Late in the night my mother and I had a happy time talking again with my Navoran grandmother. We sat with her on the edge of the firelight, and she told us stories of my father. “All his life he loved giving gifts,” she said. “When he was a child he was always bringing me home flowers or fruit, sometimes just a leaf he had found, that he thought looked beautiful. It always gave him great pleasure, to give to others.” She looked at me, her beautiful blue eyes brimming with affection, and lifted her hand and briefly touched my face. “But the greatest gift he ever gave me was you, Avala,” she said. “And I have something for you, a wedding gift. All the letters your father wrote to me while he was at the Citadel are in your tent, for you to read in the days to come. I have worn the pages thin, reading them. They are yours to cherish now.”
Overcome, speechless, I hugged her, and kissed her soft cheek.
Around us, guests were beginning to leave, for it was well past night’s middle. Ishtok came for me, and we went together to say farewell to our friends. But many guests, mainly the younger ones, stayed on, talking and laughing around the fires. My mother came to us, and said, “You two may go now. Your tent is ready. Don’t say any more good-byes; just go.” She kissed us both and whispered something to Ishtok that made him nod and smile.
I looked across the dark land toward the mountains, where a little tent stood alone, its sides glowing amber from the lamps within. It was Ishtok’s and my marriage-tent, ours to sleep in for the first ten days of our lives together. I glanced at Ishtok; for once he looked a little shy. But he took my hand, and kissed my mother’s cheek, and we began the long walk across the dark grass to our sleeping place. To the sound of Navoran music we went, and some of the guests called out to us, and we waved to them, laughing, self-conscious. At last we came to our lamp-lit dwelling, and went in.
Ishtok lowered the tent door, and we were alone.
It was the first time we had been alone since the evening out under the full moon, two days ago, when I had asked him to marry me. In our Shinali house he had slept with the young men and I with the women, and it seemed strange now, to be just the two of us.
For a while we stood, looking around, our hands linked. The tent was luxurious, some of its furnishings Igaal, some Shinali, some Navoran. Everything in it was crimson or white or gold. On the floor was one of Mudiwar’s best carpets, and there were elegant Navoran lamps burning on stands, and a long carved wooden clothing-chest, a gift from Ramakoda. On a flax Shinali mat were set out food and drink, and a golden bowl for washing, with soft Navoran towels. And on the floor in the center of the tent, splendid with tasseled cushions and rich red Navoran coverings, was our marriage bed.
I looked at Ishtok; he was watching me, his beautiful eyes luminous and moist. For a while we gazed at each other, and then he took off our garlands of flowers, and put them on the carpet. He began to caress my face, and I felt his fingers trembling. For the first time I felt awkward with him, and shy. For all the beauty of our lamp-lit tent, it was unfamiliar, the situation strange, and I wished we were out in the summer grass, under the stars and moon. I thought perhaps Ishtok knew how I felt, for he drew me to him, very gently, and simply held me awhile. From outside came the sound of merriment, and then Shinali music, haunting and lovely.
“Can I tell you my heart’s truth?” he asked softly, kissing my hair.
“I hope you never tell me anything else,” I said.
“Our sleeping place here is very fine, but it feels strange to me. I’m wishing we were out in the hills, the way we were the other night, and that I had the full moon on my shoulder again, to help me dazzle you.”
“You don’t need the moon,” I said. “You dazzled me the first time I ever saw you. But if you want the moon, we can go for a walk.”
“Heart’s truth? You don’t mind if I don’t sweep you into bed straightaway?”
“Heart’s truth, that bed seems strange to me, too. And I feel wrought up still, after the ceremony. I’d like to walk and talk awhile, before you do any sweeping.”
He suddenly hugged me, relieved. “Thank the stars for that!” he said. “I’m taut as a bowstring, myself. I don’t think I’d be a very satisfactory lover right at this moment.”
Letting me go, he bent and gathered up the rich red covering from the bed, and picked up a jar of wine and a hunk of the bread. “Let’s sleep outside,” he said, grinning. “But we’ll take plenty of food. I’m starving. I was too nervous to eat before. Is there anything you want to bring?”
“Only a satisfactory lover?” I asked, struggling to look devastated. “I was hoping for a little bit more than that.”
“You won’t be getting a little bit of anything,” he said, “if I collapse from starvation. Will you bring some of that venison? And more bread, please.”
“I can’t believe it!” I said. “Aren’t you the man who once said that one kiss from me was worth starving for?”
He faced me, his dark eyes full of humor, his arms full of blankets and edible supplies. “A kiss I can accomplish, on an empty stomach,” he said. “But a full satisfactory performance, I think not.”
Laughing, I gathered some food into a cloth and bundled it up, and we crept from the gorgeous tent out into the summer night. West we went, behind the Shinali house, and on toward the city, and found a place in the hills beneath the Citadel, where we could look across the Shinali land and the ebbing fires and the gray dawn creeping up over the mountaintops. There, wrapped in the blanket, we drank and ate our own wedding feast, and then, with the newly risen sun spilling gold across our grass green bed, we loved for the first time; and I was no more awkward or shy, and he was a high lot satisfactory.
That summer was a high time in my life. It would take another scroll to tell of all that we did, Ishtok and I—to tell of our visits to the city, our wanderings through the houses of art, and Ishtok’s awe at the statues and carvings there; of dinners at Taliesin’s house with his wife and family; the nighttime performances of Navoran music in the huge city square; the evenings we walked around the path on the summit of the city walls, our arms about each other, admiring the thousands of city lights below; to tell of our visits to the Citadel, of the hours we spent marveling at the huge murals being restored after years of neglect, and the overgrown gardens and vineyards being replanted, and helping Salverion and Sheel Chandra in the vast libraries, radiant even in their dust; to tell of happy times with my Navoran family, on my grandmother’s farm; the jubilant feasts in our big Shinali house, the grand festivities before the Hena tribes and Mudiwar’s people went back to their own territories, with promises to visit soon; and the days we rode to the edges of the Shinali lands and saw the Nyranjeera Lakes and after that the sea thundering on the western beaches.
It was a glorious and peaceful time, a time of heart’s-ease, of inner healing, for all of my people, and for Navora. Only one thing was wanting, in that time, for me; I longed to be working again, to be healing, using the skills I had learned from my mother, and at Ravinath. My mother was the tribe’s healer, and though I helped her when our skills were needed, there was not work enough for us both. Some days I went to the Navoran Infirmary and helped the physicians there. But always when I passed the road to the Citadel, and thought of the Masters there, of that great place still being restored, my heart ached.
The trees put on their fiery autumn garments, and the winter winds came, and in the warm Shinali house Ishtok and I lay at night in our furs and loved, and listened to the river-song and the wind as it sighed across the land.
The first snows came, and we had a visitor.
Afar off he was, when we first saw him, his swift Navoran chariot bounding over the snow-powdered lands, and glinting in the winter sun. Ishtok and I ran out to meet him, though we could not see at first who he was, for he wore a long fur cloak and hood over his Citadel robes. The chariot stopped beside us, and he got down, and we threw our arms around him.
“Salverion!” I cried. “What a wonderful surprise! Have you
finished all your work now, at the Citadel?”
“Well, it’s restored, if that’s what you mean,” he said, smiling broadly. “But the real work—that of teaching again—is about to begin.” He pulled off his winter gloves and gave them to the driver, still waiting in the chariot. “Go on, please, and wait outside the Shinali house,” he said to the man. “I’ll walk the rest of the way, with my two friends.”
The man shook the reins, and the black horse trotted on, taking its chariot with the seven silver stars blazing on the sides. When it stopped outside our house children ran out to see it, and the driver lifted some of them up, to take them for a ride. Their excited shrieks were loud in the still air. Beyond the thatched roof with its thin column of smoke, beyond the sheep in their stone shelters, the mountains were white and blue, their shadowed valleys the same azure as the sky.
“I hope you’ll stay and feast with us tonight,” I said, tucking my arm about Salverion’s. Ishtok walked on his other side, grinning with pleasure, for he, too, had grown to love the Grand Master.
“I’d like that very much,” said Salverion. “Actually, I’ve come on business. I’ve brought something for each of you.” He stopped walking, and gently withdrew his arms from ours, and reached into a scarlet bag he carried over his shoulder. He took out two scrolls, each carefully rolled and tied with a ribbon, one green for healing, one silver for the arts, each sealed with blue wax.
“I want you both to think very carefully about what is written in those,” he said.
Before I opened mine, just seeing Salverion’s face, the fondness in his eyes, I knew what it was. I wept, could hardly speak for joy. I put my arms about his neck and kissed his cheek.
“I don’t need time to think,” I said.
Salverion smiled, his gray eyes twinkling. “I seem to remember your father saying those exact words,” he said. “But you have a husband to consider, Avala. He may not be willing to live at the Citadel with you, and do carvings and sculpture for the next seven years—even if you can visit your home here whenever you wish.”
I looked at Ishtok. Struggling to contain his happiness, he said huskily, in Navoran, “Carving I would love to do. And my home, it is always where Avala is.”
Smiling, Salverion put his arms about our shoulders, and we began walking to the Shinali house. My mother stood on the snowy ground outside, waiting for us, knowing in her heart why Salverion had come, her face serene and glad.
Beyond her, between the dwelling and the sacred mountain, the wheels of the Citadel chariot left a pattern in the snow of looped and interlacing lines, like the symbol for Shinali dreams; and the voices of the children rang, full of joy, across the white and radiant land.
The End
Back Ad
DISCOVER
your next favorite read
MEET
new authors to love
WIN
free books
SHARE
infographics, playlists, quizzes, and more
WATCH
the latest videos
TUNE IN
to Tea Time with Team Epic Reads
About the Author
Photo credit Tulloch Photography, Tauranga, New Zealand
SHERRYL JORDAN is the author of several critically acclaimed and award-winning books, including THE HUNTING OF THE LAST DRAGON, an ALA Best Book for Young Adults; THE RAGING QUIET, a School Library Journal Best Book and an ALA Top Ten Best Book for Young Adults; WOLF-WOMAN, an ALA Best Book for Young Adults; WINTER OF FIRE, an ALA/YALSA Recommended Book for the Reluctant Reader and an ALA Best Book for Young Adults; and THE JUNIPER GAME, a New York Public Library Book for the Teen Age. She is also the author of SECRET SACRAMENT, the prequel to TIME OF THE EAGLE and an ALA Best Book for Young Adults. She lives in Tauranga, New Zealand.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Books by Sherryl Jordan
Secret Sacrament
Time of the Eagle
The Hunting of the Last Dragon
Credits
Cover art © 2007 by Douglas Mullen
Cover design by Joel Tippie
Copyright
Eos is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
TIME OF THE EAGLE. Text and illustrations copyright © 2007 by Sherryl Jordan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Jordan, Sherryl.
Time of the eagle / Sherryl Jordan.— 1st ed.
p.cm.
Sequel to: Secret sacrament.
Summary: Avala, the daughter of Gabriel Eshban Vala, dreams of becoming a healer like her mother, but she is instead destined to bring about the Time of the Eagle, in which tribes hunted by the Navoran dictator will unite and win their freedom.
ISBN-10: 0-06-059554-X (trade bdg.)
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-059554-8 (trade bdg.)
ISBN-10: 0-06-059555-8 (lib. bdg.)
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-059555-5 (lib. bdg.)
EPub Edition © July 2016 ISBN 9780062459794
[1. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.J7684Tim 2007 2006019371
[Fic]—dc22
* * *
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
FIRST EDITION
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada
www.harpercollins.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com
Sherryl Jordan, Time of the Eagle
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends