Before long they were in the city outskirts. The last houses flashed past; then the impressive Navora Infirmary, famous for its modern surgical techniques, and the mysterious Sanctuary of Healing Dreams. Then the buildings were gone, and the road wound through forested hills and cultivated fields. Through the darkness Gabriel could just make out the gardens where vegetables were grown to sell in the city marketplaces. Watchmen’s torches made flares of light among the guarded vegetables, and irrigation waterways glimmered under the moon.
The road began to wind upward. Looking ahead, Gabriel caught glimpses of the Citadel tower, luminous as pearl, between the trees. It was surrounded by high walls, and little could be seen from the road. But as the chariot drew near, the mighty gates in the Citadel walls swung wide open, revealing the buildings within. Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat.
The Citadel soared into the sky, its towers and turrets moon white among the stars. At its heart was a magnificent domed tower, with huge golden doors lit by dozens of torches and flanked by slender spires. Surrounding its lofty walls were the lower buildings, their gold-tiled roofs glowing in the moonlight. Never had Gabriel seen anything so high, so unutterably beautiful. It seemed to lean against the universe, a shining link between this world and the cosmos, hallowed and breathtaking. Gabriel could not tear his eyes off it; it overwhelmed him with its peace, drowned him in its whiteness. Terror and elation tore through him. Before he was even inside the gates, he felt with all of his being that the Citadel had claimed him and possessed him, and that his life was no longer his own.
5
VOWS
OVER THE RIM OF his plain pottery goblet, Salverion scrutinized his new disciple. He saw a young man looking more assured than he had looked yesterday, though Gabriel’s slender fingers trembled as they held his goblet of wine.
“I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you decided to join us here,” said Salverion. “What decided you, in the end?”
“It just feels right, Master,” said Gabriel, and immediately wished he had said something more intelligent. Did he have to make a fool of himself so soon?
Salverion asked, “You live by your intuitions, Gabriel?”
Gabriel’s face reddened, and he felt those steely eyes probe his soul. “I’m afraid I do, Master.”
“Why afraid?” asked Salverion, gently. “Our intuitions are our wisest guide. In what way do yours guide you?”
“Mostly in dreams, Master. All my life I’ve had clear dreams, and over the years I’ve worked out what they mean. For example, I’ve realized that wind is a symbol of change, while a corridor of closed doors means to take care about a decision. An open door signifies the right choice.”
Salverion nodded, understanding. “We did well in choosing you,” he said. “Our ways of healing will come naturally to you. Most of our healing here is intuitive, accomplished through the mind. The skills we teach are ancient, very potent, and imparted only to the disciples in the Citadel. The highest skills are for the prevention of pain and the promotion of rapid healing. We work not only through our own minds, but through the minds of those we seek to help. The skills, if misused, could give a person incredible power in the world, and control over whomever he chose. That’s why your training here is a holy calling, and you are a healer-priest bound by solemn vows. You will learn all the known powers of the human mind. You see, Gabriel, healing is a matter of the spirit, and that our medicines and scalpels and hands cannot touch. The heart of our work is to encourage the spirit of each one who needs to be healed. Love is a far greater healing force than anything else on earth. I have a feeling that is something you already know.”
Slowly Gabriel smiled, and the smile was like a light on his face. They were silent for a time, and Gabriel studied the Grand Master, marveling at the man’s perception and generosity of spirit, the gentleness in his voice, the almost childlike candor in his face. He looked like a philosopher, a man without anger or guilt or bitterness; yet there was a deepness in his eyes that made Gabriel know he had suffered.
“Do you teach all the Wisdoms, Master?” he asked.
“My brain would not be enough to contain them all,” said Salverion, with a chuckle. “Nor would one lifetime be enough to impart them. There are seven Wisdoms taught here at the Citadel: the Wisdoms of Healing, Science, Music, Art, Literature, Religion, and Astronomy. For each Wisdom there is one Grand Master, acquainted with all the arts to do with that Wisdom. And under him are several Masters, each an expert in a particular branch of that Wisdom. For example, in the Wisdom of Healing there are Masters of surgery, of medicine, of healing by touch, of dream healing, of acupuncture, and of other secret arts. Then there are the disciples. There are over a hundred of you altogether, from all places in the Empire, and at various stages of learning.
“This year you were the only one elected for the healing arts. I have twenty-two other disciples, but they have been with me two years or more, and work now with the Masters of Healing, perfecting their skills. During this first year you will be with me. I will teach you the basics and give you an overall view of what you have ahead of you. Our work together will be mainly practical. Nearly every day we go to the Navora Infirmary. Sometimes we stay overnight there, if the weather is inclement and travel difficult, or a patient requires our constant attention. Then we share a small lodging attached to the hospital. I hope you won’t mind. Also, I am frequently called to families in Navora, and you’ll accompany me on all those visits. The people are invariably of the wealthy class, though they may not pay us in gold, only in gifts.”
Gabriel sipped his wine and tried to fathom everything he had just heard. He noticed that the goblet from which he drank was very simple and realized that, although Salverion was one of the most illustrious men in the Empire, wealth meant nothing to him. Even the Master’s clothes were unpretentious: just a simple long rust-colored tunic with a yellow hem and a belt made of linked bronze discs. Under the robe he wore a blue shirt and trousers, not particularly well matched with the rusty red. He wore no jewelry, and his sandals were made of undecorated leather. He might have been any ordinary Navoran relaxing in his home.
For the first time Gabriel looked closely at the room, and was surprised at its simplicity. They were in the small sitting room of Salverion’s private apartment, made cozy by furs scattered on the floor and over chairs. Rustic hangings decorated the walls, and there were shelves crammed with scrolled books. There were small statues, pieces of pottery, and a number of wooden animals. Some of the artworks were simple and unpolished, obviously made as gifts by grateful patients, and treasured by the Master. A bronze lamp burned on a stand between the chairs in which Gabriel and Salverion sat, its oil aroma filling the room even though the door was open to the patio. The night wind carried in the scents of warm summer grass, citrus, and recently watered soil. The earthy fragrances were intoxicating after the stone courtyards and streets of Navora.
“It’s beautiful here,” remarked Gabriel. “I’ve never lived away from the smell of stone.”
“I believe it’s important to have a refuge to come back to, after the demands of our work,” Salverion said. “I’ll take you to your apartment shortly. I hope you’ll be pleased with it. Your chest has already been taken there. Your rooms are fairly bare at the moment, but tomorrow you’ll be given the first of your monthly stipends, and you can purchase whatever you need. You’re supplied with a thousand hasaries each month. Your room and food are free. You will also be given a horse, for travel. I hope the money we offer will be sufficient.”
Gabriel tried not to look astonished. “I’m sure it will be, Master,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
“You’ll be trained,” said Salverion. “If you need anything from the city, your personal keeper will go for you, to make your purchases. His name is Ferron. You’ll meet him tonight. He’s utterly trustworthy and dependable and will be your keeper for the seven years you are here.”
“Is he a
slave?” asked Gabriel.
“There are no slaves here. But he was a slave; I acquired him four years ago and freed him. He’s a superb artist and in his spare time illustrates charts and documents for the Great Library. He’s also a skilled swordsman.”
“Will I have much time on my own? I prefer solitude.”
“Ferron has rooms next to yours and will attend you only if you call him. He has a kitchen and will prepare all your meals. He won’t be a nuisance. All our keepers are chosen with extreme care and are very tactful and discerning. Many are freed slaves, here by their own free will. But the hour is late, and there’s much I have not yet explained. It will have to wait until the morning. Have you any last questions?”
“What happens in the morning, Master? And what time do I have to wake?”
“At dawn Ferron will wake you, and take you to the central tower, which is over the Great Library. I, and all the Grand Masters, will be waiting. There will be an initiation ceremony. You’ll bathe and be given new robes and will make your vows.” He noticed a sudden tension in Gabriel’s face and added, with a smile, “Don’t be anxious about anything, my son. I will explain everything, and you will be guided at every moment.”
Getting up, Salverion went out the open door onto his patio and looked up at the night sky. Gabriel stood beside him, breathing deeply in the balmy air. An owl swooped low over the garden, hooting mournfully, and he thought of the stuffed owl in the foyer at home, of his childhood with its fears and agonies and longings, and of the awesome road that lay ahead.
Except for the lack of furnishings, Gabriel’s room was identical to the Grand Master’s own sitting room. Though the room was almost bare, a lamp burned on a low dining table, its welcoming glow falling across a supper of fresh and dried fruits, cheese, and a crusty loaf of bread. There was also a goblet and a small bottle of wine. A curtained doorway led to the combined bedroom and study, where the bed was made ready with rich covers and tasseled pillows. Gabriel’s chest stood at the foot of it.
In the sitting room wall opposite the curtained door was another door. It was closed. It was, Salverion had explained, the door to Ferron’s rooms. Gabriel stood outside it for a few moments, then hesitantly lifted his hand and quietly knocked.
The door was opened by a young man not much older than himself. His eyes were the color of light jade, with very thick dark lashes. His skin was olive colored and flawless, his face handsome. Long hair, blue-black and waving, flowed to his shoulders. He was from the eastern part of the Empire, Gabriel guessed, brought over as a slave after one of the Navoran conquests. For a few seconds they stared at each other; then the keeper bowed low.
“Please don’t do that,” said Gabriel, embarrassed. “I just wanted to thank you for the meal, and for everything else you did to prepare my rooms. They feel like home already.”
“It was my pleasure to do that, sir.”
“Do you have to be so formal? My name’s Gabriel.”
Ferron looked surprised, but he nodded.
“Would you like to have a meal with me?” Gabriel asked. “Salverion said there were things about tomorrow that you’d explain. We could talk while we eat.”
Ferron’s surprise turned to astonishment, though he tried to smother it. “It’s not usual for keepers to eat with disciples,” he said. He had a heavy accent, but Gabriel could not place it.
“We’ve got seven years here together,” Gabriel said. “By the end of that time you’ll have seen the very worst of me and, I hope, the best. I’d feel easier about that if you were a friend rather than a servant.”
Slowly Ferron smiled. “If that’s your wish.”
“It is. So won’t you get another plate, and eat with me?”
Ferron nodded and went into his sitting room. Looking through the doorway, Gabriel glimpsed walls covered with paintings, all scenes from a country unfamiliar to him. He was still staring at them when Ferron came back, a pottery plate and goblet in one hand and a cushion in the other.
“Did you paint your walls?” Gabriel asked, sitting down on his own cushion by the table.
Hesitantly, as if not quite comfortable with the arrangement, Ferron placed his cushion at the table across from Gabriel and sat down. In answer to Gabriel’s question, he said, “Yes. I’m employed here as an artist as well as a keeper. Though I painted my walls for my own pleasure, of course.”
“They’re beautiful,” said Gabriel, offering him the bowl of fruit. “The pictures are of your country, I guess. Where are you from? Sadira?”
“Amaran.”
“My father was a merchant,” said Gabriel. “He often went to Amaran, brought back glass and metalware. He said Amaranians were a nation of craftspeople. Were you an artist in your own country, before you came here?”
“I was only a child at home, before the Navoran army overran my country. I was twelve when I was enslaved. Eshtemoh, my brother, was eight.”
“Have you seen him since?”
Ferron shook his head. He began peeling an orange. There were scars around his wrists, much lighter than his skin.
“Where were you before you came to the Citadel?” Gabriel asked.
“I was in the palace for five years, before Salverion gave me my freedom and offered me a place here.”
“What’s the Empress like?” asked Gabriel, pouring them each a goblet of wine.
Ferron thought for a while before he answered. “From a slave’s point of view, terrifying. But I think you’d get along well with her. You have a direct and honest look. She likes people around her to be confident and to look at her straight when they speak to her. She doesn’t tolerate indecision, or clumsiness, or fear. Challenging, for a nervous slave.”
“Challenging for a nervous novice healer, too,” said Gabriel, and they laughed.
“Salverion told me that you’re a skilled swordsman,” remarked Gabriel.
“We have an excellent gymnasium here, if you like exercise.”
“I do. I run every day, if I can. I’d like to run later, barefoot, on real grass. I’ve never done that before.”
“If you do go outside,” said Ferron, “please stay on the lawn just outside your own rooms here. I’m afraid the rest of the Citadel is forbidden, until you’ve taken your vows.”
“How many of us will be taking our vows?”
“Only three tomorrow. There are several others elected, but they come from other parts of the Empire, and their ships haven’t arrived yet.”
“Will you be there, at the ceremony?”
“No. Don’t worry; Salverion will explain everything. You won’t make a blunder.”
“That’ll make a change,” said Gabriel, and Ferron looked amused.
After the meal Ferron showed Gabriel where the washrooms and latrines were, farther down the spacious pillared porch connecting all the apartments. Later, when Ferron had cleared away the remains of the meal and returned to his rooms, Gabriel went outside into the garden. The night was humid, the grass warm and slightly damp beneath his bare feet. He longed to go for a run but remembered Ferron’s request that he stay here. He walked a short distance out into the garden and noticed lamps between the trees, lighting the leaves to gold. Beyond the garden the smooth lawn ran down to a high wall built of white stone. Narrow steps were cut into the wall, leading up to a gap in the stones near the summit, obviously used as a lookout in times past. Gabriel glanced behind him but could see no one. Quickly, exulting in the beauty of the night and the softness of the grass beneath his feet, he ran across the lawn and climbed the steps. Reaching the top, he leaned on the stone barricade, and looked down.
The view was breathtaking. Before him, lucid under the silver moon, lay the Citadel fields, gardens, orchards, and vineyards, all contained within high walls. Past those walls, out toward the east, were gently rolling hills and shadowy valleys. Beyond them stretched a great plain, bordered on the far side by mountains. The plain shone with prairie grass, and a silver river ran through it: the Shinali lands.
> Involuntarily Gabriel touched the bone carving that lay against his chest. His heart hammered, and his throat went tight. For a long time he stared at the grasslands, blue and serene under the moon. But he saw, too, the face of a woman, dark skinned and beautiful, and her hands reaching out to him, imploring, pleading. Guilt and nameless longings swept through him. Still with his hand on his chest, caressing the amulet, he went back down the steep stairs to the lawns and the lamp-lit garden. Later he slept in his unfamiliar bed, his fingers still about the Shinali bone.
He dreamed of the silver river, and of paddling through the waters in a log canoe. He was sitting close behind a man whose naked back was brown and strong and who wore bone beads in his hair; and they chanted together as they paddled, their canoe swift and purposeful in the sunlit waters, between the singing lands.
Gabriel came up out of the water, his heart pounding, his eyes blinded by the light that flooded down from the shining tower above. Dimly he was aware of the Masters about him, quietly chanting; of someone drying his body and hair with a soft towel; of someone else putting a long crimson robe on him; of a sash being tied about his waist, and sandals being strapped on his feet. He glanced over his shoulder at the glittering golden pool and the shaft of sunlight that streamed down into it. On the other side stood the other two initiates, waiting. Looking up, he saw the soaring marble walls of the tower and the vast dome above, its pinnacle lost in light. Someone gave him a scroll of parchment on which were words, beautifully written. Dazzled, he could hardly see them.
“They are your vows, Gabriel,” said a voice. “You will say them aloud.”
Gabriel stared at the words wavering like flames across the white. So much light . . .
“Gabriel?” The voice was Salverion’s. Gabriel blinked and saw the Grand Master standing in front of him. Salverion was smiling a little, his expression questioning. “Have you a difficulty with the vows, my son?”