Secret Sacrament (9 page)

The incident with the Empress he managed most of the time to forget, convincing himself that it had been nothing—only a whim, a casual act, probably totally imagined on his part. But whenever he was called at night to go with Salverion to the home of someone taken ill, or to an urgent case at the Infirmary, his heart lurched; and his dreams were haunted by a mocking figure in jewels and soiled white silk, who pursued him through Navoran mansions once excellent and glorious, but which were ruined now.

S
UMMER
'
S FRUIT RIPENED
on the boughs, and in the scorching fields the animals gathered in the shade, or about their water troughs. Every evening in the Citadel gardens, water spilled along the irrigation canals, and the precious herbs and vegetables flourished. But in the surrounding hills the grass withered, and the earth dried and hardened and waited for rain.

In the Navora Infirmary, Gabriel worked long days with Salverion in the operating rooms. Only the most difficult and painful operations were performed by Salverion, Kes, and the experienced healer-priests from the Citadel. The rest of the work was done by the Infirmary's full-time surgeons, whose patients did not have the benefit of the release from pain by gifted hands. Gabriel never got used to hearing their distant cries.

Every day he and Salverion examined all the patients who had symptoms similar to those of the dreaded bulai fever. Salverion had prepared
for the plague, having a large sanatorium built out on an island in the harbor, where victims of the disease could be totally isolated. Also on the island was a crematorium, so that even the dead could not carry the lethal infection back to Navora. So far the sanatorium had remained vacant, but all people with fevers were carefully examined.

Interspersed with the Infirmary work were the visits to the homes of the elite in Navora, whose wealth and influence gave them the right to call on the Grand Master of Healing. Many of the families were Salverion's personal friends, and after the healings he and Gabriel were given fine dinners and even finer gifts. Many of Gabriel's gifts he sent home to his mother or Myron. Most of his monthly stipend he sent anonymously to Hevron, knowing it would be used to improve conditions in the Academy infirmary.

Occasionally he spent mornings at the Citadel, preparing ointments, medicines, and poultices with the good-humored Amael, Master of Herbal Medicines. But as much as he enjoyed the work with herbs, he longed to work with Sheel Chandra in the mysterious and powerful art of dream healing. When he expressed this wish to Salverion, the Grand Master replied, “The knowledge Sheel Chandra teaches is the most
advanced and sacred and will be given to you when you are ready for it, probably in your third or fourth year here. In the meanwhile, take one step at a time. You're learning all the dimensions of healing, remember; not only healing of the body, but also healing of the emotions and the spirit. Any physician can chop out a tumor or mix a medicine, and hope for the best. Only a healer-priest can release the hidden energies already in the body, and direct healing like a light to wounded memories and nerves and flesh. Much is learned only through prayer, meditation, and mind-power. Such things cannot be hurried.”

Several things could not be hurried, Gabriel discovered: not deep learning, or the pain of separation from family, or a horse when it was feeling obstinate.

“I'm leaving Rebellion here tomorrow,” he announced angrily to Ferron one evening, when he got home. “I'm running to the Infirmary. It'll be more pleasant, more dignified, and probably quicker.”

He collapsed into a chair, and Ferron smiled and handed him a glass of cool apricot juice. “I told you what to do when he gets stubborn,” he said. “His previous owner always gave him grapes. You don't give him grapes. Every now and again he protests.”

“I refuse to give in to him,” said Gabriel.

“Sounds like a deadlock between two stubborn animals.”

“While it's a deadlock, I'll jog to my work.”

“In that case I hope you're not too tired,” Ferron said. “You have to go to the city now, I'm afraid. Today there was a message from the palace. An official came early this morning, and said the Empress wants to see you. Alone.”

Gabriel slowly put his drink down on the table, and the glass rattled a little on the polished wood, before he let it go. “I'm not going,” he said. “Send a message back to her. Tell her I'm ill.”

“I can't do that! No one refuses the Empress, Gabriel—not even a healer-priest.”

Gabriel sat biting his lower lip, his face strained and white. Suddenly he stood up, went into his room, and changed into his running clothes.

“Can you tell me what's wrong?” asked Ferron, from the doorway.

“No,” said Gabriel, pulling on his shoes. His hands were shaking. Watching him, Ferron felt a surge of anger, almost of contempt. Then he remembered that Gabriel was only eighteen, no more nervous and panic-stricken than Ferron himself had been the first time he was summoned to attend the Empress on his own. “She doesn't bite,
you know,” Ferron said, smiling a little. “Not often, anyway.”

Gabriel looked up, pure terror on his face. He was so pale, Ferron thought he was going to vomit. “The old witch won't get near enough to try,” Gabriel said, standing up. Ignoring the shock on Ferron's face, he ran out through the open door into the gardens and vanished between the trees.

Four times he ran around the perimeter of the Citadel grounds, never stopping, running hard, on the last lap almost sobbing with the pain. He got back to his rooms breathless and drenched with sweat, and found Salverion waiting for him.

The Grand Master waited while Gabriel got a towel from his room, wiped his face and neck, and collapsed in a chair in the sitting room. Only when the youth's breathing was normal again did Salverion speak.

“Is it true that you're refusing to see your Empress?” he asked.

“She's not my Empress,” said Gabriel.

“What do you mean by that?”

Gabriel did not answer.

“Is there something you should tell me?” asked Salverion.

Gabriel remained silent.

Losing patience at last, Salverion stood up and began pacing angrily. “I didn't notice insolence as
one of your faults, Gabriel,” he said. “So what is it? Fear? Cowardice? Some kind of senseless defiance? By God, she
is
your Empress! She stands for everything you believe in, for all that's excellent and great in our Empire. If you can't honor her for that, then at least respect the fact that she holds ultimate power on earth. When she commands, we obey. We do not run away like frightened children.”

He stopped in front of Gabriel, saw that Gabriel's face was stormy and mutinous, and that he was near to tears. Salverion flung himself into a chair and ran his hands through his white hair. “I don't understand what's got into you, Gabriel,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You have to go to the palace. If you don't, you'll devalue the reputation of everyone at the Citadel, and embarrass me and all your Masters. Worse, you'll incur the Empress's wrath—and that is no small thing.”

“What about
me
?” said Gabriel hoarsely, his eyes averted. “I'm allowed to be devalued and embarrassed, so long as everyone else is all right?”

“Would you like to explain yourself, my son?” Salverion asked, softly.

It was a long time before Gabriel answered. When he did, his voice was so low that the Grand Master had to strain to hear it. He listened, white-faced, while Gabriel told him of the
incident with the Empress. “And that's why I don't want to see her again, Master,” Gabriel finished. “You can call me a coward; you can dismiss me from the Citadel. But she's not my Empress, not the Empress I believed in and loved all my life. She doesn't stand for anything excellent, anything Navoran. I don't honor her and I won't obey her.”

Salverion sighed heavily and looked suddenly very old and tired. “I knew the Empress had certain weaknesses,” he said, “but I never thought they would entangle my own disciple.”

“I'm not entangled,” said Gabriel, “and I never will be.”

“No. I know that,” said Salverion. “And if things do become difficult for you—if there is conflict between you and the Empress, I'll speak to her myself and support you to the end. But please think on this calmly, and don't despise the Empress because she has one fault, born out of her deep loneliness. There's much in her that is strong and good and worthy of respect. She's not the only woman in the world to want beautiful young men.”

“She's the only one who can command them, though,” said Gabriel. “That's an abuse of her power. It makes her corrupt.”

Salverion said gently, “Not one of us is perfect, my son. Even the Empress. But she isn't totally
corrupt, any more than you and I are corrupt because of our shortcomings. Go and see her. But take Ferron with you. Make sure he waits for you just outside the Empress's room and is within calling distance. See the Empress, treat her illness, if that is what's required, but make sure her own physician is present. If he's not, decline to treat her until he is. I wouldn't attend her without someone else present, and she can hardly blame you for keeping to the same code of conduct. You know enough to treat her usual minor ailments. If you're not sure, ask her physician. If she's not ill . . . well, your own conscience must guide you there. Remain courteous, and leave as peacefully as you can. If politeness and composure are not possible, flee. Ferron knows a secret way out of the palace. Hide in the hills for a few days, then come back here, but not by the main gate. By then I'll know which way the palace winds blow.”

“And if they blow against me?”

“We'll discuss that if the time comes. But please don't think of the worst yet. It may be that the Empress simply wants to talk to you, or that she does have some complaint she feels you can deal with without my supervision. Be calm. Ferron will guard you—with his life if necessary. Maybe you'll be back in a short time, laughing at these fears.”

Lightly, the Master touched the top of Gabriel's head, as if blessing him. “Come and see me when you get back,” he added, “no matter what the hour.”

The Empress smiled and handed Gabriel a golden goblet of white wine. There was no slave in the room, and she had poured the wine herself—a rare honor for a guest. He took it in both hands and bowed his head as he thanked her for it. He had not seen her standing before; she was surprisingly tall and slender. Her long dress was of the softest silk, the same violet as her eyes. Her hair was plaited and adorned with amethysts and silver ribbons. In the lowered lamplight she looked younger than he remembered her, gracious, less threatening. Even so, he shook, and his throat was so dry he could hardly speak.

“Come and sit down, Gabriel,” she said.

They were in the same room as before, but this time she was sitting not on the great carved throne but beneath the windows on a divan spread with luxuriant cushions. She indicated for him to sit beside her, so he did, as far from her as he reasonably could, and slightly facing her direction.

The Empress Petra relaxed, leaning with her left arm on the back of the divan, her cheek resting
on her hand. Sipping her wine, she studied the healer-priest. He looked excellent in the Citadel robes, princely and beautiful. This time his hair was not tied back, and it was tousled, rippling gold against the crimson.

“You're enjoying your work with Salverion?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty, thank you.”

“Which healing art do you find the most satisfying?”

“I haven't learned them all yet. But I've enjoyed the surgery more than I thought I would.”

“Don't you find it strange, being the youngest of all the healer-priests?”

He grinned nervously and sipped his wine. “I never think of my age, Your Majesty. It still puzzles me when patients look alarmed.”

The Empress laughed: a warm, throaty sound. “Salverion says you are an exceptional person. And I know you are, in more than healing ways. I haven't forgotten the talk we had when you were here before.”

He said nothing, but his fingers tightened about the golden cup.

“Did you ever fully understand what your dream meant?” she asked. “The one with the white silk?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I'm sorry, I'd rather not, Your Majesty.”

There was a long silence, and he drank more wine. Suddenly it occurred to him that the wine might be drugged, and he lowered the cup, staring uneasily into its gleaming depths.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked.

“No, thank you. We ate before we left.”

“We?”

“I came with a friend, Lady.”

“You were afraid to visit your Empress alone?” Her voice was light, mocking.

“No. But the Grand Masters prefer us not to ride in the city alone at night.”

“And they are wise, with so much crime in our streets. Have you talked with the philosophers yet, at the Citadel?”

“With some of them, Your Majesty. But so far my learning has been mainly with Salverion, in the Infirmary. I'll study more in the winter, when travel to the Infirmary won't always be easy.”

“Does that mean you won't be able to visit me, either, in the wintertime?”

“It does, Your Majesty.”

“I should have been making more use of you these summer months, then.”

“I've been very busy.”

“I know. That's why I waited. There were several times I wanted to see you, but I waited until
now, when my need was most urgent.”

Gabriel stared down at his hands and fought to remain calm. It took all his will just to remain seated there beside her.

“I have a dream,” said the Empress. “The same dream, night after night. It worries me. It's not a bad dream, and I'm not frightened in it, but I know it's significant. I've asked my physician about it, and the philosophers and astrologers here. But they don't know. They guess, they all tell me different things—mainly what they think I want to hear. Nothing they say feels right to me. Even my most skilled augur, Jaganath, is uncertain. I need to know what the dream means, Gabriel. I trust you. You're forthright and honest. If I tell you my dream, will you tell me what it means?”