The Shadow Matrix

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  "No wonder they kept looking at me as if I had two heads."

  "I know. They tried not to, but they are human, Marguerida. As are you."

  "I'm not so sure anymore."

  "Marguerida—you saved our lives. Be content with that."

  It was dark when they finally reached the walls of Neskaya Tower but there was a groom waiting near the entrance, to take Margaret's horse and unload her mule. She dismounted, and Rafaella did as well. They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

  "I shall miss you, Marguerida."

  "And I you. I wish you could stay here."

  Rafaella shook her head. "This is not my place, but I will arrange to return and escort you back to Thendara. I am sure the time will pass quickly."

  "I hope so." She felt forlorn and lost.

  "There, there, Marguerida. Don't look so sad." Rafaella curved her arms around Margaret's shoulders, embracing her gently, and kissing her cheek. "You are going to break my heart, chiya!"

  Tears trickled down Margaret's cheeks, and she kept swallowing noisy sobs. Her friend stroked her hair and let her cry until she managed to stop. "You be careful now! I don't want anything to happen to you!"

  Rafaella nodded, then grinned. "I don't want anything to happen to me either! Farewell, for now." Then she gave Margaret another quick kiss on the cheek, and got on her horse. As she rode away, Margaret could sense Rafaella's emotions, and knew that the parting was as painful for her friend as it was for her. It reminded her of her leavetaking from Liriel, and she wished she could just stop saying goodbye to people she cared about. At the same time, it was heartening to know that Rafaella would miss her, that she was cared for and even loved. The ache in her heart abated, and she was almost glad.

  After Rafaella had vanished from view, Margaret stood in the courtyard, getting herself calmed. It was not until she noticed that her feet were cold that she finally and reluctantly entered the Tower, and found Istvana Ridenow waiting for her, smiling and so clearly glad to see her that her heart felt warm.

  "Breda!" Istvana used the form meaning something between sister and kinswoman, and it was so heartfelt that Margaret almost began to cry again. "How lovely that you are here at last."

  "Hello, Istvana. If I had known how cold it was going to be up here, I might have stayed at Arilinn. . . . Well, no, I wouldn't, even then."

  "It was difficult for you, wasn't it?" The little leronis, who barely came up to Margaret's shoulder, gave her a gentle pat on the arm. "I was afraid it might be."

  "Yes, it was hard." She felt an enormous relief to be able to admit it to her stepmother's kinswoman, for she liked and trusted the petite empath enormously. "I ex-

  pected to be in something like my first year at University, but instead it was . . . hostile. I tried to fit in, but I could feel some of the people resenting me all the time. I did make a few friends, but not with the Tower folk. The Archivist, Hiram, and Benjamin in the scriptorium were friendly enough, because they realized I was a scholar. And while Mikhail was still there, it was not so bad. But after he left, and Domenic died, poor boy, it was intolerable. I felt like I was being stabbed at every second, and I hated the feeling of the matrices around me. And I don't know that I will be any more comfortable here than I was there, because the energy of the relays does things to my body that I don't even want to think about, let alone describe to you."

  Istvana chuckled and led Margaret into the lowest floor of the Tower. They entered a large room, clearly a common room for the inhabitants of Neskaya, set about with com-" fortable couches and chairs. There was a guitar standing in one corner. She saw a mug left on a small table, and an empty plate. It was, she decided, untidy, but in a pleasant way. Cozy—that was the word. Rafaella had used it, and she was right. The rug on the floor was worn and a bit dusty, and—though she knew she was on another world— the whole scene reminded her of the living room at Ivor Davidson's house.

  "I appreciate your tact, Marguerida, and I know you are trying to spare my feelings, but I am a much tougher old bird than you might think. Don't forget, I trained at Arilinn myself, so I know how it can be."

  "You mean it wasn't me?" She felt amazed.

  "It was you, to be sure, because you are very powerful, but it was not personal."

  "Now I am totally confused."

  "We are not angels, chiya. We are still subject to envy, fear, suspicion, and all the other unlovely flaws of humankind. And what I remember from my youth at Arilinn was that many of us, the younger ones, were always vying for praise and power, snapping at each other like marls fighting over some tidbit. I have tried to prevent such things here, because it disrupts the work, not to mention rubbing me quite the wrong way. But every time a new candidate arrives, a kind of wary examination occurs. They all look

  at the new one and think, 'Is this one stronger than I am?' To tell you the honest truth, it sometimes astonishes me not that a circle works as well as it does, but that it can function at all! Each time is something of a miracle, because I know how great the struggle is to set aside the ego and submit to the needs of the group—particularly if you have no love for any one of the members of a circle."

  "I wish someone had explained this to me at Arilinn—it might have made things easier."

  Istvana shook her head, causing her small red veil to tremble against her faded yellow hair. "It does no good to explain such things to an adolescent—we are all so self-absorbed at that age—and the training itself usually eases the situation. Working with someone every day, trusting them, rubs the self away, at least enough to create a circle, and once one has worked in a circle, and found the satisfaction of it, it becomes second nature, I suppose. One thing that your appearance on Darkover has done is cause us to reexamine our methods a little, and that is good."

  "Were you very self-centered when you went to Arilinn?" Margaret was close to Istvana, because the woman had nursed her through her first and most dramatic bout of threshold sickness, intimate with her in something of the same way she had been with her late mentor, Ivor Davidson. But, for all of that, she knew almost nothing of Istvana's history or past.

  "Absolutely. I was a skinny, spotty little thing with a very high opinion of herself one day, and just another telepath the next. The shock was enormous, and I didn't like it, because I am very proud, you see. And headstrong. I think my parents were quite relieved to have me gone from home, because I was always into some wickedness or another." She chuckled at the memory.

  Margaret had a hard time imagining this assured and self-contained woman as a teenager. "I see. Well, I am glad to be here and not there, truly."

  "Are you hungry?"

  To her surprise, Margaret found that she was. She had

  lost her appetite after the bandit attack and had only eaten

  because she knew she must. Food had tasted flat and stale,

  and she had eaten mechanically and without pleasure.

  "Yes, I am.".'

  "Good. I expect that after several days of trail food you will enjoy sitting at a table, too."

  "Yes, I will. But I'd like to bathe first, and get out of these clothes. I do not mind the smell of horses, but I am pretty stinky, and I do not think anyone should have to endure that at dinner."

  Istvana showed her to a room on the next floor, a sleeping room, where her baggage had already been left, and told her where the bathroom was. Then she left Margaret alone for the first time in days, and she felt a great relief, despite the humming sense of the relays above her.

  As she unpacked her clothing, Margaret noticed that for some reason the presence of the large matrices nearby was not as disturbing as it had been at Arilinn. Puzzled, she stopped and looked around. Was there some sort of damper in the room?

  Then she noticed that the walls and ceiling of the room were hung with great swathes of silk, concealing the stones. It made the entire chamber look like a vid-dram harem, and she chuckled. It was not the thin silk of the sort that her mitts were made of, but a thick
er textile, dyed the color of kiriseth liquor. She had been too distracted by her parting from Rafaella and listening to Istvana's small revelations to pay attention to this chamber. It was a very nice room, and someone had gone to a great deal of effort and expense to make it comfortable for her. Even the quilt on the bed had a silken covering.

  Tears welled up in her eyes again, at the sense of being cared for. Great, racking sobs rose in her throat, and she let herself weep until she had nothing left except a sense of exhaustion. She caught a glimpse of herself in a small mirror on one wall, and saw a red-eyed, puffy-nosed stranger. Her hair had escaped from its clasp behind her neck, and her short bangs curled against her brow.

  Margaret stuck out her tongue at the woman in the mirror, gathered her cleanest garments, and headed for the bathing room. She was safe now, or as safe as she could be, and the smell of something roasting rising from the lower floor spurred her into action. Everything would be all right, she told herself. It had to be.

  7

  Margaret descended the staircase from the second floor to the first, feeling refreshed from a long, hot soak in the tub, and warm for the first time in several days. The smell of roasted meat made her mouth water, and she tried to swallow, but her throat seemed constricted. Her winter chemise was drawn close beneath the dark green wool tunic and it felt more like a noose than the soft textile it was. Below her waist, three petticoats and a heavy skirt moved against her ankles on the narrow stairs, causing her to proceed with care.

  She was tense at the prospect of meeting new people, and even though she knew the reason, it did not seem to help. Margaret had tried all her life to get beyond her innate shyness, her anxiety at meeting new people. But each time she did, it was the same—dry mouth, perspiration, and just a hint of headache. She was wary, not only of strangers, but of those she already knew. It was an uncomfortable feeling and since she was in the company of telepaths, one that would be difficult to conceal. At least when she was at the University, no one could sense her emotions.

  The common room of Neskaya Tower seemed crowded at first glance, then sorted itself out into seven people, including Istvana Ridenow. Most had the red hair that so often appeared in those with laran, but one woman had golden tresses, tightly braided down her back, and there was a man with dark locks above eyes like blue ice. The company was clearly waiting for her, and Margaret took a deep breath.

  Istvana stood up, her red robe shifting across her slender body. "Marguerida! You look much better now. Come and meet my people." My people. There was no mistaking the pride in her voice at the mention of her colleagues, and

  Margaret could also feel her emotions. They were friendly, cheerful, and so welcoming that some of her fears began to fade.

  More, it was a complete contrast to her first day at Arilinn. There she had been greeted by a dozen adolescents, steel-eyed and suspicious, and Mestra Camilla. There had been no sense of welcome, no overt friendliness. She had been with Regis' two daughters, Cassandra and Lina, who came to the Tower with her, and all of them were met with the same stiff silence. They had been introduced perfunctorily, and then sat down at a long table for a silent meal. Surrounded by youngsters, who in age might almost have been her own children, with Camilla the only other adult in the room, Margaret had ended up feeling more lonely and estranged than she could have imagined possible. She had wanted to stand up and walk out of the room, and had had to force herself to remain in her chair, and pass plates of food down the long board.

  "I feel better, thank you." After another quick glance, she discovered that there were no real youngsters in the room. With no hard-eyed adolescents judging her, her belly's tension uncoiled. It was not that she disliked the young, for she had become quite close to Donal Alar, and his older brother Damon during her stay at Arilinn. But she found they intimidated her more than a little.

  "Jose, will you get Marguerida some wine? Now, let me see. I shall begin with our youngest, I think." Istvana flashed a brilliant smile, as if some society hostess determined to make her party go well. "Marguerida, this is Bernice Storn, who has only been with us a year."

  A small woman with hair like fire and dark brown eyes rose and made a little bow. She looked to be about seventeen, and she reminded Margaret of someone else. It was the way her facial bones were set, and after a moment she realized that Bernice resembled Regis Hastur's consort, Lady Linnea. "Welcome to Neskaya," the girl said in a soft voice, just above a whisper.

  "I am very glad to be here," Margaret answered, reflecting that the girl seemed quite timid, almost mouselike. The man Istvana had called Jose handed her a small glass full of golden wine, and gave her a quick grin.

  "I am Jose Reyes. Istvana has been on pins and needles

  awaiting your arrival, so I am glad you have finally gotten here." He was as tall as Margaret, and very handsome, with his dark hair. But his pale eyes were disturbing, even as they gazed past her face, to avoid direct contact. She could sense his curiosity about her, but nothing else.

  "Thank you for the wine."

  "Pins and needles—nonsense!" Istvana sounded faintly indignant. "I hope I am better disciplined than that."

  One of the women laughed. "If you had been less so, you would have driven all of us quite mad. I am Caitlin Leynier, one of the technicians here, and your kinswoman at one remove or another."

  "Leynier? I do seem to recall that name from the mists of the Alton past—which I confess still confounds me, although I have tried valiantly to memorize the family tree. It is nice to meet a relation." She liked Caitlin immediately. There was something about her that was clear and pure, like spring water.

  "Well, it is six or seven generations back, and hardly counts now. I am sure you have already found that you are connected to more people than you ever imagined possible, for Istvana has told us that you spent most of your life off Darkover, dashing from planet to planet. Is that true?"

  "One does not dash—I only wish that were possible. Travel on the Big Ships is cramped, uncomfortable, and extremely boring—so that you are very glad to make landing and almost kiss the ground when you get to where you are going."

  "I see." Caitlin flashed a generous grin, and her green eyes twinkled. "I had quite another impression from reading a book of my brother's. It all sounded very exciting to me. When I was young, of course." Since she appeared to be no older than Margaret, she decided the comment was meant ironically.

  Istvana took Margaret's arm in a firm but gentle hold, and drew her away from Caitlin, much to her regret. Then she was introduced in rapid fashion to Baird Beltran, a man about Istvana's age, Moira di Asturien, a pretty woman about thirty, Hedwig Hart, the woman with the wonderful golden hair, and finally to Merita Rannir, who peered at her nearsightedly. Each welcomed her in a friendly fashion, and she could sense the general air of acceptance, so differ-

  ent from her entrance into Arilinn. Her unease lessened as she sipped the wine and answered questions, so that by* the time they left the comfortable common room and moved into a dining chamber which lay a few paces away, she was almost relaxed.

  There was a long table, covered with a white cloth, with chairs along the sides, and one at the end, clearly for Ist-vana. It was set with the pretty blue-and-white china which Margaret knew came from the kilns of Manila Aillard, the mother of Dyan Ardais, and clear glass goblets from the Dry Towns. There were platters of roasted fowl and cooked meats, bowls of vegetables and grains, and others full of preserved fruits.

  Everyone took a chair, and Istvana indicated to Margaret that she should sit at her right. Jose Reyes took the chair beside Margaret and reached with a graceful hand for a bowl of roots that looked like mashed potatoes. Before he could grasp it, Caitlin, who was sitting on his other side, slapped his hand playfully.

  "None of that! He is quite greedy about that dish, and if he serves himself first, there will be none left for the rest of us," she informed Margaret, leaning forward to peer around Jose.

  "And who gorges on the feather
berry pie whenever she gets the chance?" Jose did not appear in the least deflated by Caitlin's words, and Margaret could not help but contrast this meal with those she had endured at Arilinn, when she could bring herself to eat with the others within the Tower.

  There was a fairly strict hierarchy at Arilinn, a kind of formality that seemed utterly absent here. Meals were taken separately, and while she had remained in the Tower itself, she had always eaten with the youngest people. The technicians took their meals at one hour, and the mechanics at another. Mikhail had been placed with the monitors, which pleased him not at all. She had been deeply grateful that her sensitivity to matrix screens was so great that she could not endure to continue living there, and after she had moved into her little house, she had eaten most of her meals there.

  Neskaya was another situation entirely. Food was passed, jokes were made, and everyone ate as if it might be their

  last meal for some time to come. They were a boisterous bunch, except Merita, who ate in silence, a little remote from the rest. More than that, they seemed to be a curious group of people, not just Caitlin, but Jose, Baird, and Hedwig all wanting to know about everything from the Big Ships to the size of the harvest in the south. It was as if, Margaret thought, this was a different Darkover from the one she had entered a few months before.

  The meal was finished at last, and she was longing for her bed. Most of the company left, to begin their nightly labors at the screens above, but Caitlin remained at the table. "So, how do you like us thus far?"