Time of the Eagle (20 page)

“Ah—a beautiful work!” he said, when I spread the map at his feet. “Excellent detail. Look across those lands depicted here,
Avala, and know that somewhere, in all this vast territory, are your people. And somewhere is your Igaal tribe. Look on your map, draw its landmarks on the parchments of your heart, know it well. And in the days and months to come, I will show you how to fly in your mind, swift as the eagle flies, down those valleys and across those plains and over those mountains, until you find the ones you seek.”

It seemed an easy skill, the way he spoke of it then; but autumn swept her gusty winds about our tower, then winter's whiteness fell on the glass roof, and still I sat there before my map, searching, questing, finding nothing.

“Don't despair, Avala,” Sheel Chandra said, one bitterly cold day when I was near tears, thinking myself a failure. “This is the hardest skill of all, one even Jaganath does not possess. It is the kind of vision that comes usually when it is unexpected, a flash of insight, a special gift for a moment only. To train your mind to open up the portals of this Sight, to train your spirit to deliberately fly beyond your body and to commune with other minds, is a very great discipline. Be calm, have peace. It will come. One day your mind will fly and you will see your map no longer, but the lands below. You will fly across the place where your people dwell, and you will know.”

I thought of the glorious flight with him, that first night we had met, when he took me to see my mother. So effortless, so swift and wonderful, it had been.

“I feel as if I'm flapping around in the mud,” I said, “and I want to soar.”

But one day, when the snowdrifts were piled on the glass dome, and the windows shook with the force of the gales buffeting
them, I did. I was looking at my map, weary, half asleep and half blind from staring, when my focus shifted, and the map seemed to slide sideways. Instantly, I was wide awake. I thought I was falling down and tried to sit upright, but was already straight. With pounding heart and mounting joy, I glanced along the slanting map, saw it become wide and broad, stretching out beyond the walls. Wind streamed over me. Far below, the mountains stretched like crumpled paper, and rivers snaked, blue-black, between the snowy lands. I saw flat plains dusted with snow and ice, and windswept gorges, and slashes of green forest. Swift I flew through the silent lands, down the valleys, felt the icy air rush over me, and in the deep dark gorges heard the winds howl. Over a plain a herd of wild horses grazed on tussock grass, and I thought of Ishtok. Then I was in a valley with steep mountains all around and an ice-dark lake ahead. Beside the lake, snow-powdered tents. Igaal tents. Then, between one breath and the next, I was in one of them. It was Mudiwar's. With every sense, I was there: I smelled the fire burning in the metal braziers, and the lamp oil, and leather clothes and sweat. Mudiwar sat there, coughing, blue-lipped. I saw Ramakoda with a woman beside him who was a stranger to me. She said something to him, and he smiled at her in a way I had not seen him smile before. I had the feeling she was his new wife.

I heard rough laughter, and voices with an unfamiliar accent. There were strangers there, sitting among the people of Mudiwar's tribe. They wore painted garments, and their long hair was thickened with red mud and formed into ringlets or topknots, even the men's. They were Hena. One of them was a man with a striking face, with high cheekbones and a strong mouth, and no hair
at all on his head, but with strange signs painted along his brow. I knew he was their priest, Sakalendu; I knew it from the deep, otherworldly look about him, and from his soul-colors, amber and violet and white. Then I saw Ishtok.

With a Hena youth he was, and they were leaning with their heads close, laughing together. Ishtok lifted his head, and I saw his face joyful in the lamplight. He looked so happy, glad to see his Hena family again. I wanted to laugh with him, to share his pleasure. The youth he was with gave him something on a leather thong. It was a stone carving of a fox, and Ishtok put it about his neck, and embraced his friend.

The scene seemed to diminish, to fade. I was looking at the tent again, from above, then it was only a dot among other dots, beside the dark lake. It was evening, and the setting sun blushed pink on the snow. There was a feeling of wind again, of being drawn back, pulled fast along frigid valleys and past lofty peaks. Then I was in Ravinath, in the high room with my map in front of me. A lamp was burning on the floor nearby. I leaned forward and with my fingertip traced the way I had gone, past the ranges that edged the Ekiya Gorge, along the black river, northeastward to the mountains deep in Igaal land. There. There was Mudiwar's camp, beside a lake hidden within a circle of mountains.

I looked up and saw Sheel Chandra watching me. He was smiling, nodding.

“Well done, dear one!” he said. “But it was not your people you found.”

“No,” I said. “I found my Igaal tribe. They had visitors. Ishtok's Hena family, they had come to visit him. He was talking with his Hena brother, Atitheya.”

“You heard him speak Atitheya's name?”

For a few heartbeats I hesitated, unsure. Then, bewildered, I shook my head. “I just know it,” I said. “At least, I think I know it. Do you think I'm right?”

“What I think,” he replied, “is that your time with us here at Ravinath is finished. You are ready to go out and begin your real work.”

A
t last spring sang her joy across the mountains, and the snows began to melt, and the air rang with the shout of many waters rushing downward to the great Ekiya River.

Shaking with excitement, I put aside the crimson dress I had worn and put on my Igaal dress with its patterns cut about the hem and sleeves, the tunic with my father's paintings, and the boots Ramakoda had made me. I was surprised to find that the hem of the dress was higher than it had been the last time I wore it. I went into the tiny bathroom off my room and looked in the mirror while I plaited back my hair, and wondered at the tribal woman who looked back at me.

Returning to my bedroom, I looked about it for the last time. Then I picked up my white rabbit-fur coat, and the travel bag Ramakoda had given me so long ago. In it were my old blanket, Ishtok's cup, the tiny bag of Shinali soil, the seeds from Amael, the surgical instruments Salverion had given me, the telescope, and the map I had made. I wore the ring from Taliesin, and the sacred sign from Sheel Chandra. Everything else I had been
given—the portrait of my father, the zither, the books, the Ravinath clothes, everything I could not take with me—was in the wooden chest at the foot of my bed. When I opened that chest again and looked on those gifts, the Time of the Eagle would have come, and I would be on my homeland.

I looked for the last time out my window, at the western mountains where melting snows ran down toward the far Shinali lands, and I said a prayer for courage. Then I went to his rooms to see Salverion.

For a long time we stood gazing at each other, saying nothing, then I put down my bag and went to him, and we embraced. “Remember what you must tell the Igaal, about your time here,” he said. “Tell them only that you were in a high and holy place, and your God looked after you and gifted you new powers. It is not a lie.” He added huskily, “We shall all miss you. At every meal when we give thanks, we will pray for you. I love you as my own child. Now we must go; they are all waiting. Sheel Chandra told me you found the Igaal camp yourself, with your map and your Vision.”

“They are in a beautiful place by a lake,” I said. “But it is a long way from here. I hope Taliesin will be safe, coming back alone.”

“Without your excellent skills to protect him, you mean?” Salverion said, with a chuckle. “Hold no fears for him. He has more abilities than you know about, Avala.”

We went together down the long passageways to the wide road along which Taliesin had carried me, frozen and semiconscious, when I had first come to Ravinath. Before the road there was a huge hall with a lofty vaulted ceiling, bare but for the
dozens of torches burning on the pillared walls. It seemed dark and cavernous compared with the glorious inner rooms and halls.

All seventy people who lived in Ravinath had come to see me leave. Taliesin waited there, at the head of them, in that great dim hall. Sheel Chandra was there, with all the others I had grown to love. In total silence we walked down the long, steep interior road, lit by wavering lamps, to the outer door in the mountainside. On one side of me walked Salverion; on the other, leaning on one of his disciples, was Sheel Chandra. Just behind us came Taliesin, bearing my bag and a large bag of his own. And in the darkness behind him, silent but for the soft marching of their feet, came everyone else.

The door was opened, and after the dimness the light was almost blinding. Shading our eyes, we went out into the windswept, dusty valley. The snow was almost gone, though gales whistled in the topmost peaks, streaming clouds like tattered flags across the pinnacles. The gusts rushed down the ravines and swept, moody as the
shoorai
wind, across the company behind me.

It was chill, that wind, and I was glad of the coat and boots Ramakoda had made. For the journey Taliesin had exchanged his crimson robes for a black coat and trousers, and a long fur cloak. He waited on one side while I stood on the top step beside the opened door and said my farewells. Each one came to say good-bye, and it was a hard, sad time. I wept, and most of the others wept, and I felt an awful tearing in my heart. Lastly, I said good-bye to Salverion and Sheel Chandra.

Salverion embraced me again, kissing my forehead and hair. “Go well, beloved,” he said. “You carry with you the future and
the hope of us all. Go with our love, our protection, and our peace.”

Unable to speak, I kissed his cheek and his hands, and made the Shinali farewell.

Then it was time to say good-bye to Sheel Chandra. I clung to him a long time, crying so hard I could not speak, though there was much I wanted to say. And that wonderful old man wept, too, and smiled with so much love I could hardly bear it. He spoke over me in his own Shandurian tongue, and though I could not understand the words, I understood well the love and blessing they conveyed.

Then all that great company sang an old Shinali battle song. I don't know how they knew it, but they sang it with a high lot of feeling. As Taliesin and I walked down the steps and out into the valley the words of the song blew about us like a benediction and a promise, and I wept and wept, and Taliesin put his arm about me, and we went on until I could hear the song no more. Many times I looked back and saw them all still standing there, veiled in the blowing dust, with the shadow of the great open door in the mountain rock behind them. Then we went around a bend in the ravine, and they were lost to my sight.

It was a long journey we faced, and each step farther away from Ravinath seemed like a hundred miles to me. I had not known how much I had loved that place and the people there. Knowing my pain, Taliesin said little during that first day's walk. Sometimes he held my hand to help me over bubbling streams, or across steep rocks, and after did not let it go, and the nearness of him gave me strength. Salverion's last words to me resounded in
my heart, and I was very much aware of the hopes that lay on me. A year before, such a responsibility would have crushed me; now I touched the talisman from Sheel Chandra, and a quiet courage rose in me. I glanced at Taliesin, and he looked sideways at me and smiled. “You're not alone, Avala,” he said, knowing. “You will never be alone.”

That first night we camped on the edge of the plain where I had last seen my people. We could see the mighty gorge of the Ekiya River, slashing through the mountains eastward toward the Igaal lands. It was strange for me to be there, and I felt a longing for my people again. At dusk, after our meal, I took the map from my bag and went out onto the plain a little way. Facing the river and the place where my people's tents had been, I closed my eyes and flew in my mind along the lands depicted on the map. Within moments I was flying in the low sun, bloodred as it went down behind the western ranges, and the evening wind was strong and warm. Below me was a long valley, and in it, about halfway along, I sensed a pulse, a beat of human life. I saw my people then, camped in a ravine where a river went two ways. I saw my mother turning steaks on a spit over a small fire, talking to a little child who crouched near her. She said something that made the child laugh, and when my mother lifted her head and the tawny light fell full on her, I saw that she was smiling, and there was contentment in her face.

It was enough, and I left that place, my heart light. When I went back to Taliesin he was sitting cross-legged by our fire, his hands palm upward on his knees, his eyes closed. I waited until he opened them, then I said, “My people are well.”

“It's good that you went to see them,” he replied. “You might
not have much peace for meditation times, back with Mudiwar's tribe.”

“It is nearly two years since I last saw my people, in this valley,” I said. “My last night with them was the night of my sixteenth borning-day, when Zalidas spoke his great words over me. I did not truly believe him, then; I did not think I could ever accomplish what he prophesied. Now I know that I am empowered.”

Taliesin put some more sticks on our little fire and spread out our sleeping-things. He sat down on his blankets and looked at me across the flying sparks. “I'm going to say something to you, Avala,” he said. “I say this as a friend, with love. I know you feel the weight of a great responsibility upon you, and that you wear the mantle of one who may change history for many nations. It is a great destiny. But never let pride take a hold, not for a moment. The greatest king may win his greatest battle only because of the obedience of his warhorse. Bear in mind that your success may rise or fall on the loyalty and steadfastness of the humblest friend—maybe even on the service of a friend you may never meet. Be grateful for everyone, everything, and remember that nothing in this world is certain.”

His words cut, and I was hurt. Nothing certain? But I was the Daughter of the Oneness! Even Salverion had said that the future of nations was in my hands. I was chosen, gifted. Indignant, I was going to answer Taliesin back, but then fortunately I closed my mouth.

While the night gathered about us, and the shadows in the valley grew black, I thought on Taliesin's words. I thought of my overwhelming sense of destiny, of empowerment, of being entrusted with the freedom of many. Was it pride, this sense of
awe at my rare destiny? Was it pride, this certainty that I would indeed accomplish everything I hoped, without too much pain or sacrifice? My father, too, had dreamed of being a healer, and he was a far greater healer than I; yet he also had fought for the freedom of my people, and it had cost him everything. What made me so sure my life's work would be easier than his? Even my work with the Igaal would have ended before it was begun, if I had not been found by those at Ravinath. If I had had my way, I would have given up long ago and gone straight from Ravinath back to my own people. It was only the wisdom and goodness of Salverion and others that had given me the strength to go on. It was only their generosity and greatness of spirit that had empowered me; and all that they had given to me, all that they had taught, had been a gift, freely given, undeserved by me. But for them, I would not even be alive now. I realized, with a deep sense of humility, that Taliesin was right: by myself I could accomplish nothing, and I must never forget it. Finally, I remembered Mudiwar and his fierce refusal to have anything to do with the Time of the Eagle, and I knew that Taliesin was right in another thing, too: nothing was certain.

After a while, humbled and with a deep sense of gratitude, I got up and went around the fire, and kissed Taliesin's cheek. “I'll remember your words,” I said. “Thank you.”

For three more days we traveled, following the great Ekiya River northward to the place where it had its beginnings in the mighty Himeko Mountains, in the very heart of the Igaal lands. Mudiwar's people were still in the place by the lake, where I had seen them in my first mind-flight using the map I had made. Their camp
was almost entirely surrounded by mountains and was reached only by a winding, narrow gorge that went in from the northwest ridge. It was dusk on the fourth day when Taliesin and I reached the gorge, and night by the time we had walked down its winding way almost to the plain. We camped the night hidden behind rocks, but within sight of the end of the gorge. In the morning we shared a small meal, and then it was time for him to go.

As always in good-byes, I was lost for words.

“Remember that you will be protected every moment, Avala,” Taliesin said. “If you need us, Sheel Chandra is as close as your next thought.”

I wept, for he was my last link with Ravinath. Drawing me to him, he took my face in his hands and kissed my brow.

“Thank you for everything, Taliesin,” I said. “You've been a true friend.”

“It's I who thank you,” he said. “You've been as a daughter to me, and blessed me more than you know. I will be thinking of you every hour.”

Placing a hand on my head, he said a prayer for me. “Go in peace,” he said, “and in the grace of Sovereign God.” Then, quickly, he bent and picked up his bag, and walked away. Near the first bend in the gorge he turned, and we waved to each other. Then he went around the rocks, his black cloak blowing about him, and was gone.

Turning, I picked up my bag and put my winter coat across my arm. The day was warm, and the breeze that came through the gorge was rich with the scent of springtime grass and the pungent odor of Igaal fires. The
rocky walls of the gorge were high but only about six paces apart, and the narrowness of the place reminded me of the long walk into Ravinath. Only this time I was walking back to another world, the Igaal world I had left behind over a year ago. Saying a prayer to the All-father, I began walking. As I neared the end of the gorge, where it began to widen onto the plain, I heard a drumming in the earth, coming from the Igaal camp. It was a single horse. I stopped, put down my things, and waited. Suddenly I felt exposed and alone, almost misplaced, trapped between two worlds. For a few panic-stricken heartbeats I did not know who I was—escaped Igaal slave, or free Shinali woman, or Navoran healer. Then I touched the amulet I wore, the eagle's wings with the Navoran stone and the eye that saw all things, held all things in its peace; and I knew myself to be all three, complete and whole and sure. No matter what happened in these next hours, I had all of Ravinath behind me.