“While here we have a great work to do, for we are at war. That war is with Jaganath and his powers, and his terrible desire to find the Shinali people and wipe them out. So afraid is he of the Time of the Eagle, that he searches for the Shinali, has searched long and hard, and will never give up. And so, in order to protect your people, we fight Jaganath in the spiritual battlefields, with the same powers that he uses to control and manipulate. We create mists and illusions of bare rock, so that when his spies are near to the Shinali, they see nothing. We put up supernatural walls, we protect, we safeguard. We call it Standing in the Gap, guarding the place between the hunter and the hunted.
“And that is our work, Avala. That is what we do, unceasingly, until your people befriend the Hena and the Igaal and return to Navora to reclaim what is rightfully theirs, as foretold in the prophecy. But that is about much more than the lost Shinali land. Freedom will be won back—freedom not only for the Shinali, and the Hena and the Igaal, but freedom for Navora, too. For we are not free, under Jaganath, and there is much wrong in our Empire that needs to be put right. The great and honorable country that our forefathers began has become an Empire of greed and oppression and persecution. The Empire needs cleansing, renewing, and that shall happen in the Time of the Eagle. That is the full meaning of the prophecy. But for Jaganath, it means simply the end to his power, so that is why he fears the Time of the Eagle, and only that.
“So you see, Avala, your people are not alone in their dreams. We dream with them, fight beside them already, and support and guard them. And, if you can believe it, many people in Navora and in the Empire would support you in your fight against Jaganath, for he is much hated and feared. The Time of the Eagle will be the time of deliverance not only for your people, but for mine as well.”
For a long time after he spoke, we sat in silence. I felt that layers were peeled away behind a dream, showing more dreams behind it, more hopes than I had knowing of, and I realized how much hung upon our Shinali prophecy. I realized, too, another thing, that made my spirit leap.
“You have knowing of my people’s place,” I said, “seeing that you hide them from Jaganath’s soldiers.”
“Every day, we know where they are.”
“Can you show me?”
“Of course. Come.”
Inside, Salverion led me down a maze of passages, all lit with lamps, to a large room with no windows and only one door. It was brilliant with that strange light from above, and there were no lamps. The high walls were covered with shelves of books. Some of the books were not bound in pages but were scrolled about wooden spindles, beautifully carved. There were ladders placed round about, for climbing up to the higher shelves, and there were chairs and tables placed in the center of the room. Several men sat there, reading. They, too, were wearing long crimson robes, though the sashes about their waists were of different colors. They looked up as we entered, and all stood and bowed to Salverion. He talked with them awhile and told them my name and who I was, and several of them looked surprised, and welcomed me as if I were a friend. In all of them was that same beautiful gentleness, that sense of harmony and joy, that was in Salverion.
Then Salverion explained to me that we were in the library, for they had saved as many books as they could from the great libraries at the Citadel when they left. He took a long rolled paper from a shelf, and opened it on one of the tables, weighting the corners down with beautiful stones obviously there for that purpose.
“This is a map,” he said. “It shows all the lands hereabouts, from the southern coasts up to the desert lands of the Hena tribes. Here is the city of Navora. There, Jaganath’s palace. These are rivers, these the forests. And these lands—here, and here—were the lands that once belonged to your people. This small part here, between these farms and these mountains, were the lands owned by the Shinali when your father knew them. And his mother, your grandmother, owns one of these farms, and lives there still. . . .”
I marveled, as I looked at that picture of my world, for I saw at last, in the space of a few heartbeats, all the lands we had fought over and lost, and longed to win again. I saw the wide spaces of the Igaal territories, and the vast deserts and marshlands of the Hena. I saw the river I had washed in, and the place where I had stayed in Igaal tents; I saw the mighty Ekiya where it tumbled through the ravine, and the places where I had walked and lived.
“And here,” said Salverion, pointing to a place in the mountains far to the north, “here is where your people now dwell. They dwell at the foot of this high cliff, looking down across the deserts to the east. It’s not a comfortable place for them, as it’s deep in Igaal territory; but it’s separated from the city of Navora by many ranges and rivers.”
As I stared at that place it seemed that the map vanished, and I saw my mother bending over in the wind, turning meat upon torn flames, her eyes narrowed against the dust and flying ash. In the entrance of a cave she was, and behind her stretched a huge desert, white with snow. She looked cold, sad, and solitary, more than a season older.
“I’m wanting to go home,” I said.
“Then you shall go, if that is what you want,” said Salverion. In joy I looked up at him. He was smiling, sharing my happiness, understanding my need; but a shadow ran swift across his face, and I felt a sorrow in him, like the loss of a secret hope. I looked at the map again.
“This place we are now, where is it?” I asked.
He pointed to a place in the mountains not very far from where my people had been when I last saw them, at the end of the gorge beside the Ekiya. “Here,” he said. “We’ve named it on this map. It’s called Ravinath, which is a very old word meaning ‘to guard.’” He hesitated, then drew a deep breath and said, very quietly, “We need to speak further, Avala. I would like to know why you were with the Igaal people, and why there was, deep in your heart, the shadow of bitterness and grief.”
Again I looked at him, astonished; his eyes were grave, going deep.
He took me to what I suppose was his private room, for it was furnished with comfortable chairs and lamps on stands, and a table littered with scrolls and books and carved boxes and many things that were alien to me. In one corner was a bed, narrow and raised above the floor, and spread with colorful rugs and cushions. A beautiful tapestry covered one wall, and there were many shelves of books and rolled-up parchments. Humble things, too, stood on shelves: rough pottery bowls, childishly carved wooden animals, and small handmade objects.
He told me to sit in one of his chairs, and I felt almost lost in it, for it was softer and more comfortable than any bed I had slept in, excepting the last. If my amazement at my surroundings amused him, Salverion did not show it; he was courteous and kind, and never made me feel ignorant or out of place, though I felt that I was. And I felt strangely breathless, shut in, for never had I lived with walls all around, out of the feel of the wind and the wild scent of grasslands and river and earth. Already I missed the openness, the sky.
As if he knew, Salverion said, “I know you are not used to walls, so we are preparing you a room on the edge of this place, with a window looking westward across the mountains. Don’t look alarmed, my dear; you do not have to stay long. But your people are many days away, and we cannot make such a journey until the weather is settled and clear. Meanwhile, we will do everything in our power to make your stay with us comfortable. Now, when you are ready, tell me of yourself.”
So I told him, stumbling in that unfamiliar tongue, but warming to the task in the easiness of his presence. I told him all: about my childhood and our Shinali Wandering; about the soldiers by the river, and my borning-day feast; of Zalidas’s prophecy over me; of my fateful meeting with Ramakoda, and of my time with the Igaal. Briefly I talked of my enslavement, the loss of some of my powers to heal, and Mudiwar’s tragic refusal to take part in the Time of the Eagle. Lastly, I told of my escape, and the help I had from Ishtok.
When I had finished Salverion asked me a few questions, mainly about the healing s
kills my mother had taught me, and the way they had been lost. “Most of the powers my mother taught me she learned from my father when they were in Taroth Fort,” I said. “Some she has taught me, but not all. Some, she said, are a high lot secret.”
“That they are,” said Salverion. “Your father was bound by vows never to teach the skills he learned from us. But when he left the Citadel, I released him from those vows. I knew he would share his skills wisely, with another healer who was worthy. I’m glad he found that healer, and that she, too, has found a worthy student. You are a gifted woman, Avala.”
“I’m not feeling gifted,” I said. “The Igaal, I should have been able to heal them, even when they were bad to me. My father loved an enemy people. I should have been able to love the Igaal.”
Salverion smiled, and it was like a blessing on me. “You know the secret of healing, then,” he said.
“I know it is love,” I replied. “But I failed in it.”
“You did not fail,” he said. “You say that your father loved an enemy people, and that you, too, should have been able to love your enemies. But your father loved the Shinali for lifelong reasons, very deep, that even I did not really understand. From his childhood his destiny was bound with theirs. And when he finally met them, it was for him like a homecoming. I saw it in him, the pleasure when he mentioned them, when he spoke of your mother. The Shinali were not enemies to him. You, on the other hand, did go to an enemy people, willingly and bravely, and you healed them, believing it was your destiny. For that you were enslaved and starved. The healing that we teach, that your mother taught you, is very much from the heart and the spirit, from the very core of ourselves. And if our heart is hurt, our spirit wounded or weak, then healing is extremely hard, sometimes impossible—even for masters like me, or like your father.”
I asked him about my father then, and he told me. Most of it I knew from my mother, but it was good to hear the words from someone else who loved him, who had seen another side of him. “He was the most gifted person I ever taught,” Salverion said, in finishing. “Also the most compassionate and just. But he was unsure at times, afraid, hardly believing in his own gifts. And he had his faults. He was outspoken and could be childish at times, if he thought he was right and the rest of the world was wrong. I remember getting quite angry with him once and had to remind myself of how young he was, how unskilled in the ways of the world. I suppose that was one of the reasons I loved him; he was unspoiled, innocent, and incredibly honest. Like you, he struggled at times with the world he was forced to become a part of, with people who were false or unjust. He battled with inner hurts—and, I suspect, in the end, he battled with his own destiny. It is a struggle I think you may share with him, Avala.”
Those eyes again, piercing me, dangerous and cleaving as swords. I looked away, tracing with my fingertip the carving on the arm of the chair. My nails had dirt under them. Igaal dirt.
“Do you still believe the words of your Shinali priest?” he asked. “The prophecy that you are the Daughter of the Oneness, the cord that binds?”
I dared not look at him. “My heart, it goes between believing and not believing,” I said, studying the Igaal dirt. “When the Igaal let me heal their sick and talked with me, and their hearts were open, then I believed the prophecy. But then they made me a slave. And Mudiwar, he was so strong in his words against the prophecy, I’m thinking he will never join his people with mine. I see now that my belief in the Eagle’s Time is not enough, nor the beliefs of all my people, and one old man can stop everything. So I want to go home. My work with the Igaal, the work of the Oneness, it’s finished. They killed it. I will do with them no more. Now I will only be Avala, not more, not Zalidas’s dream for Gabriel’s daughter.”
For a very long time he was silent, leaning on the arm of his chair, watching me, his long pale fingers laid across his lips. For some reason I felt ashamed of my words, as if they had been the complaint of a resentful child.
“I am right to want to go home,” I said. “I helped them, and the Igaal gave me only hurt and hate. There is no fairness with them. It is over with them.”
Slowly, Salverion nodded. “True,” he said, “there is no fairness in any of this—not in the way your people lost their land, nor in the way the Igaal have treated you, nor in the burden that destiny has laid on you. But is it truly over with the Igaal, Avala? Is it over in your heart? Or, if you go back to your people now, will there always be unfinished work? Are you sure that Avala and Gabriel’s daughter—the Daughter of the Oneness—are not one and the same?”
I bent my head low, not meeting his eyes.
After a while he said, “Sometimes there is only one way to end great wrongs, Avala. That way is through forgiveness.”
“I’m not knowing that word,” I said.
“Forgiveness means the wiping out of a wrong, as if it never was.”
“Are you saying that my people should not come back to get their lands?” I asked. “Are you saying we should just forgive the wrongs? That we should forget what is fair, what is right?”
“There is a time for justice and for putting things right. But there is also a time for forgiveness, for letting hurts go, washing the heart clean, and beginning again.”
I took a deep breath. “And it is in your thinking that I should forgive the Igaal, go back to them, and try again?”
“What do you think, Avala?”
For a long time I pondered on his words. At last I said, “I’m thinking I could forgive. It would be hard. A high lot hard. But even if I was going to them with forgiveness, to try again to be the Daughter of the Oneness, there is still Mudiwar’s hate for my people, and his last word about our prophecy.”
“Hate, even age-old and hard, can be worn down, as a little trickle of water can wear down a rock. And an old man may change his mind. Great things can be accomplished by love. And sometimes all that is required of us is that we be in the right place at the right time. Sometimes our destiny is not worked out over seasons or years, but in a single hour. But when that hour comes we must be ready for it, we must be trained and awake, sword in hand, ready to do the one thing we were born to do. If your hour is with the Igaal, it would be a great tragedy if, when that hour comes, you are home with the Shinali.”
“But my hour might be next summer, or the summer after that, or twenty summers away.”
“Yes, it might.”
“And till then I am to be a slave, alone, my happiness gone, along with my healing?”
“To be a slave, maybe,” he said. “To be alone, maybe. But whether you will be happy or not lies within your own heart. As for your healing, that can flow again. That is something I, and the other masters here, can help you with. We can teach you everything you wish to learn, everything that will help you to be happy with the Igaal, that will help you to heal them and lead them to their own vision of the Time of the Eagle. We can teach you how to guard yourself against the forces of hate and loneliness, how to be strong within, to guard your inner peace. But only if you wish us to. And I ask you to bear in mind that even the greatest tasks, the greatest deeds, are worth nothing if they are not done with love.”
I kept silent, for an awful grief had come over me. I wanted only to return to my people, to look on my mother’s face again, and see my grandmother. Was that so wrong?
Seeing my distress, Salverion said, with great gentleness, “No one will blame you if you choose to go home, Avala. I will always think of you with highest love, as I loved your father, simply because of who you are, because you are Avala. Whatever you do will not change that. And you are very young; I know this is an almost unbearable burden for you. Pledging one’s service to one’s country, above all else, sounds a high and noble thing; yet in reality it is hard, cold, and comfortless as steel. Believe me, dear one, I know what you suffer. Every one of us here at Ravinath knows.
“You have already done a brave thing, already given your best, and more, to the Igaal, to the prophecy. If you return to
them it may be for many years. The melding together of two enemy nations is not accomplished in a single season.”
“Then what about the prophecy?” I asked, near tears. “What about the Time of the Eagle?”
“Even prophecies must rise or fall upon the free will of those chosen to fulfill them,” he said. “Nothing is written that does not depend upon the consent of human hearts, and even God himself cannot move against the freedom of our will.”
Anguished, I bent my head in my hands. I felt trapped, caught like a rabbit in a snare, and every way I turned was pain and loss.
Salverion said, “I understand your pain, Avala, your uncertainty. In that, you are so like your father. He, too, suffered self-doubt, and felt torn between two peoples, between duty to one and love for the other. I will go now, and leave you here to think, to make your choice. Take all the time you need. Do only what is in your heart; do it willingly, with your whole heart, with gladness and with love. Anything less will not be fulfillment—not of the prophecy, nor of your own joy.”
He bent and kissed my forehead, and went out.
14
I have told you before, Mother, that in the palace and in the dining rooms of the powerful, I hear and see many things that worry me, about our Empire and what is happening to it. The old values that Father cherished are no longer upheld, and there is a great deal of corruption and hypocrisy. I cannot help remembering my two days with the Shinali, and how much I loved the simplicity and the peace and beauty of their life. I am glad you live next to their land, and that you are open to building friendships with them, though this is against Navoran law. There is an honesty with the Shinali, a heart-openness, that I loved. Though I deeply love the Citadel and those who teach me here, and life here is separate and far above the corruption in the city, my heart is often out by the river, on the Shinali land. I feel torn inside, divided in my soul.