Guilt Edged Ivory

by Doris Egan

  I leaned forward, already interested. Following my first stay on Ivory I'd hunted the Athenan libraries obsessively for any work on Ivoran sorcery, and found a single paper. The second, if it existed, must have been indexed under some other subject.

  "It was indexed under 'Stage Magic,' " she said, veering into telepathy. "Not an appropriate category, really, but that was the approach the article took. Branusci studied eight marketplace sorcerers—not perhaps the best pool, to begin with—and decided, in the end, that any of their effects could be duplicated in some 'rational' fashion. If there was no visible and outward evidence—as in a luckspell, where the results could so easily be ascribed to random chance—then what did it prove? If there was visible evidence—say, with a visual illusion—then a holographic projector could do as well. Or any number of other methods, to achieve other effects."

  "There are no holographic projectors on Ivory."

  "Branusci points out they might have been smuggled in."

  "You don't sound impressed with your kinsman." She shrugged. "If a man can levitate an elephant, saying that you can do the same thing with strings and pulleys is hardly the point, is it?" She put down her tah cup. "The Athenans like to think of themselves as rationalists, but I suspect they're just afraid of looking silly."

  I'd had the same thought myself more than once.

  She went on, "Otherwise, why wouldn't they put the same rigorous, thorough study into it that they put into dissecting the dozen variants of a legend?"

  "Interesting you should choose that metaphor. My field of study was cross-cultural myths and legends."

  She smiled austerely. "What an amazing coincidence."

  I laughed.

  She leaned forward. "Let's hypothesize for a moment that 'Magic is real.' Or to put it another way, the more respectable sorcerers of Ivory are tapping into something we have not previously had experience with. They've learned rules for using this… whatever it is… that seem to work for them. Whether they want to call them spells or something more acceptable to standard culture is irrelevant to our purpose, for the moment."

  It was nice to hear somebody talking about Ivoran magic in the language I'd grown up in. I don't mean Standard.

  She wiped her lips with the green linen napkin our ancient waiter had provided. "Even given the extraordinary lack of interest on this planet in strictly academic matters, there must be theories about magic. Where it comes from, why it can be accessed by some people and not others…" She let her voice trail off.

  I said, "I've heard the three most respectable theories and about twenty more oddball ones. But nobody really knows—knows in a good Athenan sense, I mean. Nobody has any evidence." This is the simple truth, and I saw no reason not to share it.

  She nodded. "It doesn't surprise me. But one can hardly help zeroing in on some genetic relationship."

  I was silent.

  "This is speculation, of course. But I understand your present husband accompanied you to Athena a couple of years ago. He's a top-ranked sorcerer here in the capital, they tell me. One can't help wondering if he was able to continue using his abilities away from this planet. You would think that he would be able to, if sorcery is more linked with genetics then geography. But the whole subject is so out of the usual ken, I'd hesitate even to guess."

  I was becoming uncomfortable. My Athenan past taught me to revere the free sharing of information, and on one level I would have been pleased if a serious inquiry into the messy category of magic had been taken up by the standard community. After all, they might make some breakthrough on the subject, bringing it into a neat line with the laws of the universe as I had once known them, and they might do it before my death. That bothered me, you know. That I'd gotten involved in a subculture based on a force that even the people who used it didn't understand; and that someday, people would figure it all out— too late to tell Theodora.

  On the other hand, this was veering close to House secrets. Ran had indeed tried to use sorcery during his foray into culture shock on Athena, and I knew what the results were.

  As a Cormallon, I did not feel at liberty to tell anyone.

  I said, "Life is complicated, isn't it?"

  "More so every year," she agreed. "When I was twelve, I understood the universe thoroughly."

  "Me, too."

  Jack Lykon spoke up suddenly. I'd nearly forgotten he was there. "Keleen," he said, "tell Theodora who I am."

  She touched his hand. "Jack is a very talented genalycist."

  "Is he?" I looked at him with new interest.

  "He'd be just delighted, intellectually, if he could meet your husband."

  "Yes, I'm beginning to understand that." I took a deep breath, knowing I ought to head them off before they made the mistake of offering a fee. "Look, it's nothing against you or Tellys. I know that someday people are going to have Ivoran sorcery down pat, quantified, boxed up in little boxes with ribbons. And good for them. They'll probably call it something other than sorcery when that day comes. But they're going to have to do it without my help." Damn, they looked so understanding. I hate it when people do that. "You seem to know a lot about sorcery, for an out-worlder. But I don't know how much you know about the Houses of Ivory. They're all paranoid, all selfish, and their loyalty is only to themselves."

  Van Gelder quirked a smile. I said, "I know. I'm making them sound so attractive. They do have one great virtue,

  though: They won't go out of their way to hurt you if you don't present an obstacle."

  Van Gelder's smile had vanished. She said, "Not something that can be said of all human cultures."

  I didn't pick up on it at the time, I was too busy going for my point. "What I'm trying to say here is, I'm a Cormallon. Sorcery is a Cormallon specialty, and I can't share information on our House business with anybody. It would be considered as working against our best interests—even if you offered to pay us."

  She said, "A minute ago you spoke of the Houses in the third person; now you speak in the first."

  "Blame it on my schizoid history. I'm not Pyrenese, and I'm not really Ivoran; all I really know I am, at this moment, is Cormallon. And if the universe takes five centuries to get around to cracking the sorcery game, then that's how long they'll have to wait."

  They stared at me, and the pause lengthened. I felt myself getting red. It was probably as close to a patriotic speech as I'd ever been qualified to make. The silence became more awkward, and I groped to fill it. "Look, the bottom line is, my House will never agree to share any secrets with the Tellysian government."

  They looked at each other. Van Gelder leaned back in her chair and tapped her silver spoon once against her empty sherbet bowl. She said, "But Theodora, my friend, we do not speak for the Tellysian government."

  I hoped my jaw wasn't touching the floor. "What?"

  Lykon said, "Keleen—"

  She rode over him. "No, we speak neither for the Tellys Unity nor the Sealed Kingdom. We speak for a much smaller, more controllable group. Your families here make House allies, don't they? I think we'd like to be regarded in that light."

  "We?"

  She crossed her arms, still leaning back, and smiled. Lykon looked unhappy. "Tell me, have you heard much about the Tolla?"

  I sat up, shocked. "Great gods of scholars."

  She nodded. "That's right."

  * * *

  I'm going to have to stop here and tell you about the Tolla. If you already know about them, you can skip ahead, but I don't want to leave anybody behind.

  I think you already know I don't like Selians. What you may not be aware of is that the Selians are a historically recent development, only germinating after the destruction of Gate 53 cut off our sector. Unlike Tolla propagandists, I can't tell you that they were involved in blowing up the gate, because they didn't exist at the time, but I have to admit that that's about the only obnoxious act that can't be laid at their door. As a group, I mean. As individuals they may be perfectly fine. I'm sure someday I'll meet a S
elian I can like… The nice ones probably stay home and don't go out in public.

  Anyway. About sixty years ago the other worlds started hearing discomforting news events coming out of Tellys. The Sealed Kingdom declared independence around then and somehow got away with it—I don't know the ins and outs of Tellysian politics—and after stewing in their own self-congratulation for a while, started to become more and more militant.

  (I know. This is all my own view of the matter. I can't give you somebody else's view, can I?)

  Selians seek to perfect the universe until it reaches a state that matches the ideal; at that time the Perfect Kingdom will exist in reality as well as an abstraction. "The Perfect Kingdom Is At Hand" is a prime Selian credo. Understand, this has nothing to do with temples or supreme beings—on the contrary, they feel perfection is attainable with their own hot little hands. Selian houses are spotlessly clean. If Selian children don't match the physical ideal, they are dieted, exercised, and surgically altered, or else constantly humiliated for the rest of their lives.

  Their definition of perfection, and their mechanism for attaining it, are based on two things: The worship of Fate (under the leadership of the Selian Central Committee), and a sense of differentiation. Differentiation means in the aggregate sense that the Selians are superior to other people. Fate means that their destiny is to one day have that superiority acknowledged. In the most peaceful way, mind you; their object is not to kill or torture. They only want to help others to understand that their ordained place is in service to the Kingdom. Once this understanding is reached, the universe will start to operate on the level it should be at.

  As you may guess, any group this hierarchical is pretty rigid within its own ranks, as well. From what I understand, there are at least twenty separate levels, from the top three classes, who dye their hair silver-white to differentiate themselves—it would be a pity if their fellow citizens failed to recognize their natural superiority—down to the dregs at the bottom of the ladder, who are nevertheless a rung above anybody not Selian.

  Women are placed just beneath the bottom rank. This is where the Tolla come in.

  I must have been about thirteen, still living on Pyrene, when I saw the first news spot out of Tellys. It was a clip from a Unity talk show, with a regular Tellysian host, interviewing a Selian man. He wasn't silver-haired, so he couldn't have even been highly placed in the SK, but he was amused and contemptuous of the non-Selian interviewer. The interviewee was considered news because he'd just been acquitted of killing his wife. He'd been accused of setting her on fire because she was a bad cook. They showed a picture of her remains, a brief interview with the woman's sister—who had very little to say—and then cut back to the husband.

  They cut back, and he smiled widely, showing a set of straight white teeth. It was the smile of somebody who has gotten away with something.

  Since that first interview I heard the occasional stories of dowry murders, of a rise in female emigration from the Sealed Kingdom to the Tellys Unity—until there was a swift law passed forbidding women to carry identity papers themselves, or to travel when not under the supervision of an authorized male.

  I know that none of this is historically new, but that's my point—this is a modern, industrialized, technologically advanced world I'm talking about. One that had seemed relatively sane before the destruction of Gate 53.

  The rest of Tellys seems to consider the Kingdom a temporary aberration, and lack the ability or will to do much about it. After all, they were only about fifteen percent of the world population. And they were only preying on their own people. And in case you haven't dealt with any Selians, I ought to point out that they are not crazed lunatics who run around foaming at the mouth. Even for them, wife murderers are not on every corner, and except for the dye job, most of them look pretty normal. They have trades and families like any other society, and some of them do a lot of good. Altruism is built into their philosophical structure—kind of a noblesse oblige attitude; the upper ranks are expected to devote several years to collective good works. That's how the Selian Medical Clinic came to Ivory. It's amazing what a sincere case some of them make for their way of life.

  Not that I, personally, like them. But I feel obliged to point this out.

  But where slavery exists, you get abolitionists, and where the Selians exist—you get the Tolla.

  They appeared one day, leaving a note famous for its brevity on the body of the gentleman interviewed by the talk show. "Shot by the Tolla." No manifesto, no explanations—for murderers, you had to like them. And then there was their choice of label, Tolla, "The Wrath of the Goddess." The word came from an old legend, a selection not without historical charm. They were, as much as we could tell from so far away—I was still on Pyrene at the time—a group of hitwomen. Soon they didn't bother to leave even brief notes; everyone knew who they were.

  On Pyrene they were considered an interesting footnote, an eccentric example of life away from civilization. On Athena, I found, they were strongly disapproved of as a terrorist group. "One acts to change unjust laws; two wrongs don't make a right; if they weren't ashamed of what they were doing, they'd stand trial openly." Their anonymity seemed rather practical-minded to me, but I did not express this view at the time. Public opinion is a powerful force on Athena.

  So now here I was, shocked—and I have to admit, a trifle delighted—to be facing someone who claimed involvement in the Tolla.

  The life of a plain sorcerer's apprentice had been getting monotonous. It would be nice to talk to someone who did exciting things.

  * * *

  I said, glancing at Lykon, "I didn't know they let men in the Tolla."

  "What a narrow way of doing things that would be," said Van Gelder. "Not that I said that either of us were in the Tolla. I speak hypothetically."

  I was completely fascinated. "Your government doesn't even like the Tolla. They're always trying to capture them. Or is that an act?"

  She shook her head. " 'The Tolla are a terrorist organization. We do not condone their actions.' And we're perfectly serious, Theodora—I speak now as a representative of the Tellys Unity. When a government lends itself to acts of terrorism, it loses its moral center."

  She seemed to mean it. I said, "Then you're not Tolla yourself?"

  "On the other hand, what a private individual may feel impelled to do should not have repercussions beyond his own conscience. One may disobey a law, and nevertheless believe that law to be necessary."

  "That's not what they teach on Athena."

  Her long, sunburnt fingers tapped her plate. "They can afford to be finicky on Athena. The most that happens to anyone there is getting tossed off a committee."

  I'd once heard of a man who'd committed suicide after getting tossed off a committee. However, I suppose that would seem an unjustified response to someone involved in an organization whose purpose was so openly lethal.

  I suddenly became aware that the sun was past the striped dome across the river, and that afternoon was practically evening. Two other tables had somehow become occupied, and I hadn't even been aware of it.

  "This is fascinating," I said honestly, "but I'm not sure how it affects me or my House."

  She hesitated. "From your records, I thought you might lean toward a sympathy with our cause. You're not the usual Athenan scholar. Was I only reading into it what I wanted to believe?"

  "No…" I said slowly. "If you want the truth, I have mixed feelings about the subject. But I've seen people killed for less reason than the Tolla has. And if you were shooting somebody today, I'd step out of range of fire and go on my way."

  Lykon made one of his rare remarks. "That's all we really expected."

  I turned to him. "You look too gentle to be in the Tolla."

  He smiled. It was a gentle smile. "It evens out," he said. "Keleen looks like a very general, doesn't she?"

  I had to admit that she did. Everything about her, from her well-chosen semi-but-not-quite-Ivoran wardrobe to
the knowledgeably applied cosmetics, spoke of planning. The few items that seemed to have escaped her control, like the ray of lines around her eyes, only gave weight and character to her looks. It was a good thing, really, that she had a slightly burnt complexion; otherwise one could be put off by her inhumanly precise elegance. Strength was in every bone and angle; but strength in the service of what?

  Lykon, on the other hand, with his quiet, good-humored face, might as well have a sign around his neck saying "Trustworthy." If you ran into Jack Lykon while your city was falling, you'd give him your child to hold while you hammered your fists against the seal of the last departing ship. It seemed like the sort of face that is well-attached to the soul behind it, but until we knew this for sure I resolved to hang onto my wallet and my skepticism.

  He sighed, looking at his empty mug, and said, "Do you think I could get another beer? I hesitate to ring for the waiter…"

  "Yes, he might not make it out till autumn." I squeezed the button on my airtight jar of cherry fizz and watched a stream pour into my glass. "If you're just thirsty, this might hold you till you get the real thing." I offered him my glass.

  How much did they really understand about Ivory? Would they pass the test? He took the glass and drained it, getting a head of fizz around his mouth. Silly, but endearing, particularly in a balding terrorist. He said, in Ivoran, "My thanks."

  Van Gelder seemed quietly amused. Points for their team. If Cormallon did make some kind of arrangement with them, they wouldn't disgrace us.

  A sudden breeze blew up from the river, ruffling the table napkins. Here I was, naive, apolitical Theodora of Pyrene, sitting with two enemies of the Tellysian government, and I just didn't feel in any great danger. I suppose the Tolla has to recruit somehow; there must be some way,

  even if it's not the most reliable, of feeling out when to tell, and when not to tell. And perhaps it wasn't a great leap of faith at that—I wasn't a citizen of the Tellys Unity, I had no stake in what their world did. My very disinterest was a shield. Nor are Ivorans in the habit of mixing in governmental matters at all, if they can avoid them.