All around me were jagged peaks veiled by cloud. The wind shrieked and howled, blowing snow and mist about me so thick that at times I could not see my own hand in front of my face. I had journeyed before with my people in the winter, and I struggled to remember what I had been taught, what they had done in such times as this. But my head was full of mist, and my thoughts scrambled like little foxes that would not be caught. I ate the last of my bread, then went on, somehow putting one foot in front of the other, hardly knowing anymore who I was or where I was going. I fell and could not get up.
Strange dreams came, and I thought I was back in the Igaal tent, for I could hear chanting. Strangely, the voices were not rough anymore to my ears but were harmonized and very beautiful. I thought someone knelt beside me, for I felt warmth, and from the corner of my eye glimpsed a scarlet robe; but when I looked there was no one there. I have no knowing of how long I lay in the snow and sleet; but when I lifted my head I saw a steep cliff, almost vertical. I blinked, thinking I was seeing visions; for there was a door set in the icy rock, a door that was huge and beautiful, and the stone all around it was carved with many signs.
Sorrow and hope went over me, and I thought that I was already in the shadow lands, and that the door was the gateway to the realms of the All-father. I remember that I wept and was afraid, but then I thought that I would soon look upon my father’s face, and a kind of joy fell on me. Summoning all my strength, I called out the All-father’s name and reached my hand out toward the door. Then, my strength finished, I lay in the snow and waited for death.
12
To my surprise death was warm, blessedly warm. I thought a spirit-being had come for me and was carrying me through the shadow lands, for I was being borne along in strong arms—oddly strong and solid, for a spirit. I tried to open my eyes, but a heaviness lay across them, and it felt as if something was bound about my head. Had I injured myself? Moving a little, I felt fur against my cheek, not the wet, frozen fur of my own garments, but fur that was soft and fragrant with a scent like spices. A huge silence was all around, and the air was warm. I smelled rock and fire. I could hear hoarse breathing, and sudden fear swept over me. I struggled to tear away whatever was over my eyes, and a man’s voice said, with great gentleness, “Have no fear. All is well.”
An awe fell over me, for his words were Navoran. And I wept then, certain I was in the shadow lands, and that the man who carried me was my father.
“I’m wanting to see your face,” I said, barely able to speak for joy.
“Ah—you speak my tongue!” he said, and sounded surprised.
“My mother, she taught me.”
He made a sound like a laugh, soft and surprised. “Then we shall understand each other,” he said. “We’ll be with friends soon, and you’ll be looked after. I’m sorry for the blindfold; our place here is secret.”
“I thought all knew of death,” I said, and he laughed again, heartily, and the sound was rich and real.
“You’re not dead,” he said. “Though I think you would have been by nightfall, had I not found you.”
“You’re not my father, then?” I said, and wept again.
“No. Go to sleep, Igaal girl. We’ve a long way to go yet, and if we don’t talk I can begin your healing.”
Weary in my soul and in my body, I did sleep, and dreamed strange dreams.
I dreamed of a long winding tunnel with red lights at intervals, marking a strange dark road. I dreamed of a warmth like water trickling into my mind, into the huge spaces of my heart, and with the warmth came strength. There was a sense of welcome, of being known and loved, and of deliverance. Strong wind blew like breath into my face, into my soul, and I wondered if this was death, or a new birth. And then there was only quiet, and rest.
After a time I heard a rustling like leaves in the wind, and opened my eyes and saw a golden light and a dark shape nearby. The light became a lamp, and the dark shape a man. He was reading a book. I had seen a book before, for my mother had a book of my father’s, sent to him as a gift when they were imprisoned in Taroth Fort. A long time I watched him read, thinking of my father. The man was wearing a crimson robe with silver stars on the shoulders of it. It surprised me that the robe was like a dress, which he wore instead of trousers, and remembered that my mother had told me that my father had worn such a robe in his own place. The man was fair-skinned, though his long curling hair was black like raven’s wings, and he had a short dark beard streaked with gray. I could not see the color of his eyes, for they were cast down upon his book. His hands, as they turned the pages, were a high lot beautiful.
He saw me looking at him, and closed his book. His eyes were brown.
“Ah—you’re with us in truth!” he said. He spoke Navoran, and I recognized his voice, for he was the one who had carried me to this place. “Is all your pain gone, Avala?”
I nodded, feeling warm furs about me. I moved my hands, felt that I was clothed in garments soft and smooth, not the thick Igaal dress I had worn. I was clean and dry. I wondered if he had washed and changed me, and my face flamed at the thought. My hands and feet were no longer numb, and all the pains of the cold had gone. Then it struck me that he had called me by my name.
“You have knowing of who I am?” I asked.
Smiling, he got up and went to a door across the room, and spoke to someone outside. I overheard him asking for a meal for me. Then he came back and sat down again. “I know much about you, about who you are,” he said. “I’m sorry, but when I found you it was necessary for me to walk in your memories. We should never do this without first asking permission, but you—”
“‘Permission’?” I repeated. “What meaning? My Navoran, it’s not a high lot good.”
“Sorry.” He smiled again, and little lines creased about his eyes. “I’ll try to explain so you can understand. You were unconscious—that is, unknowing—when I found you, and I couldn’t ask who you were or why you were here. It was important for me to know where you were from. I needed to know if it was safe to bring you here. Do you know what I mean by walking in memories?”
“I have knowing of it,” I said. “My mother, she said my father was having that power.”
“Your father? An Igaal can walk in memories?” The book slipped from his hands and fell onto the floor. He did not pick it up.
“I am Shinali. My—”
“Shinali? But your memories showed Igaal territory, Igaal tents.”
“I was being with the Igaal . . . ah, from summer.” I struggled to find the right words. Though I understood a good part of the Navoran language when it was spoken to me, I was shy of speaking it myself, lest I made mistakes. But if I made them, he showed no sign, but only listened attentively. I continued, “My father, he was being Navoran. A healer. He was learning in the high white house.”
“The Citadel?”
“Yes! My mother, she called it that.”
The man stood up, staring at me as if I were a ghost. “His name?” he said. “Your father’s name?”
“His name, it was Gabriel Eshban Vala. My name is his, and a little of my mother’s, made into one name. My mother’s name is Ashila.”
For a long time he stared at me, his face pale. Then he said, his voice hushed, “Your father was famous among us. I had been at the Citadel two years when he came, but word soon went about that he was highly gifted. Later, when he came under the wrath of Lord Jaganath, we knew he had taken refuge with the Shinali and was with them in the fort. And we heard of his death. But we did not know he had a daughter. Please excuse me—I must go and tell Salverion. You must speak with him.”
He turned to go, but someone else came in just then, bearing a tray with food. The man I had been talking with helped me to sit up, and placed several cushions behind my back. As he bent close I smelled spices again, and as my hand brushed his robes I felt that they were soft as finest down. Later I found out that the robes were made of a stuff called velvet. At the time it was wonderful to me. All was wonderfu
l—the fine garments, the fragrances, the bedcovers so richly embroidered, the beautiful tray he placed across my lap, which was inlaid with different colored woods, and spread with bowls of exotic food. I must have looked astonished, for the man laughed as he stood.
“We’ll leave you in peace awhile, to eat,” he said. “After, when you’re refreshed, you can talk with Salverion. He was your father’s teacher, and it will mean much to him to know who you are. Is there anything else you need?”
“Only your name, and the name of this place,” I said.
“My name is Taliesin. I am one of the healers here.”
“Thank you for being my help, Taliesin. What is this place, inside the door in the mountain?”
He looked amazed again and glanced at the man who had brought my food. In those moments I felt that important words, unspoken, went between them. My face grew hot, and I thought I had said something wrong, or else broken a custom unwittingly.
“You saw the door?” asked the man called Taliesin.
“For a little time. I thought I . . . ah, saw it only with eyes in here.” I touched my heart.
For a long time the two men gazed at me, then Taliesin said, “You have some of your father’s gifts, Avala. That door is kept hidden, secret. An ordinary person going past would never see it.”
“You can make people—how do you say it—never-seeing?”
“Hush now, and eat. I’ll come back soon. Please don’t leave this room.”
Then he was gone, the other man with him. For a while I ate and drank, groaning with pleasure at the deliciousness of the strange things supplied. At last, satisfied, I set aside the tray and got up to explore the room.
It was bigger than the biggest tent I had ever been in. The floors were covered with carpets even more colorful and wonderfully made than the Igaal mats I had admired. Here, too, were many carved boxes, some overlaid with what I later knew to be silver and gold, inset with precious gems. There were beautiful lamps upon stands, and many wondrously carved images of animals and people. There were tables cunningly carved and inset with different colored woods, and piled with books and gorgeous candlesticks and strange but wonderful objects I could not name. On a table near the bed was my bag, the things inside untouched. I took out the cup Ishtok had given me, and stood it on the shining wood. It looked alien in that place, yet as beautiful to me as anything else there.
But the most wonderful thing in the room was the light. The place was filled with a golden and warm radiance, though I could not see where it came from. On the far side of the room high pillars soared beside the stone walls, and between the pillars were spaces open to the world outside. Astonishment swept over me; the world was green, the snows gone. Just outside stood a tree, plump golden fruits gleaming among its leaves. Beyond, the skies were blue. Had I slept so long? I went to lean out into the spaces, to see the world directly below, and my head banged hard on the green hills. Bewildered, I lifted my hand and moved it over the scene before me; they were not sky and tree and hill at all, but images painted on the stone. Marveling, I looked up, and saw that the roof was high, very high, and that light poured down from above, light so shining that it hurt my eyes.
Hardly able to believe what I was seeing, I pushed aside a green curtain and entered a smaller room with a floor of polished stone and steps leading down into a stone pool. The pool was full of water that ran into it from a hole in the wall, and steam rose from the surface. Marvel upon marvel! There were tables bearing soft fabrics, thick and carefully folded; there were shallow golden bowls of small scented cubes, and delicate jars of fragrant liquids. I sniffed everything, even tasted some of the things, since they smelled so good, but they were unpalatable. And then I saw a shining oval surface on the wall, and in it my reflection, clearer than I had ever seen it before. Even in Zalidas’s little mirror, my image had been dim in the lamplight, and—on the night that I had seen it—covered with the signs he had painted on me. But now, for the first time in my life, I clearly saw my whole face, undimmed and defined, as clear as the day.
I have to confess I was disappointed. I had always hoped that I had something of my mother’s beauty, but my face was angular, my look intent and stern, more like a youth’s. My whole body was angular, too straight to my thinking, unwomanly. My long hair was tangled, the little plaits in it half undone, the beads lost. I would have to do something about it, I thought. Sighing, I caught the image frowning, disgruntled, and could not help laughing.
Returning to the room with the bed, I ate some more of the food left for me. While I ate I looked at the wall to my left. In it was a door gorgeously carved, with a red curtain to one side. All the stone walls were painted, mostly with golden patterns as flowing and harmonious as a song. It all was rich, splendid beyond anything I could ever have imagined. I could not tell where I was; deep in the mountains, I had thought, yet this place was surely in the realms of the All-father.
After a while I heard footsteps, and the man called Taliesin came in. “Have you eaten all you want?” he asked, smiling.
I nodded.
“Salverion wishes to see you,” he said. “You will need this.” He held out a coat made of thick material trimmed with white fur. It was of a color I had never seen before, but I found out later it was purple. He also said I would need the shoes that were placed at the end of my bed. The shoes were soft but too big, and I asked him, as I put them on, where my own clothes were.
“They are being cleaned,” he said.
Alarmed, I asked, “And the coat with canoes? The canoes, they are . . . are a high lot good, for me.”
“That will not be soaked in water,” he said. “Nothing will be spoiled, I promise.”
Warmly dressed, I followed him out along narrow passages, up steep stairways, and through small rooms hung with paintings and woven pictures so glorious I would have stood before them in wonder, had I not had to hurry on after the man. We came at last to an open door and passed outside into a courtyard. All around were the stone walls of buildings, with carved doors and windows with small balconies. Above, the skies were blue, and a wintry sun shone between light clouds swept by high winds. It was warm there, in that protected place, for the air was still and the sun warmed the light-colored stones at my feet. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain in a raised pool, with stone seats all around. To one side was a sundial, and on the other a beautiful statue of a man and a woman with two children. I did not know the names of the things, then, but I was told later what they were. And on one of the stone seats a man waited.
Old he was, with a thin rim of pure white hair that flowed down over his shoulders, and a long white beard. He too wore a long crimson garment like a dress, embroidered about the hem and sleeves with gold. He wore a white sleeveless tunic over the top, embroidered on the front with seven silver stars, and a green band about his waist. When he saw me he stood, and came to meet me.
He took both my hands in his, and for a long time stood looking at my face. His eyes were gray and shining like steel, and his smile was warm; and as he looked at me he shook his head a little, as if unable to believe what he saw.
“Gabriel’s daughter,” he said, and leaned forward and kissed my brow. “Welcome, welcome to this place. And again, welcome.”
His voice was soft and gentle, and his face, though old and covered with fine lines, wore a look of tranquility and deep joy. I remembered that my mother had told me that this man Salverion was the greatest healer in the world, and that my father had loved him above all others, save her. He it was who had sent my father the book, when he and my mother’s people were imprisoned in Taroth Fort. I wondered if I should bow to him, as to a great chieftain; but he drew me to him and embraced me, close and warm, as a grandfather might.
Then we both went and sat down, and he explained to me what this place was. I will not record all my questions and his explanations, for I interrupted him often, especially when I did not understand his words, though he took pains to be clear; I will tell al
l, as if the Navoran language was as familiar to me then as it is now.
13
“Sixteen years ago,” Salverion said, “our good Empress Petra gave the order for your people to be set free from Taroth Fort. It was the last order she gave as Empress, before she went into exile, leaving the Empire in the hands of a new ruler, Jaganath. It was Jaganath who had imprisoned the Shinali in the first place; and he had planned to have them all killed. He was, and is, a man full of evil, and driven by selfish desires. He has many powers and controls people in terrible ways. He knows only one fear: the Time of the Eagle, and the prophecy that the Shinali people will one day rise in power and bring his reign to an end.
“When Jaganath seized power he quickly claimed total control of everything, before the people had a chance to protest or revolt. He took over control of the Citadel, where your father and many others trained in the best arts of the Empire. Always the Citadel had been the place of highest learning, considered sacred, and set apart from all influence from outside. Even visitors were not allowed inside; its grounds were holy. Some of our masters, our great teachers, had the same mind-powers Jaganath had—power to walk in memories, to understand dreams, to create illusions of things that are not, and to alter the form of things that are. Our powers were, and remain, bound by strictest laws, but for Jaganath there were no rules. We were a threat to him, so early in his reign he took over the Citadel and would have killed us all. But we fled. Many of our disciples—those learning our ways—returned to their loved ones and homes, some of them to far places in the Empire. But seventy of us—masters, and disciples who wished to remain with us—came to this place in the mountains, that was known only to us.
“Many hundreds of years ago people from a great civilization had lived here. Our architects and engineers and artists restored this part of the hidden city, for we knew we would need to stay here for an indefinite time. There is but one entrance to this place—a carved door in the mountainside—and that is blocked from ordinary sight by our powers of illusion. And so we are well hidden, living in this secret place, awaiting the day of freedom when we may return to the Citadel.