Текст книги "The Divining"

Автор книги: Barbara Wood

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

     "Yes, I see now ..." Ulrika whispered. The shaman's cave in the Rhineland—she would have sensed it was sacred and thus was a safe place to hide. Iskander's unicorn horn filled with sacred ashes, giving Ulrika a glimpse of religious rituals long ago. And what of Jacob's grave by the Sea of Salt? Had Rachel buried her husband in hallowed ground?

     "This is my purpose? To find sacred places?"

     "It is your destiny, your purpose on earth, daughter, to find the Venerable Ones and tell the world about them. This is why you were brought back to the place of your beginning."

     "The Venerable Ones! Who are they?"

     "You will know them when you find them. Remember, daughter, the gift of the Divining is a gift from the Goddess, which marks the beginning of your new life. In this gift, you will start again on your true path, and this time you must not stray."

     The pools faded away, Gaia was silenced, and Ulrika found herself standing on the stone terrace of the City of Ghosts. She took a moment to compose herself, to marvel at what she had just experienced, and as she did, realized that she felt profoundly refreshed and invigorated, as if she had slept for a long time, and drunk a cup of bracing tonic. Every muscle and sinew in her body was filled with energy. She had never known such clarity of thought. A side benefit, she realized, of focused meditation.

     When she turned to walk back through the stone arch, she saw Zeroun standing there. And when she saw the smile on his face, another understanding came to her. "You are the Magus," she said.

     "I am. I was a rug merchant when I first came to this valley many years ago. I was carrying carpets to the Indus Valley when my caravan stopped here to rest. But early snows trapped us in this place and we wintered here, my family and I. One cold day I was walking through these ruins when I was visited by an ancient spirit who told me I had been brought here for a special task. And so I have been giving counsel to all who seek truth."

     "Why did you tell us the Magus is a myth?"

     "Because I do not find lost spoons or tell fortunes. I had to be certain that you were a true spiritual seeker."

     She smiled. "Why did you not simply tell me what I must do? Why did you couch your instructions in dialogue with a stranger?"

     "Because the truth is within us all, and a person can only find the key within himself, it cannot be told to him. I am merely a signpost. It is up to you to find the road."

     "Then dare I ask where I can find the Venerable Ones?"

     "Only you can do that, Ulrika, for they are part of your personal destiny."

28

THE CARAVAN STAYED FOR only a few days, and now the merchant trader was eager to depart, for an early winter was coming. Ulrika had been able to buy passage southward. She was anxious to return to Babylon and start her search for the Venerable Ones.

     And to be there when Sebastianus returned.

     But when she emerged from her makeshift shelter in the ruins, wrapped in her traveling cloak, her packs on her shoulders, she looked across the plain and saw that the caravan had already departed. It could still be seen, winding its way along the southern road that would take it through treacherous mountain passes before it found the peaceful coast. Ulrika knew she had to hurry to catch up.

     But when she turned to Veeda and Iskander sitting forlornly at the fire, she stopped cold.

     Her friends were tragically caught in this place: Iskander a slave to ancient traditions of rivalry and revenge, Veeda a prisoner of her love. They are like me, Ulrika thought. They do not know where they belong.

     She looked at the two who had been her close companions for many weeks, and she thought: they, too, need to leave this place. But she did not know how to convince them. Iskander was so obsessed with taking revenge on his tribal enemies that he could not see anything else. And Veeda, having no family, nowhere to go, was doomed to stay with him. They will sit here forever, Ulrika thought. Frozen in time like the men etched into the stone walls of this dead city.

     "I must go now," she said as she picked up her medical kit. Their camp was now like a little home, with makeshift walls of timber, a floor covered in pelts and hides, and windbreaks to protect them from the elements. Ulrika had slept and eaten and laughed and cried in this strange little camp. She would never forget her short time here.

     "Please do not leave us," Veeda said. She was a beauty, Ulrika thought, and soon would no longer be a coltish girl but a lovely young woman.

     Ulrika glanced out at the vanishing caravan. "Come with me, both of you. We will leave this valley together and seek a new road. But we must hurry."

     Veeda began to cry and Iskander stiffened with righteousness. "What you ask is impossible, Ulrika, for I have a duty to my family to carry out a final revenge upon my enemies. And I have a duty to keep Veeda safe, for it was by my actions that her tribe were annihilated."

     Ulrika chewed her lip. There was still time to catch the caravan ...

     But I must set my friends free.

     She sighed, knowing what she must do.

     Praying that the caravan was not the last that would come through this valley, Ulrika lowered her packs to the limestone floor and murmured, "Let me help you."

     They watched as she sat on a comfortable goatskin, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes. Clasping the scallop shell with both hands, she began a whispered prayer. They had seen her do this many times. She had told them the exciting news of finding the Crystal Pools through this meditation. But they were curious why she was engaged in this ritual now, when she had been so intent upon leaving with the caravan.

     They waited in silence.

     Anchored by the scallop shell, with the glowing soul flame filling her inner vision, Ulrika divested herself of fear, impatience, anxiety, and even the disappointment of not having left with the caravan, until her soul was set free and Gaia appeared before her. "You have done well, daughter, for you have passed the final test. There will be no caravans after this, as winter has come to the mountain passes. Your act of self-sacrifice has proven to Us that you are worthy of the gift. And now you will be rewarded, for We know the questions that fill your heart. Behold!"

     Lights suddenly materialized around her, pink clouds of fire and heat, golden explosions dripping with sparks, soft glowings of blue luminescence. They swirled around Ulrika like giddy butterflies, engulfing her in a frenzy of hope and joy. They sparkled like drops of water sprayed from a fountain on a hot summer day. More arrived, swirling, soaring, pale phosphorous and glistening incandescence, filling the air with their melodious crooning. Beings made of cool golds and warm silvers. Rainbow colors! Shining miracles!

     Ulrika cried out as she felt delicate, feathery wings embrace her and cover her and with their touch came such peace and serenity that she wept with joy.

     I am hagia. I am sanctus, the feathery wings whispered. We are eternal, we are pure. And we are with you always, watching, guarding...

     And then Ulrika sensed—

     She held her breath.

     There was Something beyond the angels and benevolent beings. Ulrika tried to reach it, to understand. But she could not. She felt tremendous love flow through her, intense waves of reassurance and compassion.

     And then it all faded away and she knew she would not experience this again.

     When she opened her eyes she saw two pale faces looking at her in worry and concern. It took her a moment to find her breath. She realized tears streamed down her cheeks.

     "I have news for both of you," she said when she was composed again. "News that will set you free."

     Veeda and Iskander exchanged a puzzled glance, then Ulrika said, "I was permitted a glimpse into a wondrous world which we can only imagine. Veeda," she said. "A being named Parvaneh spoke to me."

     The girl gasped and traced a protective sign in the air. "That is an angel, a very important angel! But it is taboo to utter the names of angels!"

     "The angel spoke to me and said that Teyla is gathering flowers in the marble halls of Kasha. Do you know what this means?"

     Veeda's eyes grew big. She pressed her hands to her chest and looked at Ulrika in astonishment. "Teyla is my mother! How did you know this? How do you know the name of Parvaneh? And Kasha! Only my people know of Kasha!"

     When Ulrika turned to Iskander, she saw bleak eyes holding a question he did not want to ask.

     Ulrika smiled gently and said, "The beings that dwell in this sacred place showed me many things. I know now that we do not die, that existence is eternal, and that death is but a transformation—"

     "No!" he cried, jumping to his feet. "I will not hear it! Asmahan is alive. I have searched for five years, and I will search for the rest of my life if I must."

     "Iskander, listen to me—"

     "No!" he screamed, turning away, putting his hands over his ears.

     Ulrika rose to her feet and reached out for him, laying a hand on his arm. "I am sorry Asmahan is dead. But please believe me when I say she is in paradise."

     He turned bleak eyes to her. His shoulders slumped. "I believe you, for you have seen the sacred fire altar of Zoroaster. I believe in your gift. And I suppose I have known all along that my wife is dead. I should be happy that she is in paradise," Iskander said in a tight voice, "but I am not. Asmahan and I were robbed of a life together. And those vile men who camp down the mountainside will pay. I will no longer be satisfied with merely killing them, I shall torture them for days and see that they suffer greatly."

     "Iskander," Ulrika said softly, "listen to me. You are the last of your tribe. I saw that in my vision. Just as Veeda is the only survivor of her people. If you carry out this mission of revenge, you will surely get yourself killed. You have to think of your people, Iskander. Through you, they can still live. But if you die, then they will truly be dead."

     He covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly. Veeda came to him and took him into her arms. He sobbed on her shoulder as she held him tightly and made soothing sounds.

     Presently he collected himself and said, "You are right, Ulrika. If I slay my enemies and burn their village, someone will survive, and that man will spend the rest of his life in pursuit of me, until he kills me and my tribe is utterly erased. Yes, I have a duty to my ancestors to carry out revenge, but I have a greater duty to my descendants, and to Veeda, and to her people, for through us, our two bloodlines will continue."

     Ulrika placed her hand on his cheek. "Iskander, make Veeda proud to be the wife of a prince. Build your house and fill the rooms with many children, for you will be the founder of a new tribe." As she said this she recalled that, before arriving at this place, Iskander had planned to go eastward, but she had persuaded him to take her to the City of Ghosts. Had he traveled eastward, she realized now, his pursuers would most likely have caught him and killed him. And so Ulrika had saved his life, fulfilling the prophecy of the prophetess Miriam—that Ulrika was to help a prince save his people.

29

WHEN THE SNOW CAME, the three abandoned their camp in the ruins and lived for a while with Zeroun and his family while Iskander built a small house, after the tradition of his tribe. They lived there through the winter, Iskander continuing to build, helping with repairs on other houses, while Veeda entertained the villagers with her singing and dancing, and Ulrika helped nurse those who came down with winter fevers. She went daily to the stone archway, where she easily summoned the vision of the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar, and there she meditated and prayed, honing her spiritual gift and its power.

     At the first snowmelt, a caravan came from the north, and accepted Ulrika as a paying passenger.

     Iskander and Veeda were there to say good-bye, and she embraced them in love.

     When she said good-bye to Zeroun, she asked if he were the last of his kind. He said, "I am not the first Magus of Shalamandar, nor will I be the last. For as long as there are seekers of truth, there will be a Magus in this valley."

     As Ulrika took her place in the caravan, she thought of her newly discovered destiny.

     In Babylon, she would search for the Venerable Ones, and she would watch each day for news of a caravan making its return journey from distant China...

BOOK SEVEN

CHINA

30

THEY ARE CALLED DRAGON BONES," the third interpreter said to Timonides, "they predict the future."

     The Greek astrologer watched in fascination as the fortune-teller, a local man from a mountain village, smeared the ox scapula with blood, then inserted it into the hottest spot of the campfire. As everyone watched for the bone to crack and reveal a message from the ancestors, Timonides glanced over to where his son was preparing the night's dinner—a curious dish comprised of long fat threads made from rice flour, called noodles, boiled in a broth and mixed with vegetables and meat. Nestor's round face glowed in the light of his cook fire, a smile on his face as he added spices to the pot.

     Timonides sent a silent prayer of thanks to the stars. His son was safe. Nestor's crime back in Antioch was behind them, and although the caravan was not far now from its destination—the Imperial Court of China—by the time they returned to Rome, Nestor and Bessas would be forgotten. The gods had clearly forgiven Timonides for falsifying horoscopes, he concluded gratefully. Perhaps they did not blame a man for wanting to protect his son.

     Pulling his cloak tighter about himself against the chilly spring night, Timonides pondered the miracle of being on the other side of the world. They were camped in the mountains, a great caravan of camels, donkeys, and horses, accompanied by men, women, and children, with herds of sheep and goats to feed the great crowd. Through towns and provinces, raging rivers and grassy valleys, mountain passes, harsh deserts, and forgiving plains, the Gallus caravan was always met with great curiosity and interest. From Persia through Samarkand, over the towering Pamirs, past the shifting red-gold dunes of the Taklamakan in the arid and formidable Tarim Basin, Timonides's master had shared meals with chieftains and potentates, humble shepherds and self-important kings, conducting trade and information. He drank curdled camel's milk and feasted on lamb kebab and onions, ending with sweet rice pudding with raisins. And when his caravan departed, Sebastianus took on travelers in need of protection: a family going to a wedding in Kokonor, envoys from Sogdiana carrying trade agreements to Tashkurgan, a group of monks who called themselves Buddhist missionaries carrying the teachings of their founder from India into China. The Gallus caravan camped in sun-seared deserts and blizzard-swept mountains; sought hospitality in villages and settlements comprised of nomads' tents and mud huts; and discovered, as they moved farther east, the delight of Chinese teahouses established for travelers. Now the caravan was camped in the Tsingling Mountains near Chang'an, with their destination, fabled Luoyang, a day away.

     Timonides glanced in the direction of his master, who sat at his own campfire, studying his most recently acquired map of the region. Timonides wondered briefly what was going through Sebastianus's mind—entertaining thoughts, no doubt, of Ulrika—and then Timonides returned his attention to the flames and the "dragon bone."

     As Sebastianus studied his map, he was momentarily distracted by an eruption of loud, drunken laughter. He looked up to see Primo and his men, sitting at their campfire, comfortably wrapped in warm cloaks and passing around a wineskin. We have come a long way, my comrades and I, Sebastianus thought. And soon we will see the wonders of a world no Roman has ever seen, a world called the Flowery Land.

     Along the route, people had told Sebastianus strange and impossible tales of the Han People, some stories too incredible to believe—"Women give birth through their mouths." "They live to be a thousand years old." Tomorrow he would see with his own eyes. If only Ulrika were here to share the triumph with him. How he missed her. He would memorize and record every detail for her, so that she could experience it with him when they were together again.

     The ox scapula made a cracking sound and the fortune-teller, using bronze pincers, pulled it from the fire. Sebastianus watched as Timonides and his companions bent forward to see the dark blood-figures etched into the bone. They held their breath as they wondered what Timonides's future was. The fortune-teller frowned, shook his head, then sat back and, through the interpreter, said, "Beware the mulberry worm."

     Timonides waited for the rest. When none was forthcoming, he said, "That's it? Beware of a mulberry worm? In the name of Zeus, what is that supposed to mean?" Certain that the translator had made a mistake, he had the fortune-teller repeat his pronouncement. It went through three interpreters before it was repeated exactly the same to Timonides.

     As they had covered the miles, and entered regions with new dialects, Sebastianus had realized he would have to devise a system of communication, for he would never find a man who spoke both Chinese and Latin. And so they had picked up two translators along the way, happy to come along for the adventure and act as communication intermediaries: the first, speaking Latin and Persian, the second speaking only Persian and Kashmiri. A week ago, they had taken on a third man who spoke Kashmiri and Chinese. A long chain of dialogue to be sure, and one open for error, but Sebastianus knew that until he learned to speak Chinese, he would need to rely on these middlemen.

     The fortune-teller lifted a deeply lined, weathered face to Timonides and said, "Your life ends with the mulberry worm."

     Sebastianus saw the look of skepticism on the old astrologer's face. It made Sebastianus smile. Despite his absolute faith in the stars and their infallible predictions, Timonides was like any other man, he had a weakness for seers and their promises.

     As Sebastianus returned to his map, he reached for his mug of watered wine and a strange whistle filled the night air. In the next moment, he felt a breath of wind rush past his head. He looked up in time to see the second and third arrows fly into the camp. One of Timonides's companions cried out and clutched his arm.

     And then suddenly men were jumping up and shouting as a hail of arrows came down on them. As women and children dashed inside tents, men reached for swords and daggers, ducking behind boulders and shrubs, trying to see where the volley was coming from.

     Inhuman shrieks pierced the night as dark shapes appeared from out of nowhere, jumping down the mountain slopes, materializing out of ravines, great formidable men wielding massive swords and axes. They bore down on the camp with a frenzy of speed and unearthly screams, swinging their weapons this way and that, bashing anything that was in their way.

     Sebastianus was on his feet and racing toward them, his own sword clasped between his hands. Behind him, Primo and his trained men threw off their merchants' cloaks to charge at the invaders with clubs and spears, no longer the merry drunks they had appeared to be moments before, as no wine had passed their lips, for that was part of their ruse. Now the attackers saw the "merchants" for what they truly were, fighting men in Roman military costume, muscular, powerful, engaging the brigands with a ferocity that took them by surprise.

     Almost as quickly as they had charged into the camp the brigands fell back, as so many had before them during the caravan's eastward progress, lawless mountain men seeing the fat and lazy members of a rich caravan and tasting the victory and spoils of so easy a prey. But now they were on the run, finding themselves outnumbered and outmatched by foreigners who had staged a deception. Primo and his men yelled with glee as, once again, they drove raiders from their camp.

     When Sebastianus heard a strange sound fill the night, he turned and frowned. When it sounded a second time, and he recognized the unmistakable ringing of a gong, he shouted, "Wait!"

     Primo and his men stopped and turned, a puzzled look on their faces. They had the brigands within reach. They could teach the outlaws a lesson, as they had previous others. But before Primo could protest, his eyes widened at an astonishing sight approaching from the mountain's eastern road.

     Accompanied by swaying lanterns, an elegant carrying chair of red and gold, borne on the shoulders of twenty porters, led a procession of another twenty men, all costumed in red and gold silk with black silk caps on their heads. Two men carried an enormous brass gong between them, and bringing up the rear were pack animals laden with goods.

     Sebastianus knew what this was. He had suspected that, when word of the caravan from the west reached Luoyang, the Chinese emperor might dispatch an envoy to meet the strangers. He watched as the remarkable procession came to a halt and the red and gold chair was lowered with great ceremony to the ground. As the night wind blew, causing torches to flicker and pennants to snap, the visitors from Rome watched as an extraordinary man stepped to a cushion set before him on the ground.

     Tall and gaunt with a yellowish cast to his skin, he wore black silk shoes over white socks, which peeped out from beneath the hem of a lavish robe made of red silk breathtakingly embroidered with dragons and birds. The robe was wrapped around the man's slender body and secured with a wide red sash. A wispy white beard lay upon his chest, above which a long thin moustache cascaded down below the chin. His face was thin and bony with high cheekbones, his eyes almond-shaped and slanting beneath thin white eyebrows. Upon his head, a wide-brimmed hat of stiff black silk, under which long white hair had been brushed up and tucked.

     He came silently forward, his hands clasped together in the voluminous sleeves of his robe. Dark, shining eyes scanned the strangers, one at a time, as if trying to determine who was the leader of the group. Finally he said, "Are you the travelers from Li-chien?" The translation was passed along from Chinese to Kashmiri to Persian to Latin.

     Sebastianus knew that Li-chien was China's name for the Roman Empire, which no Chinese had ever visited but of which they had heard in mythical tales. "I am," he replied.

     The man bowed. "Noble Heron, lowly and unworthy servant of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of the Great Han Dynasty, Son of Heaven, Lord of Ten Thousand Years. I humbly invite you and your companions to visit the house of My Lord, who is interested to meet travelers from so far away."

     Sebastianus had learned along the route that, two years prior, Emperor Guangwu had died and Crown Prince Zhuang had ascended the throne as Emperor Ming. "Are you here to escort us to Emperor Ming?"

     Noble Heron nodded with a slight tremor of his eyebrows. "It is my humble honor to enlighten My Lord's illustrious guests on court etiquette and protocol, for how are you to know when you have never been here? It is taboo to speak the emperor's name, or the name of any royal or exalted person. You may call me Noble Heron because I am but a lowly servant at the imperial court. The emperor can be addressed in many ways, which I will teach to you."

     Sebastianus saw that the man was struggling with his impulse to stare at the strangers. He wondered if what the Chinese had heard of Romans was as outlandish as what the Romans had heard of the Chinese. When Noble Heron brought out a hand to gesture in the direction of Luoyang, it was Sebastianus's turn to stare. The Chinese official's fingernails were so long they grew in curls, and each was tipped with a protective gold cap.

     "My esteemed friend," Sebastianus said through the interpreters, "you would do us a great honor by sharing our camp, and while you accept our hospitality, I will explain to you as best I can our customs, which must seem strange to you."

     As Noble Heron graciously accepted, and retreated while his servants prepared his tent, Primo came up to Sebastianus and said quietly, "I do not trust that man."

     Sebastianus turned to him. "Go on."

     "There was something strange about the attack. For weeks now we have not been troubled by local brigands, not since we entered the sphere of Chinese military influence. All the tribes and settlements we encountered were vassals of the emperor. So how is it that these brigands should attack so close to the capital city? How could they not have seen this fellow and his enormous retinue coming up the road, clearly an envoy from the imperial court?"

     "It was staged," Sebastianus said. "To assess our strengths and vulnerabilities, and to learn if we come in peace or as a conquering army. We will have to be on our guard from now on. I suspect there are more tests to come."

     The imperial official stayed the night at the caravan camp, eating dinner by himself and served by his personal servants. At dawn they broke camp and Sebastianus led the massive train of camels, donkeys, horses, and carts down the mountain track, with Noble Heron at his side, now riding a handsome sorrel mare.

     Before starting out, Timonides read his master's horoscope while Noble Heron lit incense sticks and paid respect to the Guardians of the Four Winds: snake and tortoise in the north; red bird in the south; green dragon in the east; white tiger in the west. Along the way, as they descended to lush plains and verdant farms, Noble Heron told Sebastianus about the man whom everyone called Lord Over All Under Heaven.

     Emperor Ming, aged thirty, sat on the throne with his favorite wife, Consort Ma, a beautiful woman of not yet twenty years. Ming's mother was the Dowager Empress Yin, in her fifties and known for her beauty and meekness. The emperor was famous for his generosity and affection for his family; he adhered to the moral and ethical code of the Great Sage, but he also respected the many hundreds of gods in Taoist belief, and was known to have a lively curiosity about the religions and faiths of foreigners. "The Lord of All Under Heaven," Noble Heron said, "would welcome word about the gods of Li-chien."

     Luoyang was situated on a plain between the Mang Mountains and the Luo River, a rectangular-shaped city surrounded by a high stone wall and a moat with drawbridges. On the congested river, Sebastianus saw craft that he had recently learned were called junks and sampans, crowded together as floating houses. Farms covered the countryside surrounding the city, where the peasants tilled the earth, yellow from sand carried in on winds from the northeastern deserts. Farmers at their labors paused to straighten and watch the remarkable procession move by; women came out of huts to stare at the long line of animals and beasts of burden, men walking alongside wearing the various costumes of different tribes.

     Crowds stood on either side of the massive stone gates, as word had reached the populace that a most remarkable caravan was coming to pay respects to the emperor. Excitement filled the air. Everyone anticipated the great festival to come, commemorating this extraordinary event.

     The citizens of Luoyang were colorful in their garb, which ranged from hemp to silk, in all the hues of the rainbow, elegant men in bright robes, peasants and merchants in trousers and tunics. But Sebastianus was more interested in the guards occupying the sixteen tall towers, their armor glinting in the sun, their crossbows at the ready. Noble Heron directed the caravan to a large area on the western side of the city, where smaller caravans were already camped, and where, Sebastianus was not surprised to see, an impressive contingent of imperial soldiers waited to take their places as guards of the newly arrived goods from the west.

     "You will grant us the honor," Noble Heron said, "of being our guests in the city. You might wish to retrieve personal items from your caravan."

     At the city gate, carrying chairs were waiting for the visitors, small conveyances enclosed in colorful fabric and borne on the shoulders of slaves in matching costumes. Noble Heron, with his entourage, led the way, and Sebastianus, Timonides, Primo, and the three interpreters, followed. Timonides insisted upon bringing Nestor along, as he had lately developed a habit of wandering off.

     When the procession emerged on the other side, the newcomers looked out the small windows of the carrying chairs and found themselves on a broad avenue lined with onlookers, behind whom multistoried pagodas rose, their red-tiled roofs shining in the sun. Tiny bells jingled on the enclosed chairs as the slaves trotted down the avenue, and when the aroma of cooking and smoke and flowering blossoms reached Sebastianus's nostrils, when he saw the upcurved eaves of the Oriental roofs, when he heard the exotic cadence of Chinese speech as citizens remarked and commented on the strange looks of the foreigners—when it truly struck Sebastianus that he was here at last, the first man from the west to enter the capital city of Imperial China, he felt his heart expand with pride and excitement. He sent a silent prayer to his ancestors—the fathers and grandfathers who had carved trade routes before him and who would be so proud of this moment: when a son of Gallus had reached the other side of the world!