaginable things besides.

When my mind needed a change from stupendous revelations, I persuaded one of the musicians to teach me how to play music. He gave me an instrument he called a zither, and I spent many happy hours making sounds with it.

I also discovered more about my Navoran grandfather, Jager Eshban Vala, and was surprised to realize how famous and wealthy he had been. When he had died, Zuleman had attended the funeral. “Very grand, that funeral was,” Zuleman told me. “The Empress sent an envoy on her behalf, and he made a fine speech. Your father was there. He was only a boy at the time. He was supposed to make a speech, too, a traditional ode spoken by every Navoran first son at his father's funeral. Gabriel refused to finish the speech, and caused quite a stir among the relatives. Got into a bit of trouble for it, as I remember.”

“Why didn't he finish the speech?”

“I don't know, for sure. But he was always a disappointment
to his father, and they didn't get along. Jager talked about it sometimes, with me. They had the usual family quarrels. I'm not saying Gabriel was wrong, or a bad son, but he was defiant and disobedient, according to Jager. I always thought that Gabriel was simply outspoken. I wasn't surprised years later when I heard that he had publicly, and to his face, accused Jaganath of corruption. We all knew of Jaganath's crimes and misdoings, but your father was the only person who ever dared speak openly of it—and he was only a youth at the time. He put the rest of us to shame, for our cowardice.”

“What did Jaganath do, when my father accused him?” I asked.

“From what I heard, Jaganath very cleverly twisted your father's words around and accused Gabriel of treason. That means being disloyal to the Empire. The penalty for treason is death. I suppose that's when your father took refuge with the Shinali, though even that didn't save him from Jaganath's wrath.”

“Will no one speak against Jaganath? Are they all so afraid of him?”

“He was always a very powerful and cruel man, Avala. We're sheltered here in Ravinath, so I don't know too much of Navoran politics today; but from what Sheel Chandra sees in his visions, the city's walls have been rebuilt, and the whole place is like a fort. Not to keep enemies out, but to keep people in. Such is the fear people have of their Emperor. I doubt anyone opposes him these days, and lives.”

When I was not thinking of mighty things concerning the Navoran Empire or the world or the stars, I began to learn to
read and write. Since I was a small child I had been fascinated by the elegant curves and sweeping lines in the Empress Petra's letter treasured by my tribe, and also had loved the book my mother owned that had been my father's, though I could read no word of it. Now I did learn to make out words and meanings from those signs on parchment, and this was a great marvel to me. To help me learn to read, Delano wrote simple poems, sometimes drawing tiny pictures to give me clues about their meaning; and in my room at night, under the lamplight, I deciphered them by myself.

Often in those reading times I looked up to see the portrait of my father, which I had on my wall, and a joy-wildness went through me, that I had found my place in his world among the people he had loved. A great peace grew in me, and there were no doubts anymore about my destiny as the Daughter of the Oneness, or as a healer. I missed my own people, but even that longing was not the desperate pain it once had been. I realized, with something akin to astonishment, that for the first time in my life I felt truly at home.

But despite my great contentment in Ravinath, there was one ache that would not go away. Ishtok haunted my dreams and my waking hours, and on the edge of every joy, every new discovery, was the wish that he were with me to share it. And it was more than the wish to share; there was, in the innermost chamber of my heart, a hunger to see his face, to see the texture of his skin and know again the touch of him, the smell of him.

I wondered if this was love, and if it was, then perhaps there was only grief at the end of it, since he had never spoken of his feelings toward me; and despite his tenderness at times, I had
always sensed that halting in him, as if with me he would go so far and no further. Perhaps he had been promised in some way to the beautiful Navamani. Or perhaps for him and me there could be no future, since I was only a slave and he was the chieftain's son. Yet I could not wipe out the feelings in me, and so I gave them to the All-father for safekeeping in his hands, along with all the other things that were joy to me, and fear, and sadness, and hope.

Freedom's truest flag flies unconfined In the human mind.

—Delano, Navoran poet

“Y
ou've learned a great many things since you first came to Ravinath,” said Sheel Chandra. “You've seen the greatest art in the world, heard the most glorious music, the finest poetry. You've witnessed surgery by the most excellent physician in the Empire, and he has taught you how to stop pain and to heal brokenness. You've seen through microscopes, marked the life within a seed; and you've looked through telescopes and plotted the pathways of the stars. But the greatest frontier is yet unmapped and remains almost wholly unknown: it is the power in here.” He tapped his own forehead, then leaned forward and gently tapped mine. “In here is the greatest wonder of them all.”

We were sitting in his high room where we had first met. He was in his chair and I on a stool near his knee.

“Look about you, tell me what you see,” he said.

I looked up. “I see the glass roof, and the blue sky, and white clouds,” I said. “Along the wall is the window, open. I see far mountaintops. I see stone walls, a wooden floor. And you.”

“Now don't be afraid,” he said. “Tell me what else you see.”

A shadow caught the corner of my eye, and I turned and saw a large wolf. It was a little behind me, near the far end of the window. It began pacing, its claws clicking on the polished floor. I had seen wolves before, but never this close. Its eyes were amber, translucent, edged with black. Its lips too were black, and its tongue hung out a little, from the heat. Its fur was gray and brown, and dust rose from its coat as it paced. I saw the muscles ripple under its fur, the strong tendons of its legs, its powerful throat and jaws. Suddenly it turned toward me. I froze, hardly breathed. The wolf came over to me, sniffed my hand. I felt its whiskers prick my skin. It licked my wrist; its tongue was warm, rasping. I could see its teeth, yellowed and sharp. I heard it panting. It sat down by me, its tongue lolling, as if it grinned. Then, in the blink of an eye, it vanished.

I stared at the Master, astounded.

“A wolf!” I cried. “You created a wolf.”

“If you did not know me,” he said, “and if you came in here and saw me with that wolf, you would have thought it was real. And if the wolf had snarled at you, you would have been afraid. If it had attacked you, you would have turned to run. But if it had caught you, you would have felt its claws, its teeth, and you would have suffered all the trauma of being killed by a wild animal. In the end your heart would have failed from sheer terror, and from your absolute belief in certain death.”

“But you would never create such an illusion,” I said.

“No, I wouldn't. But there is one who would, and you have expressed a desire to speak with him.”

“Jaganath?” I said.

“Yes, Jaganath. And his illusions are not just wolves, but things far worse. He uses illusions to control people, to strike such fear into them that they will obey his every wish. Even the strongest men in the Empire he controls in this way. He also has the power to walk in memories, to re-create images of loved ones now on the Other Side. He knows all secrets, all fears, all hurts, all dreams. He also has allied himself with demons, with powers from beyond the veil. That is why, when he took power as Emperor, he closed the Citadel and would have killed us all: we are the only ones in the world who can withstand him. I am the only one who equals him in power.”

“Are you saying I should never face him?” I asked.

“On the contrary, I think you must face him. You are the daughter of his great enemy, the person Jaganath hated above all others. Gabriel publicly exposed Jaganath for the evil man he was. If anyone ever again faces Jaganath and accuses him of his wrongs, that person should be you. As Gabriel's daughter, as a member of the Shinali nation, and as a free woman in the Time of the Eagle, you must confront Jaganath. And I shall teach you all the power you need. But you must always bear this in mind: that in his presence, nothing is as it seems.”

“I almost want to change my mind,” I said.

He smiled then, and touched my cheek with his palm. “No need for fear,” he said. “We will begin one step at a time. You have your father's gifts, and great power is already in you. You were born for this, Avala. This is your battle. Not for you the sword, the warrior-hordes meeting Jaganath's army. Not for you the
arrows and the spears. Your weapons will be entirely different, your battle another kind of fight altogether.”

And so he taught me the deeper wisdoms, the unbound abilities of the human mind. I cannot speak in detail of what I learned, for before we began I made solemn vows that I would never disclose the secrets of his power; but I can say that with Sheel Chandra I learned how to discern between what is illusion and what is real, how to create illusions, to interpret dreams, and to shield myself with light so mighty that nothing could pierce it.

But it was not all solemn learning, with Sheel Chandra. He taught me to walk in memories, and allowed me, for practice, to walk in his. And so I came to see his country, Shanduria, and witnessed some of the astounding things I had heard about, months before, from the poet Delano. I saw the strange high temples, totally carved with the figures of holy people; I saw a wide flight of steps going down into a yellow river where people bathed, saffron robes wrapped about themselves, and where there floated flower-covered barges, slowly burning, that were funeral pyres. There were domed palaces where white tigers roamed, and people with jewels and robes more colorful than any I had seen before. But best of all was the procession of the huge beasts called elephants, with their long painted trunks, golden drapes, and on their broad backs the little jeweled chairs in which people rode. One of the elephants carried a man so completely wrapped in gold and jewels, even about his head, that I could hardly see his face. As I watched that procession I heard people cheering and felt the crowd pressing against my back. I was conscious of
a woman standing close to me, holding my hand tight. Though I did not see her clearly, she was much taller than I, and I realized I was seeing the memories of a small child. And I did not only see the memories; I smelled the dust, and a heavy scent like spices, and felt the heat beating up from the shining dust. A grinning boy danced in front of me, one hand held out palm up, the other offering a basket in which were several pieces of cut fruit. The hand of the woman I was with put a coin in the boy's palm, and I took a piece of the fruit. It was pale green and very juicy, delicious. I looked up, trying to see the woman's face, and the scene faded.

I took several deep breaths, and opened my eyes. “Why did you not let me see your mother?” I asked.

Sheel Chandra smiled that beautiful smile of his, and humor rose in his great dark eyes. “Leave me some things that are private,” he said. “As it is, I have a hard time going ahead of you in my memories, limiting your walk. The Shandurian procession you were meant to see, and the ceremonial elephant bearing the Great Khan on its back—but the face of my mother was meant to remain hidden.”

“Your country is wonderful,” I said. “I'm honored to see your childhood memories. Thank you.”

“It's always a pleasure to share them with you,” he replied. “But I do not let you run totally amok through the mansions of my mind. You see only what I want you to see. I put up many walls. With other minds, other memories, there are no boundaries. When walking in memories, we see also people's deepest agonies, their most terrible secrets, their worst nightmares. What
is seen in other people's minds could drive us mad. So we set our own boundaries, and walk in memories only with the person's consent, and for a very limited time. Always, it is done only to heal, perhaps to find the core of disease, or to wipe out a terrible fear. No matter how tempted, we must never walk in memories for our own purposes.”

Slowly he stood up, and I stood with him, and he leaned on me as we went downstairs for the evening meal. On the way he said, “You had talked of going back to the Igaal in the autumn. Is that still your wish?”

“Why speak of autumn?” I said. “It's months away yet.”

“No it is not, dear one. Summer is almost over. You and I have spent whole days—many days—deep in meditation, communing in our minds, exchanging words by thought alone. Time has not existed for us. In another few weeks it will be autumn.”

Astonished, I thought on his words. “I wish to go back only when I've learned everything you want to teach me,” I said.

“There is one other skill,” he said. “It is the ability to travel in your mind the way we did the first time we were together, when we visited your mother. In the time left to us I cannot teach you to communicate directly with people, but I can teach you to discern where they are, perhaps even to see them. It is a skill that will be necessary for you, I think, though to learn it may take until winter's end.”

“How terrible,” I said, trying not to smile, “to have to spend a few more months in Ravinath.”

He laughed softly. “Then we shall begin tomorrow,” he said.

Suddenly another thought struck me. “I missed my seventeenth borning-day!” I said. “It was in summer's middle.”

“Was it, now?” he said. “Then we shall arrange a belated celebration.”

So it was that the seventeenth celebration of my borning-day was in Ravinath, and I was a high lot honored. The cooks made a splendid feast, everyone had the afternoon free of studies and work, and we feasted from day's middle almost until dusk. I sat in the place of honor, in the center of the long table under the many-pillared open window, with the summer-browned mountains and the sun at my back. At the feast's end the table was cleared in front of me, and everyone brought me gifts. I was given tiny bags of seeds from Amael, all carefully labeled, and Zuleman gave me a book of star maps, a different map for each month, showing where the stars were, and their names, and which planets were visible. One of the scientists gave me a small telescope made of brass, which slid away into a cylinder not much longer than my hand. “You won't be able to see the moons of your beloved Erdelan through it,” he said, “but you will be able to see many things in this world, that otherwise would not be seen.”

From Taliesin I received a beautiful Navoran ring, made by one of the silversmiths especially for me. It was a perfect circle made up of seven silver stars, symbol of the Citadel and the seven Wisdoms taught there. Where each star joined the next were two tiny jewels, one green, the color of healing, the other blue, the Navoran color for freedom.

From Salverion I received a folding leather pouch containing
Navoran surgical instruments. There was a little knife, razor sharp and pointed, made of the finest Navoran steel, for the cleaning of wounds and for surgery. With it was a stone for sharpening the blade, and Salverion showed me how to use it. In the pouch also was an instrument to hold wounds open while I cleaned them, and a delicate tool for removing tiny fragments of dirt or bone. There was an ingenious instrument called a pair of scissors, for cutting, and a set of very fine curved metal needles such as Navoran surgeons used, as well as a roll of silk thread for sewing up wounds. One of the Ravinath artists had painted my name on the pouch, along with a picture of an eagle flying over the slender towers and domed roofs of the beautiful Citadel.

All the gifts were exceedingly precious to me, but the most treasured was from Sheel Chandra. It was a golden talisman identical to one he wore himself: a pair of eagle's wings outstretched in flight, and above them, fitted perfectly within their upward curve, was a single eye, its pupil formed of the blue stone the Navorans call sapphire. The symbol was fixed to a golden chain, and as Sheel Chandra placed it over my head he said, “When you hold this sacred sign against your brow and call to me in your mind, I will hear you. And, no matter how many mountains or walls or rivers or seas lie between us, we will commune together in our thoughts.”

As if all this were not enough, the musicians played for me, and the poets read, and Salverion made a speech that I will hold in my knowing for the rest of my life.

“Sovereign God brought you to us,” he said, in ending. “He gave us the joy and the great privilege of sharing with you the wisdom and blessings that we have. Yet, in the Time of the Eagle,
you and your people, with the Hena and the Igaal, shall give us far more than anything we have given you in this place—for you will give us our liberty, and the right to return home.”

Sheel Chandra spread the large, fine parchment out on the table in front of me, and nodded toward the map he had pinned up on the wall. “Now, I want you to copy that map,” he said, “everything in the Shinali, Igaal, and Hena lands—every mountain, every valley, and every river and forest. Also, all the coast.”

We were in the great library, and the light from above poured down on the blank parchment and the pen held in my hand.

“What has this to do with communicating?” I asked.

“You will find out,” he said. “First, the map. Make it as accurate as you can, and add anything you know that is not shown on our Navoran chart.”

So, for the next seven days, I made my map. A work of art it was, with the mountain ranges detailed and fine, and all the valleys and gorges distinct. I made the map my own, naming the rivers and peaks with the Shinali names for them, and I even marked the hunting grounds my people had found in the Wandering that were rich with deer and wild goats. While I drew, Sheel Chandra came often to watch, but he did not talk to me. Sometimes I did not even realize he was there. While I made my map other disciples were not allowed to use the library, for Sheel Chandra had said I must not be disturbed.

At last it was done, and I rolled up my map and took it to Sheel Chandra in his glass-roofed room high in the tower.