For a few moments no one moved, and the stillness seemed immense. Then a beautiful thing happened. Every single person in our great company turned to someone next to them and spoke a simple greeting—and not only spoke, but embraced them as if they were kin, and kissed their cheeks. All through that huge city square, under the stars, it happened over and over again—the quiet embracement, the kiss of peace, and not just once for each person, but many times, until we all had shown this tiny act of forgiveness and love to many of those who once had been our enemies. It was more than Sheel Chandra had asked, more than I would have dreamed possible; it was a holy thing, an impulse of hearts, true and powerful and unforgettable.
At last we all were still and very quiet, and Sheel Chandra spoke a prayer. Then he left, holding the Igaal boy by the hand, and the flaming lamps were put out. Into the covering dark came the sound of Shinali pipes, heartrending and beautiful, and soon they were joined by Navoran instruments, and then a woman’s voice. A tiny light moved in the darkness at the top of the stairs; we saw the singer, a young Hena woman carrying a small lamp. Still she sang, her voice pure and strong and incredibly lovely. There was another light, another voice, and an Igaal man joined her, and then a Navoran woman singing. Other singers came, bearing other lights, and their voices wound about one another in the night, rich and harmonious.
After the singers the lamps were lit again, and some Navorans danced to Igaal drums, and it was wild and wonderful, and strangely like our own Shinali dances. Elanora whispered to me that it was the famous Navoran fire-dance, performed by the most renowned dancers in the Empire. Then there were the finest dancers from my Shinali people, and from the Hena and Igaal; and the drums throbbed and the music filled the night, and all of us watching clapped and stamped, and sometimes the dancing was so breathtaking that we all cried out without knowing that we did, and we applauded and called and whistled until our voices were hoarse and our arms ached.
After the dancers came more singers, and some of the musicians from Ravinath. There was glorious music, chanting, and songs so sublime they made many of us weep. Some of the words we could not understand, for the singers were ex-slaves from far countries, singing the old folk songs they had loved. I remember one song a young girl sang that was so hauntingly poignant that, when I looked around at the people about me, I saw that they all were swaying in time to her song, lost in the wonder of it, bound by its beauty. It was wonderful to see that freedom of the slaves, not only the freedom of their bodies, but also the freedom of their souls, which let them sing again, and sing with joy.
It was an awesome night, and I hold it in my knowing as one of the finest of my life. My only wish was that I had been with Ishtok, and I hoped that he was there somewhere, for I wanted with all my heart to share it with him.
Afterward, without speaking but with our arms about each other’s waists, Elanora and I went back to the house that had been my father’s; then she went on to her own home, while I went upstairs to my little room to sleep.
But until dawn I lay awake, marveling at what I had witnessed, at what I had been a part of; for I knew that what I had seen was unique in the troubled history of our world, and that centuries of injustice and hate had at last been transcended by love, and the Navoran Empire was forever changed.
Eight days I stayed in the hospital in my father’s childhood home, for a fever broke out among the sick, and we were afraid that it might spread to the rest of the city. Salverion kept checking people’s mouths for signs of the bulai fever, which was so deadly, but he found no evidence of it. Those who had no fever, and had someone to look after them, were sent home, and all those from the courtyard were carried inside. Santoshi steadily got well, and the fever passed her by, but she could not be moved and stayed in the hospital. I had someone with her constantly, though she chided me, with the old smile I remembered, for giving her special care.
Slowly the sick who remained got well, but it was a busy time. I heard that my mother still worked in the Navora Infirmary, where they, too, battled fever among their patients. Sometimes people brought me messages from her, verbal assurances that she was well, and full of joy to be healing with an amazing man called Taliesin. But mostly, during the fever-days, visitors were not allowed, in case of bulai fever, and we were cut off from the rest of the city. I thought so often of Ishtok, and longed to see his face again.
During this time I went to visit Sheel Chandra, still staying not far away, with his friend. I found him sitting in a chair in the sun, resting, looking out across a garden of fountains and statues and potted trees and flowers. He looked frail, yet his arms were strong as we embraced each other, and I spent a blissful hour sitting at his feet the way I had in Ravinath, my head on his knee.
We talked of that amazing night in the city square, with its profound healing and harmony, and of how the whole city had been changed. But I sensed a sorrow in him, and he told me that over the past two days he had been called upon to act as one of the twelve judges at the trials of Jaganath’s supporters and family. “There have been many executions,” he said. “I grieve for the guilty, Avala. They knew no better, some of them. Others had acted out of fear of Jaganath. But they all had committed terrible crimes—all, save one. One we allowed to go free. She was Syana, Jaganath’s youngest daughter. I believe your father healed her, many years ago, when she was a little girl. She was the only one who defied her father on behalf of the slaves, and had suffered for it. As for the rest . . . I can only say I’m glad it’s over. Now begins a new order. Arrangements are being made for the people of Navora to elect a Council of Seven, who will jointly rule the Empire in the future. They wanted me to put my name forward for election, but I declined.” He sighed, though a sudden humor leaped in his great dark eyes. “I’m getting too old for all this excitement, Avala,” he said. “I want peace. I want to go back to the Citadel. But there’s much work to be done there, too. Salverion and I went there the other day. All this time it’s been neglected, the gardens gone to ruin, the vineyards overgrown. The place is damp, the murals on the walls are cracked and peeling, the floors covered with leaves and dust, the fountains full of slime. It made my old heart break. It will be restored, but that will take time.”
“I have heard that the Citadel was once even more glorious than the Navoran palace,” I said.
“It was. And it will be again. But it will be different, this time. We used to have very strict rules there, Avala. Only men for disciples, and they were not permitted to visit their friends or families for seven years, except in dire emergencies. We demanded total dedication, perhaps unfairly. This time there will be women as well as men taught there, and husbands may live there with their wives, and people will be able to visit their families as often as they wish. There will be gifted disciples chosen not only from the Navoran Empire but also from the tribes, from the Hena, and Igaal, and Shinali. It will be a great day, when we open its doors to all.”
Then we talked of other things, of Jaganath, and my battle-hour with him. We spoke about Ishtok, and the Shinali. Sheel Chandra told me that the bloodied land was cleared of battle signs, the funeral pyres had finished burning, and a new Shinali house was being built, a single large underground dwelling like the last, with a thatched roof.
“I found out something about your Navoran grandmother, and your Shinali land,” Sheel Chandra said. “Years ago, when the Navoran authorities put the land up for sale, she bought over half of it and persuaded her farmer neighbors to buy the rest, so that the plain could be kept free for when the Shinali returned. She’s a far-sighted and wise woman. And a brave one.”
“I look forward to meeting her,” I said.
Sheel Chandra began to look very tired, and I stood up to go. As I kissed his cheek I said, “I could have accomplished nothing without you. I can never thank you enough for everything you’ve done, for everything you are to me.”
“You thank me just by being in my life,” he said, smiling.
Kneeling down by the mattr
ess, I put my arm about the shoulders of a Navoran soldier and raised his head so he could drink. His fever had almost gone, but he was very weak, and I held the cup against his lips while he drank. Afterward, I laid him down and smoothed the bandage about his head, slipping my hand behind his neck to ease the pain that still lingered. He smiled a little and thanked me.
“When will you go, Avala?” he asked. “It’s ten days since the battle. Salverion’s gone off to clean up the Citadel, and everything’s peaceful in the city. Surely you must want to go to your own land. My cousin came to see me this morning, from his farm on the edge of your land, and he said they’ve finished the Shinali house.”
“I’ll go soon,” I replied.
I stood up and stepped between the orderly rows of mattresses with the people resting in the sun, with clean white sheets over them. Some reached out to me as I passed, asking for water or relief from pain, and I knelt to help. Others simply smiled or greeted me by name. Many of them talked quietly together or read or played Navoran games given to them by the people of the city. I saw a young soldier and an Igaal youth playing a Navoran dice game, their heads bathed in sunlight, one head flaxen, one dark. They were laughing. In a joyful kind of peace, I went out into the wide entranceway, past the huge mural of the ships. In the doorway I stopped.
Ishtok stood there in the porch, leaning on a pillar, waiting. His back was to me, and I did not recognize him at first, for he wore a green Navoran tunic over narrow white trousers, and a wide leather belt studded with jewels. His gleaming blue-black hair curled over his collar. Hearing me, he turned around. For long moments we looked at each other.
I went out and stood in front of him, close, and touched my hand to my chest, and then laid it on his breast. I could feel the beating of his heart. “My heart and yours are in harmony,” I said.
He covered my hand with his own, holding it there. He smelled of flowers and smoke, and he looked excellent and fine. Lifting his other hand, he stroked my face, his touch full of tenderness. Suddenly he gave a low, hoarse cry, and kissed me. Long, long, we kissed, until someone whistled behind me, and then there were other whistles, and hoots, and cheers. The kiss finished to a burst of applause, and, still in Ishtok’s arms, I turned around. About fifteen soldiers and warriors stood in the entranceway, leaning on their crutches or on one another, watching us.
“Well, it looks like we’re about to lose our favorite healer,” said one of the soldiers to his companions, with a wide smile. “Guess we can all throw away our crutches now, and confess we’ve been well for days, and trot off home.”
They all laughed, and I took Ishtok’s hand and introduced him to everyone. They all welcomed him, then went back inside. Only a Hena boy stayed, and I realized he knew Ishtok well, for they hugged, glad to see each other.
“Have my people gone home without me?” the boy asked, and Ishtok shook his head. “Some of your people, and some of mine, have stayed on the Shinali land, to wait for you injured ones. They wanted to come and see you but were told there was a fever here, and they could not. But never fear; they won’t leave without you.”
Rhain came to the porch, and I introduced Ishtok to him. As he shook Ishtok’s hand the Navoran way, Rhain said to me, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to struggle on without you now, Avala.”
“I’ll go only when I’m not needed here,” I said.
“We’ll never stop needing healers like you,” he said, with a smile. “Go to your own people, Avala, with our blessing. You have done over and above all that we could have asked. But say good-bye to everyone before you leave.”
So I did, and Ishtok came with me, shaking hands, talking with Hena and Igaal people he knew, waiting while I embraced people and said my good-byes. I had not realized how fond I had become of these ones I had healed, who had been a part of the whole great healing of Navora. Lastly, I said farewell to Santoshi and told her she would be well looked after, until she was strong enough to be taken to our people; and I thanked the surgeons, and Elanora, who had come back and worked untiringly.
Then Ishtok and I linked our fingers and, walking close, went down the white stone steps of the healing-place that had been my father’s house, and left for the Shinali land, and home.
We made the journey home on Ishtok’s horse, for it was more than fourteen miles to the Shinali land from the city, and I rode behind him, with my arms about his waist. It was bliss, that ride, and many times I hugged him, my cheek pressed against his back. He allowed the horse to walk, and as we passed through the city toward the main gates we went by terraced houses with red tiled roofs and white towers splendid and shining in the sun. We went through marketplaces with their bright awnings over stalls piled with fruit and vegetables, and once Ishtok dismounted to buy some apples for us. He gave the man gold for the fruit, and when I asked where he had got it from, he said, grinning, “Your mother. She has the most amazing stash of Navoran gold. Said it was your father’s.”
Laughing, munching on the apples, we went on through the Navoran streets, the horse’s hooves making a tranquil clip-clop on the cobbles. The streets were peaceful, and people walking there often greeted us or waved and seemed surprised when I answered them in Navoran, wishing them peace. Sometimes we were overtaken by horses pulling fine chariots, and we drew aside as they clattered past, bounding over the stones.
“The center of the city is a high lot grand,” Ishtok told me as we went down the wide sloping street to the gates, where the houses were small and plain. “I’ve been there most of the time, going to the houses with messages from Embry, telling people not to be afraid and what was happening, and who to ask if they wanted information. Many of the people were afraid, thinking we’d rise up and kill them all, and take their city for ourselves. Atitheya has been busy, too, interpreting. He knows enough Navoran now to be a help. We’ve been living at the palace.” He turned and smiled at me over his shoulder, and added, “I’ve been sleeping in a Navoran bed, with slippery blankets. And I’ve swum in an inside lake, naked.”
“I see you’ve helped yourself to some Navoran clothes, too,” I said.
“Embry gave us all new clothes, since we had only the clothes we wore to battle, and most of those were stained with blood. He’s got a lot of gold, too. Jaganath’s. He’s put someone he trusts in charge of it, so it won’t be stolen or wasted. Much of it will be given to the hundreds of slaves who still remain, either to pay for their voyages to their own countries, or to set themselves up in homes and businesses here, if they wish. But he’s also bought us what we need.”
“Well, the green tunic suits you,” I said. “Imagine it. Mudiwar’s son, living in the palace at Navora.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “We’ve got a Shinali house to sleep in, tonight.”
“What’s it like, our house?”
“Very big. It’s the size of six of our tents put together. My father is most impressed. He and Yeshi are good friends now, and my father’s given him his most valuable horse.”
“He’s still here, your father?”
“Him, and one or two others.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see. Your mother’s at the house, too. She went there last night. And all the Shinali elders and children, who stayed in the cave in the mountains during the battle, they’re there now. Everyone’s home, Avala, waiting for you.”
We passed between the high city gates, broken now, and out onto the wide stone road leading up to the massive Navora Infirmary. The infirmary was gigantic, its mighty dome gleaming against the hills beyond. High towers, also domed, flanked the steps up to the vast porch. Past the infirmary was a road lined with trees, that led to another towered building, smaller, very elegant. Then the road began winding through hills, and we passed trees and orchards and gardens where waterways glinted in the sun. We went over a bridge, then the road divided into two; it went left toward the farms and our land, and bore right past a stone with a word carved on it: CITADEL. Across the hills, over the treetops, we glimps
ed towers as white as milk. The sight of them tugged at my heart, and I thought of Salverion there, and Sheel Chandra, and all the others I loved, making it their home again.
The road was no longer paved but was beaten dust. As we went on we saw a cart coming toward us, drawn by four white horses. A beautiful cart it was, painted blue, and covered with white cloth marked with silver stars. Six men guarded it, one wearing a long robe of crimson.
“Delano!” I cried, almost falling off Ishtok’s horse, in my excitement.
Delano and I dismounted, and hugged, laughing. “Well, what a welcome!” he said. “We’re on our way to the Citadel, with the first cartload of treasures from Ravinath. Some of the books. And we’ve delivered something for you, to your Shinali house.”
“Thank you. Oh, it’s good to see you again!” I said. Turning to Ishtok, I said, in Navoran, “This man, Delano, makes the best words in the world. Delano, this is Ishtok, the best carver among all the tribes.”
The poet and carver shook hands the Navoran way, then Delano said, “You must come and visit us at the Citadel, both of you, when we have it back in order. We’d be honored if you would bring some of your carving to show us, Ishtok. We’ve seen one thing of yours: the cup Avala used at Ravinath. I know many of us would like to see more.”
We said farewells, and he went on with his treasures to his restored home, and Ishtok and I went on to ours. Not far ahead were fields of wheat, and walled pastures where cattle and sheep grazed. As we passed the farms, it was hard to believe that a place so peaceful could have seen, not many days before, the passing of thousands of warriors and soldiers. There was no sign of them now, except that the low walls to the pastures were broken in places, and some of the land was trampled where the road had been too narrow for the great throng that had passed through. We went along between fields of wheat, and then I saw it: my land, and my people at home there.