Time of the Eagle (27 page)

Back at Mudiwar's tent I put away the map and went to the healing tents. So many wounded, there were! In long lines they lay, tough Navoran soldiers alongside Igaal women and men and
Hena warriors. Most were recovering well, and many were leaning up and talking to one another. They called a greeting to me as I went among them, and seemed cheerful enough. Some were in pain, and those I knelt by for a while, my hands on their nerve pathways. One Navoran soldier, a youth not much older than myself, was dying. As I sat by him he gripped my hand, his eyes full of suffering and fear. I eased his pain and held his hand while he made the journey to the shadow lands. When he had gone I closed his eyes and sat there by him with my head bent, sorrowing, wondering. Someone in the stone city loved him as son, brother, maybe husband. How could his death make anything right?

I went out and asked two of Embry's men to come and carry the youth away for burial, then I went to my own small healing tent, where Chetobuh lay apart from the others. Ishtok was with him, and stood up when I entered.

“You look weary,” he said, coming close. I leaned my head on his shoulder, and he put an arm about me and kissed my brow. “Did you find your people?” he asked.

“Yes. They are in the Napangardi Mountains, less than a morning's march north of their old homeland. They are preparing for battle. Will you go and tell Embry for me? Your Navoran is good now, and he will understand. I want to sit with Chetobuh awhile.”

“I'll be glad to tell him.” Then he drew back a little and cupped my face in his hands, looking at me. “I thought this day you would be a high lot happy,” he said. “But you are sad. Why?”

“Because I hate war, Ishtok. What was done to Chetobuh here was wrong, the very worst kind of wrong. But does killing
a man, even one of the men who did it to him, make it right? And how many killings will it take, to bring justice and peace? Our small battle here yesterday was bad enough. How many wounded are there? How many dead were buried and burned and sent to the skies today? How many, Ishtok?”

“There were more than two hundred wounded,” he replied. “Dead, there were fifty and two of Jaganath's soldiers, nine of Embry's men, twenty of my people, and five Hena.”

“Too many,” I said. “There has to be another way, Ishtok.”

“Another way for the Time of the Eagle to come?” he asked, surprised. Seeing that I was serious, he added, gravely, “It is your people's dream that is fanning this fire, Avala. Your vision that has fired up my father, and Embry, and the Hena, and even the Navorans. If you want another way, you'll have to find it.”

His lips brushed my cheek, and he went out.

I sat by Chetobuh and placed my hand on his brow. He was slightly feverish, and in pain again. I stopped his pain, and gave him water to drink. But he seemed distressed, and waves of fear came from him. Pitying him, I said gently, “If it is well with you, I will walk with you through your thoughts, your fears, and ease them. Will you agree to this?”

He nodded, and I bent over him until our brows touched. Images rushed over me—the rooftops of the stone city, with their slender pointed towers and noble domes, and courtyard gardens. I was looking down from a balcony high on a wall, and knew it was the palace. Then there were long passages of polished black stone, floors with beautiful mosaics, vast rooms with fountains and trees in gigantic pots, and ceilings painted blue with silver stars. And over all a brooding, fearful presence.
Then a glimpse of a robe, brown and ordinary, and the back of an old man's feet, shuffling as he went along a dusty floor. The light grew dim, and I saw the whole of the old man, his simple robe, long such as the Navorans wore sometimes, and his white hair. He carried a small lamp. Down narrow stairs he went, and I followed. Blackness engulfed us. There was a sense of being enclosed, of stone all around, close and suffocating, and an unbearable fear of being buried alive. I thought of white light, and it was there, lighting up the old slave's back, making a bright halo of his hair, and turning his small lamp to a dim yellow glow.

Through deep subterranean tunnels we went, winding and steep. Sometimes we came to vast caverns with three or four tunnels leading away from them, and the old man ahead chose one without wavering, and we followed. There were crypts where ancient dead lay in rotting binding cloths, and caves with dusty pots of arrows and spears, and the remains of fires from times long past. At times the passages were so small we stooped to pass through, and I felt the hammering of Chetobuh's heart, his awful fear at being so deeply underground. Then we heard a deep booming through the rock, and soon after came out into a cave and saw gray cloudy skies, and the sea thundering on rocks far below. Chetobuh sobbed with relief.

I lifted my head and rubbed my forehead. I ached from the tension of our long underground journey, and realized my palms were sweating from the fear I had shared. But Chetobuh lay peaceful, sleeping, his lips curved.

I remembered a story my mother had told me, of how my father, too, had escaped the palace through catacombs, guided by
a friend who knew them well. Did many know of those tunnels, I wondered? They went from the underground palace storerooms to the coast. I wondered how many slaves had dared escape that way, risking being lost, starving to death alone and in the dark. And while I wondered, the thought occurred to me that if people could escape the palace that way, they might also go in. Then other thoughts came, tumbling over one another, urgent and compelling—snatches of conversations in Ravinath, things Taliesin had said, about how Navora was built on slavery, and if every slave rebelled the city would fall within hours.

As if struck, I sat bolt upright, an amazing idea rushing over me. What if the slaves were armed, the city taken from within, Jaganath captured, his stronghold conquered, all within a single morning? Would there be a need, then, for the huge battle? Maybe not. But then, hard on the heels of hope, came the cold realization that if the slaves rebelled, Jaganath would summon his army. The slaughter would happen anyway, but the city itself would be the battleground, and the slaughtered would be the slaves, the very ones we wanted to rescue. No, I told myself, I was being irrational, desperate, dreaming. But the idea of a slave rebellion blazed strong in my mind, and I tried to think of ways it could be done without Jaganath calling on his army to subdue it.

For some strange reason, I remembered some of the poems Delano had read to me in Ravinath, his stirring battle epics of conquests of past times. Lines of his poems came to me, verses I had loved: a story of a small band who, by trickery, overwhelmed an entire army; an account of a bold uprising when surprise and cunning won against impossible odds; a tale of a
king deceived, his army drawn to a false fight while his city fell, undefended. As I remembered the stories of cunning and deceit and pure bravery I wondered whether Jaganath, too, could be drawn into a false fight. Could he be deceived? I thought of what Embry had said about waiting being hard, and how he had been tempted at times to march on Navora before the Time of the Eagle, taking his chances with the small army he had. Could Jaganath be deceived into thinking that the Shinali had become impatient, that they were marching alone, without the other nations?

And then the ideas came, huge images flying like dreams into my mind, many at once, yet each one clear and whole and astonishing, until, within the space of a few heartbeats, I had the whole stupendous plan. For a while I sat there, breathless, hardly able to believe that such a plan had been given to me. But it was there, bold and blazing in my mind, and I had to take it to Embry, even if he laughed and called it mad.

Half afraid, astonished at my own audacity, I went outside to look for him. People were sitting on the mats, eating the evening meal. It was dusk, and the first stars were out. Embry was sitting with a group of his soldiers, and some of the Hena warriors, next to Mudiwar's mat. I went over and stood at the edge of his group. Embry looked up and smiled.

“Come and sit down, Avala,” he said. “I wanted to talk with you. Ishtok told me where the Shinali are. I looked for you, to discuss the matter, and couldn't find you.”

“I was with Chetobuh,” I said. Two of his soldiers moved to make room for me, and I sat between them, facing Embry across
the bowls of food, suddenly shy, unsure of myself among these experienced soldiers. How real was an idea in a poem, against their combined years of battles and conquests? Hesitantly, I said, “I've had an idea. It's probably a bit wild.”

“I like wild,” said Embry, with a grin. “Beside, you've already given one inspired speech; from the look on your face, I'd say there's another coming up. Spit it out. I'm all ears.”

I said, “Navora can be taken from within. There are catacombs leading into the city. You know of them?”

Embry nodded. “Those catacombs are treacherous,” he said. “Very few people know the way through. I don't know anyone familiar with them.”

“I know the way,” I said. “The slave Chetobuh escaped through the catacombs. The dread of them still torments him, and I've walked there several times with him, through his memories. I could find the way through.”

Embry put down his feasting knife. I saw some of his men lean forward, and they all stopped eating. “Go on,” said Embry.

I said, “I've been told that most of the people in the palace are slaves. I also understand that if all the slaves rebelled, the city would fall very quickly. If a group of your men went in through the catacombs, they could secretly arm the slaves, and organize a rebellion.”

“It wouldn't work,” said one of the soldiers. “Jaganath would have his army into that city so fast, the slaves wouldn't have time to fall down before they died.”

“Not if his army was already occupied,” I said, “already involved in a battle outside the city. It wouldn't be the great
battle with all the tribes, just a small battle, at first. A diversion, a false battle to confuse and distract. You said something to me the other day, Embry, about my people being patient as they wait for the Time of the Eagle. You said that sometimes you've been tempted to march on Navora before the right time. What if we deceived Jaganath into thinking that we are all impatient—you and your breakaway army, and the Shinali people—and that we are marching on Navora without waiting for the unity with the Hena and Igaal?”

I waited for another objection, but there was none.

“This is my plan, if it will work,” I continued. “At dawn, just as the slaves revolt, my people, with your forces, will enter through Taroth Pass, and march down across the Shinali land toward Navora. They will surely be seen, and Jaganath told. But thinking it is to be only a small battle, he will send out only part of his army to deal with it. Your army, with the Shinali, will meet Jaganath's few thousand, and then, just as they join in battle, the full force of the combined tribes will come in through the pass and pour across the plain to support our side. It will be too late for Jaganath to do anything. Even if the rest of his army is on the way to the city by then, to put down the slave uprising, he will have to divert them to the real battle. It takes time to send messages, to change orders. It will be too late; his army will be divided, confused. Jaganath's soldiers—the smaller force facing the twenty thousand warriors—will realize they are hopelessly outnumbered, and will surrender. By the time our tribes reach Navora, the city also will have fallen. Since most Navorans are already looking for the Time of the Eagle, we'll
be welcomed. The battle will be over, the Eagle will have settled its wings, and most of Jaganath's army won't even have got to the fight.”

For long moments there was utter silence on our feasting-mat. I had not noticed, until then, that some of the soldiers on nearby mats had overheard my plot and come near to hear more. Lamps had been lit and placed on the mats, and in the leaping red light the soldiers' faces were tense and expectant as they waited for Embry's response. Embry rubbed his chin but said nothing.

“There is another reason this will work,” I said, “another reason we need the battle in two stages. My people don't have horses, and will have to march to the battleground and fight on foot. They can't start the battle at the same time as the Hena and Igaal warriors, who will move fast and fight from horseback; my people would be left behind, still marching onto the battleground while the battle is halfway through. My people need to go first, they need to begin the fight. That's their right.”

Breathless, I waited for Embry's word. At last he said, “By God, Avala, where did you learn battle tactics?”

“In Navoran poems,” I said.

One of his soldiers laughed, saying, “Delano! She's been reading Delano! By God, I wish he was alive to know his poems inspired this last battle!”

“We don't know, yet, that they have,” muttered Embry. He turned to the red-haired soldier next to him. “What say you, Boaz?” he asked. “Do you think this wild idea might work?”

“It's insane,” growled Boaz. “Utter lunacy, too far-fetched to be credible. Of course it'll work.”

Some of the soldiers cheered. We noticed that the feast was over, and we were the only group left on the mats. As I stood to go Embry said to me, “I'll think about this idea of yours, and talk it over with my men. When the plan's finalized, I'll need you to translate while I talk with Mudiwar. It'll be a late night, I'm thinking. The sooner we are on the move, the better.” He took my wrist in a Navoran handshake, adding, “Thank you. Your father would be proud of you, this night. One day the whole Navoran Empire will know your name, warrior-woman.”

I said as he turned away, “I'm not a warrior, I'm a healer.”

There is a day, a moment, called the Fullness of Time, when the threads in the All-father's great earth-weaving are drawn together for one mighty purpose, and all things are connected, all hearts made ready.

—Saying of Tarkwan, past Chieftain of the Shinali

M
udiwar called for his gong to be brought, and he banged it to summon the tribe, though most were already there. I was waiting with Ishtok; his Hena brother, Atitheya; and Boaz, the big red-haired solider who was Embry's second-in-command. Boaz's gruff voice and name were familiar to me, and I remembered that I had heard them both down by the river that fateful day I had hidden in the pool. Then, his companions had warned him about speaking treason. Now he was deep in treason with more than words, and an excellent fighter for his new commander. The weariness I had heard in his voice that day was gone now, and there was a fierce joy in him. He was a big man, scarred and tough. Beside him, Atitheya could not have been more different: he was tall and slim, almost elegant, with a beautiful face and manner. He wore his hair in many long fine ringlets twisted with red mud, that swung and clattered when he moved. Despite his gracefulness, I heard that he was a ferocious warrior. A little way beyond us were our horses, saddled for the journey, their saddlebags bulging with gifts from Mudiwar to Yeshi.

Mudiwar lifted his arms and everyone was silent. “This morning,” he said, “we witness the departure of Avala of the Shinali, and my pledge-son Ishtok, our Navoran warrior-friend Boaz, and my Hena son, Atitheya, as they go to the Shinali nation with our pledge of allegiance, and our plan for war. The love of us all goes with you. May Shimit bless your journey, till we meet again.”

To my great surprise the old man embraced me. “My word that made you a slave,” he said, “it is wiped out this day. Go a free woman. And from this day forth, there will be no slaves in my camp, nor ever shall be again.”

I kissed his cheek and thanked him. “I will tell our chieftain, Yeshi, of your greatness,” I said. “He will be proud to call you his ally.”

Then I said farewell to Ramakoda in the Shinali way, and his eyes were wet as he said, “Before this day's end, Avala, the beacon-fire will be burning on the Igaal Gathering-ground. By dawn tomorrow all our tribes will have gathered together, and tomorrow we will begin the two-day ride to Navora. Take courage, sister of mine: the Eagle's Time has come.”

I said good-bye to Chimaki, and to Chetobuh. As I said farewell to Embry I felt a deep anxiety in him. “I hope you were right, and that your people are where you say they are,” he said as he gave me the Navoran handshake. “And I hope they are indeed ready for this fight. Because if they're not, we'll march without them. Now that this war has started, there'll be no stopping it, for anything. I hope you understand that.”

“My people are ready,” I said. “The world is ready.”

Lastly, I went to Ishtok's oldest Hena brother, who was to ride
to his people within the hour and send out messengers to rally as many of the Hena tribes as possible. To him I made the Shinali farewell, my hand on his heart. He said to me, “Our hearts are indeed together, Shinali woman. Our priest, Sakalendu, has been already spreading word of battle among the Hena tribes. We may not have time to gather all our tribes together, but those who are ready will make a fair army. Together we shall ride to freedom.”

Then we travelers got on our horses and were ready to go. Mudiwar's people stood all around, their garments blowing in the wind, their faces solemn and proud and glad. Among them stood the Hena, with their painted clothes and mud red hair. And there were Embry's men, their blue sashes bright and brave in the morning sun.

Boaz rode to the front of us, and the people parted to let us through, and we moved off. But suddenly Boaz drew his sword, raised it high, and cried out in a voice that rang around the mountains: “For freedom! For the Eagle's Time!” He rode fast, and as we followed in his dust I heard the people cheering behind us. Once I looked back and saw Mudiwar supporting his son Chetobuh. I remember thinking, in the middle of that soaring joy-wildness, how strange it was that the Igaal allegiance to the Time of the Eagle had hung, in the end, not on anything I did, but on the escape of one broken Igaal slave.

Then we were in the gorge, riding hard, and Ishtok was making mad fox-barks to spur his horse on. I joined him, and we rode, laughing, barking, racing with Atitheya, all of us behind the zealous red-haired Navoran with his drawn sword fiery in the sun.

Outside the gorge a strong wind blew in from the west, bringing
the chill of the last snow that remained on the mountaintops, and clouds of sandy dust. To our right flowed the great Ekiya River, which we would follow south until it turned right into the gorge where I had first met Ramakoda; and in the foothills of the mountains we would make our way around to the place where my people dwelled.

We rode with our cloaks across our faces against the stinging dust, but after a while the wind dropped and the air grew warm. We threw off our cloaks and enjoyed the sun. We were covered in dust, as were the horses, and I could not help thinking that it was a good camouflage. Often I looked through my telescope, noticing that Boaz used one, too, searching for signs of Jaganath's soldiers. We had the whole plain to ourselves, and the snow-topped mountains, and the gleaming ribbon of the Ekiya River. The wide world was beautiful and bare under the summer skies, and my heart sang that at last I was going home—and going with a glorious call to arms.

By evening we were passing beneath the jagged shadows of the mountains that hid Ravinath. Looking across the ranges to the higher peaks beyond, I saw how the pinnacles were strangely shaped, slender and arrow straight, and I knew they concealed the towers. I touched the amulet I wore, and thought of Sheel Chandra. Just for a moment, though I did not even raise the amulet to my forehead, I saw him. He was standing with all the Masters, as they had stood that morning when I was with them and they shielded my people, and he was chanting in that sonorous voice of his. The image passed, had been fleeting like an arrow, yet I knew that they all knew and already had begun their
protecting work for the day of battle.

We kept to the foothills until nightfall, when we camped in a small, grassy ravine. We lit a fire and ate the meat we had brought with us. As he looked at the flames Ishtok said, “Our beacon-fire will be burning now, the tribes already gathering. In two days they'll be at Taroth Pass.”

Boaz told us details of the plan he had worked out with Embry, and I interpreted his words for Atitheya and Ishtok, though Ishtok understood many of them.

“On the day after tomorrow,” Boaz said, “three of our men will enter the city, disguised as market gardeners with vegetables for the palace kitchens. They'll organize the slaves' revolt. That evening you'll be taking us in through the catacombs, Avala. I'll lead the company. There will be fifty of us, and during the night we'll arm the slaves, then support them during their uprising the next morning at dawn. The timing of the revolt is crucial; it would take only one slave entering Jaganath's presence knowing the plot for rebellion, for Jaganath to smell the treachery and end the uprising before it's begun. Secrecy and surprise are vital, and all the planning must be done at the last possible moment.”

“He truly can read what is in people's heads, this terrible chieftain?” asked Atitheya.

“Yes, he can,” said Boaz. “I've seen men whipped for what they only thought in his presence. That's why he's so powerful—he knows everything. Every last secret. But that's not what makes him so terrible. That man can make you think you're on fire, and it's so real you can smell your own flesh burning. I know; I talked to someone he did that to. They never got over it.”

“Who is going to take Jaganath prisoner?” asked Ishtok.

“Well now, that's the biggest challenge in this whole campaign,” said Boaz. “Personally, I'm hoping that the moment the old tyrant realizes his reign is finished, he'll commit suicide. Otherwise I suppose I'll just have to go and fight the biggest battle of my career, and lock him in his throne room.” He grinned, but I saw the waves of fear go out from him, and they seemed strange, coming from such a mighty soldier. He added, to Ishtok and Atitheya, “You two won't be coming through the catacombs with me. At dawn you'll be with your own tribes, waiting to go in through Taroth Pass to support the Shinali and Embry's men, after they've begun the first stage of our attack. Your warriors will be led by Oren. When he gives the signal for you to join in, for the second stage of the attack, you'll have to ride like the wind.”

“The palace, I'm going there with you,” said Ishtok, and Boaz looked shocked. Ishtok added, his eyes meeting the soldier's, his face resolute, “I swore to Avala, I would be with her on Eagle's day. I swore it, with
sharleema
.”

“I honor your vow, Ishtok,” Boaz said, “but this is a battle we're going to, not a wedding party. Your father will need you.” Ishtok opened his mouth to speak again, and Boaz said, in a tone not to be defied, “This matter is closed.” Then he went on, “I want you and Atitheya both to remember, in the battle, that when Navoran soldiers kneel with their hands crossed on their foreheads, it's the Navoran posture of surrender. Spare them. Embry will be telling this to all the tribes. This is a battle to free slaves and to liberate nations from a tyrant, not to slaughter as many Navorans as you can. Most Navorans will welcome you, if you give them a chance. We're marching to free a city, not
destroy it. Now we should get some sleep. We've an early start in the morning. We need to find our Shinali brothers and give them the call to arms. We have two days to get them into shape for battle; two nights from now we enter Navora through the catacombs, and the Eagle will be well and truly in flight.”

The sun was barely up when we set out. We walked our horses, for the foothills of the mountains were stony and rough, and between the rocks brown tussock grass sprouted up in clumps, hiding the holes of rabbits and foxes. It was noon when our way turned right into a steep ravine, so narrow and rough that we went in single file, leading our horses. Boaz went first, and we picked our way slowly, deep into the Napangardi Mountains. After a while we came to a little stream, and we rode again, following its shore.

As we neared the canyon where my people dwelled, an unspeakable joy rose in me. Knowing it, Ishtok reached out his hand, and we rode close, our fingers entwined. Atitheya noticed and smiled to himself and said something to Ishtok I did not hear. We went around the base of huge sweeping cliffs towering like sheer curtains of rock, and passed fold after fold, always bearing slightly to the left. To our right, across a flat, grassy plain, were other mountains, steep sided and with snow in the peaks. The stream we had been following tumbled across the plain and under trees. It was a hidden place, sheltered from the winds, and very quiet. Then I smelled smoke and knew my inner seeing had been true.

Boaz held up his hand and signaled for us to dismount. “If I go marching in there, fully armed and unannounced, I don't
think I'll get a warm welcome,” he said, grinning. “I'll wait here. Avala, you go to them first, with Ishtok and Atitheya. When you've greeted your people and have told them briefly what is happening, then call me.”

I nodded, and Ishtok, Atitheya, and I dismounted. Leading the horses, we rounded the last bend and saw the cave.

It was immediately in front of us, across a short stretch of dusty ground where children were playing and a group of hunters skinned two stags. Beyond them women tended a fire in front of the cave, and the smoke from it rose straight up and was lost in the dizzy heights of the cliffs. Against the wall near the cave two men sat talking, laughing together. One of them was my chieftain, Yeshi. Across the flat ground, on the plain, the archery targets were still set up, though no one practiced there at the moment.

My heart thundered as we stepped out from the shadow. The children were the first to see us, and they stopped playing and pointed. One of the boys called to the men sitting near the cliff, and they stood. At the same moment the hunters stopped their work, and the women by the fire turned and looked at us. We walked on, out into the pale sunlight, the air breathless about us. Even our footsteps, and the dull thud of the horses' hooves, were quiet in that place.

Yeshi came toward us. As he neared us he saw my face and stopped. A look of astonishment came over him, and he half turned and called out, while still looking at my face, “Bring Ashila! Quickly!”

And then she came. My mother, wearing a dress of pale wool
painted with stars, her feet bare, her smile like the sun. My mother, beautiful and with a gray streak in her hair, walking slow, unsure if it was really me. Then she began to run—we both ran—and then we were hugging each other, both of us laughing through our tears, and she was saying a prayer of thanks to the All-father, and touching my face, my hair, as if not sure it was truly me. At last she pulled away a little and looked on my face while she made the Shinali welcome.

“My heart and yours are in harmony,” she said. And how soft her voice sounded, with its beautiful Shinali accents! Then we hugged again, and I could not speak for bliss.

Then my chieftain, Yeshi, came up, and I knelt before him and touched my head to the dust, and he lifted me with both his hands and embraced me and made the Shinali greeting.

“We thought you were dead,” he said, “and here you are back from the shadow lands, happy and in good health. Ashila always said things were well with you, but we thought it was a mother's empty hope.”

I turned and called Ishtok and Atitheya. Still leading the horses, side by side, they came to us. Their faces were grave, slightly apprehensive.

Then Ishtok came forward, and I said, with pride, “This is Ishtok, youngest son of the Igaal chieftain, Mudiwar. And with him is Atitheya, younger son of the Hena chieftain, Serdar. They come as ambassadors from their people, with messages for you, Yeshi.”