“Your roof indeed, but not for long, my brother,” Scathfell said between his teeth. “I will tear it down stone from stone around your head, ere it goes to the bastard of Rockraven!”
“And I will burn it over my own head, before it goes to any son of Scathfell,” Lord Aldaran retorted. “Be gone from my house before high noon, else my servants shall drive you forth with whips! Get you back to Scathfell, and think lucky I do not harry you forth from that stronghold as well, which you hold by my favor. I make allowance for your grief, or I would have revenge in your heart’s blood for what you have said and done here today! Get you gone to Scathfell, or where you will, but come into my presence no more, nor call me again brother!”
“Brother no more, nor overlord,” Scathfell said in a rage. “The gods be thanked, I have other sons, and a day will come when we hold Scathfell of our own right, and not by your leave and favor. A day will come when we hold Aldaran as well, and yonder murdering sorceress who hides behind the mask of a weeping girl-baby shall be held to account with her own blood! From hence, Mikhail of Aldaran, look to yourself, and your witch-daughter, and to the bastard of Rockraven whom you will not own your son! The gods alone know what hold he has on you! Some filthy spell of witchcraft! I will breathe no longer this air polluted with the foul sorceries of this place!” Turning, his paxman at his heels, Lord Scathfell went forth, with a slow and measured step, from Aldaran’s presence-chamber. His last look was for Dorilys, a look so full of loathing that Donal turned cold.
When brethren are at odds, enemies step in to widen the gap, Donal thought. Now his foster-father had quarreled with all his kin. And I, who alone stand by him now—I am not even his son!
When the folk of Scathfell had departed, Margali said firmly, “Now, my lord, by your leave, I shall take Dorilys away to her bed.”
Aldaran, starting out of a brooding apathy, said, “Yes, yes, take the child away, but return to me here when she sleeps.”
Margali took the sobbing child away, and Aldaran sat motionless, head down, lost in thought.
Donal forbore to disturb him, but when Margali returned, he asked, “Shall I go?”
“No, no, lad, this concerns you, too,” Aldaran said, sighing as he looked up at the leronis. “No blame to you, Margali, but what are we to do now?”
Margali said, shaking her head, “I cannot control her anymore, my lord. She is strong and willful, and soon the stresses of puberty will be upon her. I beg you, Dom Mikhail, to place her in charge of someone stronger than I, and better fitted to teach her control of her laran, or worse things than this may follow.”
Donal wondered, What could be worse than this?
As if picking up the unspoken question, Aldaran said, “Every other child I have fathered has died in adolescence of the threshold sickness which is the curse of our line. Must I fear that for her, too?”
Margali said, “Have you thought, my lord, of sending her to the vai leroni of Tramontana Tower? They would care for her, and teach her the uses of her laran. If anyone alive could bring her through adolescence unharmed, it is they.”
Donal thought, That is certainly the right solution. “Yes, Father,” he said eagerly. “You will remember how kind they were to me whenever I went there. They would have been glad to have me among them, if you could have spared me from your side. Even so, they always welcomed me among them as guest and friend, and they taught me much about the use of my laran, and would have gladly taught me more. Send Dorilys to them, Father.”
Aldaran’s face had brightened imperceptibly; then he frowned again. “To Tramontane? Would you shame me before my neighbors, then, Donal? Am I to show my weakness, that they can spread the word abroad to all the folk in the Hellers? Am I to be made the subject of gossip and scorn?”
“Father, I think you wrong the folk of Tramontana,” Donal said, but he knew it would do no good. He had reckoned without Dom Mikhail’s pride.
Margali said, “If you will not entrust her to your neighbors at Tramontana, Dom Mikhail, then I beg of you to send her to Hali or Neskaya, or to one of the Towers in the Lowlands. I am no longer young enough, or strong enough, to teach her or control her. All the gods know, I have no wish to part with her. I love her as if she were my own child, but I cannot handle her anymore. In a Tower they are schooled to do so.”
Aldaran thought about that for some time. Finally he said, “I think she is too young to be sent to a Tower. But there are‘ old ties of friendship between Aldaran and Elhalyn. For the sake of that old friendship, perhaps the lord of Elhalyn will send a leronis from Hali Tower to care for her. This would excite no comment. Any household with laran has need of some such person, to teach the young people of that household. Will you go, Donal, and ask that someone shall come to Aldaran to dwell in our household and teach her?”
Donal rose and bowed. The thought of Dorilys, safe in Tramontana Tower among his friends, had attracted him; but perhaps it had been too much to ask that his foster-father should make his weakness known to his neighbors. “I shall ride today, if you will, my lord, as soon as I can assemble an escort befitting your rank and dignity.”
“No,” Aldaran said, heavily. “You will ride alone, Donal, as befits a suppliant. I have heard that there is a truce between the Elhalyn and the Ridenow; you will be safe enough. But if you go alone, it will be clear that I am beseeching their help.”
“As you will,” Donal said. “I can ride tomorrow, then. Or even this night.”
“Tomorrow will be time enough,” Aldaran said. “Let the folk of Scathfell get well away to their homes. I want no word of this to get around the mountains.”
Chapter Eleven
At the far end of the Lake of Hali, the Tower rose, a narrow, tall structure, made of pale translucent stone. Most of the more demanding work of the matrix circle was done at night. At first Allart had not understood this, thinking it superstition or meaningless custom. As time passed, however, he had begun to realize that the night hours, while most people slept, were the most free of intruding thoughts, the random vibrations of other minds. In the deserted night hours, the matrix circle workers were free to send their conjoined minds into the matrix crystals which enormously amplified the electronic and energon vibrations of the brain, transforming power into energy.
With the tremendous power of the linked minds and the giant artificial matrix lattices which the technicians could build, these mental energies could mine deep-buried metals to the surface in a pure molten flow; could charge batteries for the operation of air-cars or the great generators which lighted the castles of Elhalyn and Thendara. Such a circle had raised the glistening white towers of the castle at Thendara from the living rock of the mountain peak where it stood. From the many Towers like this one flowed all the energy and technology of Darkover, and it was the men and women of the Tower circles who created it.
Now, in the shielded matrix chamber—shielded, not only by taboo and tradition, and the isolation of Hali, but by force-fields which could strike an intruder dead or mindless—Allart Hastur sat before a low, round table, hands and mind linked with the six others of his circle. All the energies of his brain and body were concentrated into a single flow toward the Keeper of the circle. The Keeper was a slight, steel-strong young man; his name was Coryn, and he was a cousin of Allart’s, about his own age. Seated before the giant artificial crystal, he seized the massed energon flows of the six who sat around the table, pouring them through the intricate inner crystal lattices, directing the stream of that energy into the rows of batteries ranged before them on the low table. Coryn did not move or speak, but as he pointed a narrow, commanding hand toward one battery after another, the linked, blank-faced members of the circle poured every atom of their focused energies into the matrix and through the body of the Keeper, sending enormous charges of energy into the batteries, one by one.
Allart was ice-cold, cramped, but he did not know it; he was unaware of his body, unaware of anything except the pouring streams, the flow of energy which
rushed through him. Dimly, without thought, it reminded him of the ecstatic union of minds and voices of the morning hymns of Nevarsin, this sense of unique blending and separateness, of having found his own place in the music of the universe…
Outside the circle of linked hands and minds, a white-robed woman sat, her face in her hands, nothing visible but the falling streams of her long copper-colored hair. Her mind moved ceaselessly around and around the circle, monitoring one after another of the motionless figures. She eased the tension of a muscle before it could impair concentration, soothed a sudden cramp or itch before it could intrude into the concentration of the man or woman in the circle; made certain breathing did not falter, nor any of the small automatic movements which kept the neglected bodies in good order—the rhythmic blinks of the eyes to avoid strain, the faint shift of position. If breathing faltered, she went into rapport with the breather and starting the smooth rhythm again, lending smooth pace to a faltering heart. The linked members of the circle were not conscious of their own bodies, had not been conscious of them for hours. They were aware only of their linked minds, floating in the blazing energies they poured into the batteries. Time had stopped for them in an endless instant of massive union; only the monitor was conscious of the passing hours. Now, not seeing but sensing that the hour of sunrise was still some time away, she was aware of some tension in the circle that should not be there, and sent her questing mind from one to another of the linked figures.
Coryn. The Keeper himself, trained for years in mind and body to endure just this strain… no, he was in no distress. He was cramped, and she checked his circulation; he was cold but was not yet aware of it. His condition had not altered since the early hours of the night. Once his body was linked and locked into one of the comfortably balanced postures he could maintain unmoving for hours, it was well with him.
Mira? No, the old woman who had been monitor before Renata herself was calm and unaware, floating peacefully in the energy nets, focused on the outflows of force, random dreaming, blissful.
Barak? The sturdy, swarthy man, the technician who had built the artificial matrix lattice to the requirements of this circle, was cramped. Automatically Renata descended into his body-awareness, eased a muscle before pain could intrude into his concentration. Nothing else was amiss with him.
Allart? How had a newcomer to the circle come to have such control? Had it been his Nevarsin training? His breathing was deep and slow, unfaltering, the flow of oxygen to his limbs and heart unceasing. He had even learned the most difficult trick of a matrix circle, the long hours unmoving, without undue pain or cramping.
Arielle? She was the youngest of the circle in years, yet at sixteen she had spent a full two years here in Hali, and had achieved the rank of mechanic. Renata checked her carefully: breathing, heart, the sinuses which sometimes gave Arielle trouble because of the dampness here in the lake country. Arielle was from the southern plains. Finding nothing amiss, Renata checked further. No, nothing wrong, not even a full bladder to cause tension. Renata thought, I wondered if Coryn had made her pregnant, but it is not that. I checked her carefully before she entered the circle, and Arielle knows better than that…
It must be the other newcomer, then, Cassandra… Carefully monitoring, she checked heart, breathing, circulation. Cassandra was cramped, but not in much pain from it, not enough to notice. Renata felt Cassandra’s awareness, a random troubled flutter, and sent a quick, reassuring thought to calm her before it could disturb the others. Cassandra was new to this work, and had not yet come to take the routine intrusion of a monitor’s touch on body and mind with complete acceptance. It took Renata some seconds to soothe Cassandra before she could go into the deeper internal monitoring.
Yes, it is Cassandra. It is her strain we are all sharing… She should not have come into the circle at this time, with her woman’s cycles about to come upon her. I thought she knew better than that… But Renata never thought of blaming Cassandra, only herself. I should have made certain of that. Renata knew how hard it was, in the early days of learning, to confess weakness or admit to limitations.
She moved into rapport with Cassandra, trying to calm her tension, but she realized Cassandra was not yet able to work with her in that kind of total closeness. She sent a careful, warning thought to Coryn, a gentle touch akin to the softest of murmurs.
We must break soon… be ready when I signal to you.
The flow of energies did not pause or falter, but the barest outside flutter of Coryn’s attention replied, Not yet; there is still an entire row of batteries which must be charged, then he sank back into the linkage of the circle without a ripple.
Now Renata was troubled. The word of the Keeper was law in the circle; yet it was the responsibility of the monitor to keep custody of the well-being of the bodies of the linked members. So far she had carefully shielded her thoughts and her concern from all of them, but from somewhere she felt, now, a faint awareness, a withdrawal of total energy from the circle, which should not have been there. Allart is aware of Cassandra. He is too aware of her for this stage. He should not, linked into the circle like this, know she is alive, any more than another. As yet it was only a flicker and she compensated by gently nudging Allart’s awareness back to his own focus of energy. She tried to hold Cassandra steady, as if, on a steep stairway, she had lent the other woman the support of her arm. But once the intensity of concentration was broken, something in the stream of energies faltered, wavered, as a wind ruffles the face of the waters. One by one she felt the disturbance run around the circle, only a flicker, but at this high level of concentration, disrupting. Barak shifted his weight uneasily. Coryn coughed, Arielle snuffled, and Renata felt Cassandra’s breathing falter, grow heavy. Now imperative, she sent out a second warning:
We must break, Coryn. It is near time….
This time the backlash was definitely irritable, and it reverberated through all the linked minds like an alarm bell. Allart heard the sound in his mind as he had heard the soundless bells of Nevarsin, and began slowly to recover his independent focus. Coryn’s irritation was like a stinging slap; he felt it like the twitching of some internal strand as he felt Cassandra’s consciousness drop away. It was like plucking forth an ingrown strand, as if some deep root planted in his being was jerked forth all bloody. One by one he felt the circle break and disintegrate, not the gentle withdrawal it had been in the earlier times, but this time falling apart painfully. He heard Mira gasping with effort, Arielle sniffle as if she were going to cry. Barak groaned, stretching a painfully cramped limb. Allart knew enough not to move too quickly at first; he moved with the slowest, most careful of motions, as if coming awake from a very deep sleep. But he was troubled and distressed. What had happened to the circle? Certainly their work had not been completed…
One by one, around the table, the others were coming up from the depths of the matrix trance. Coryn looked white and shattered. He did not speak, but the intensity of his anger, directed at Renata, was painful to them all.
I told you, not yet. Now we will have this all to do again, for less than a dozen batteries… Why did you break just now? Was there anyone in this circle too weak to endure for just a little more? Are we children playing jackstones, or a responsible mechanics’ circle?
But Renata paid no attention, and Allart, his conscious mind flicking back into focus, saw that Cassandra had fallen sideways, her long dark hair scattered along the tabletop. He shoved back his low chair and sprang to her side, but Renata was there before him.
“No,” she said, and with a flicker of dismay, Allart heard the commanding voice focused against him. “Don’t touch her! This is my responsibility!” In his extreme sensitization Allart picked up the thought Renata had not spoken aloud: You have done too much already; you are responsible for this…
I? Holy Bearer of Burdens, strengthen me! I, Renata?
Renata was kneeling beside Cassandra, her fingertips spread at the back of Cassandra’s neck, just touching her at t
he nerve center there. Cassandra stirred, and Renata said soothingly, “It’s all right, love; you’re all right now.”
Cassandra murmured, “I’m so cold, so cold.”
“I know, it will pass in a few minutes.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I was sure—” Cassandra looked around, dazed, at the edge of tears. She flinched before Coryn’s angry glare.
“Let her alone, Coryn. It’s not her fault,” Renata said, not looking up.
Coryn said, with a gesture of deep irony, “Z’par servu, vai leronis… Have we your leave to test the batteries? While you minister to our bride?”
Cassandra was struggling against sobs. Renata said, “Don’t mind Coryn; he is as tired as we all are. He didn’t mean that as it sounded.”
Arielle went to a side table, took up a metal tool—the matrix circles had first call on all the scarce metals of Darkover—and, wrapping her hand in insulating material, went to the batteries, touching them one after another to elicit the spark indicating they were fully charged. The other members of the circle rose cautiously, stretching cramped bodies. Renata still knelt at Cassandra’s side; finally she withdrew her hands from the pulse circuits at the other woman’s throat.
“Try to stand up now. Move around if you can.”
Cassandra chafed her thin hands together. “I am as cold as if I had spent the night in Zandru’s coldest hell. Thank you, Renata. How did you know?”
“I am a monitor. It is my duty to know such things.” Renata Leynier was a slight, tawny young woman, with masses of copper-gold hair, but her mouth was too wide for beauty, her teeth somewhat crooked, her nose splotched with freckles. Her eyes, though, were wide and gray and beautiful.
“When you have had a little more training, Cassandra, you will be able to sense them for yourself, and tell us when you are not well enough to join a circle. At such a time, as I thought you knew, your psychic energy leaves your body with your blood, and you need all your strength for yourself. Now you must go to bed and rest for a day or two. Certainly you must not work in the circle again, or do any work demanding so much effort and concentration.”
The Ages of Chaos Page 14