Elorie hurried away to the kitchens, and Rohana beckoned to one of the stewards.
“One of you must stay close to the Master today,” she said, addressing herself to Hallert. “You or Darren try to see that he does not become too excited.” There was no way she could prevent him from drinking, when law and custom demanded for every man on the fire-lines his fill of wine or beer; but if Gabriel collapsed on the fire-lines as he had done before, or had a seizure, she could only arrange that it did not disrupt the serious business of fire-fighting.
“I will look after the master,” promised Hallert; he had been with the family since Dom Gabriel’s father died.
“Thank you,” Rohana said fervently. Outside they heard the old cart rumbling up to the door, and the men and the younger, more able-bodied women went to climb in. Rohana was about to join them when Lady Alida stepped in front of her.
“You know a ride in that jolting cart would be really dangerous now,” she scolded in a low voice.
Rohana sighed. She knew this already; she felt heavy and sick, constantly and painfully aware of the weight of pregnancy, frantic with fear for her child, but conscious of divided duty and loyalty.
“What other choice is there, Alida? Can we let the Ridge burn?”
Kindra said “If you will trust me, Rohana—this would not be the first fire-camp I have managed.”
Rohana felt an overpowering sense of warmth and gratitude. Kindra was there, yes, able and trustworthy and fully capable of doing what she, Rohana, was not strong enough to do.
“Oh, could you, Kindra? I would be so grateful,” she said with overpowering warmth, “I will leave it all in your hands, then.”
“Indeed I will,” Kindra said, taking Rohana’s hands in hers and putting her firmly back into a chair, “Everything will be all right, you’ll see; we have got at it quickly and it will not get out of hand.”
Alida scowled. “They will not obey an Amazon,” she pointed out to Rohana. “She is not an Ardais.”
“Then they must obey her as they would obey me—” Rohana said “Or you. You must see to it, Alida; it is that, or I must go no matter what.”
Alida, she knew, might otherwise sabotage Kindra’s efforts out of pure spite; she did not know Kindra well enough to trust her simply for the good of the Domain. “Promise me, Alida, for the good of the Domain. Gabriel really is not strong enough to do this, and—just now—neither am I. Do not try to tell me that you could boss a gang of fire-fighters.”
“No, certainly not. How would I have learned such a skill?” Alida said haughtily.
“The same way I did,” Rohana said, “but fortunately for Ardais’s safety this day, Kindra n’ha Mhari is willing to take over. If you will back her up.”
Alida stared angrily into Rohana’s eyes, and Rohana knew it was alien to her—to submit to the authority of the strange Amazon. But at last Alida said “For the good of the Domain, I promise.” Rohana heard what she did not quite dare to say aloud; Someday, Rohana, you will pay for all this.
“No doubt I will,” she said aloud, “When that day comes, Alida, call me to account; for now, I do what I must, no more. Promise me, on the honor of Ardais.”
“I promise,” Alida said, and added to Kindra; “Mestra, anyone who does not obey you as myself shall be dealt with as a traitor.”
Kindra said solemnly “Thank you, Lady.” She clambered up into the cart over the tongue, stepping up agilely between the animals, and took her place at the front of the workers; the driver clucked to his beasts and the cart lumbered out of the yard. Alida, standing beside Rohana, said with a reproachful look, “How is it that you could not see reason when I bade you, but for that Amazon you immediately saw sense in what I was saying—”
Rohana said, more gently than she intended, “Because I have known Kindra a long time, and I know how efficient she is; whatever she does will be as well done as I could do myself.”
She went into the house, and set herself to conferring with the cooks; in another hour or two, the smaller cart, laden with food and with field-ovens, went up toward a flat spot short of the actual fire-camp, from which the men would be fed and cared for during the emergency.
And then there was really nothing to do, except somehow to occupy her time, sewing on baby clothes, a neglected pastime—in all of her previous pregnancies she would have had a full layette for the prospective newcomer at least a month before this. Her women, the few who had not gone to the fire-lines because of age or inexperience, were all pleased to see her finally making provision for the coming child and more than glad to help her at it; by noon there was a basketful of stuff assembled, small blankets, diapers, even quite a number of pretty little embroidered dresses and petticoats salvaged from the other children.
Rohana’s mind, no matter how she dissimulated, had not been entirely on what she was doing, and she broke off to say “Oh—I was afraid of this.”
She hurried clumsily to the courtyard; it was not the small cart, as she had thought from the sound, but a wheelbarrow, into which his steward had loaded the unconscious Dom Gabriel, as the only available vehicle, and trundled him down from the ridge. Rohana thanked the man, and with Alida’s help she set herself to applying restoratives and getting the sick man to his bed. She showed him, with soothing words, the baby clothes and blankets she had gotten together for the baby, knowing it would please him to think of the child; after all, he was the one who had wanted it.
At last Gabriel dropped off to sleep, and Rohana went to her own room and to bed. She slept but ill, tossing and turning; twice she dreamed that she had gone into labor on the very fire-lines and woke crying out in fear. It would be more than a few days, she knew, perhaps a full moon; babies tended to be born more readily at the full of the largest moon, Liriel, which was just beginning to show her narrowest new crescent in the evening sky.
She was in no hurry; she dreaded the thought, with the household in such disorder . . . the boys away, and not yet recovered from the great storm. Also, though she had not counted her time very accurately, it seemed too soon; she felt her child was not yet ready to be born strong and healthy. But the constant dreams—she knew this from experience—meant that the unborn child’s laran was intruding on her own. If she must have a child, she wanted one who was vigorous and strong, not a feeble premature one who would need a lot of care. Which reminded her that unless she wanted to breast-feed it herself—she didn’t—she must consult the steward or estate midwife about another pregnant woman who would be having a child at about the same time and could breast-feed her child with her own. If I am to go to Council, I cannot be troubled with feeding a babe; it must be sent out to a nurse. So she determined to make inquiries about a healthy wet-nurse so that she could do her duty to Comyn Council without harm or neglect even to this unwanted son coming so late in her life.
Forgive me, child, for not wanting you. It is not you I do not want; it is the trouble of any child at my age. She wondered if anyone would understand this. Other women she talked to seemed only to feel that she was exceptionally blessed, having a child after the regular age to hope for such things was past. But did they really feel that way, or was it only that this was what women were supposed to feel? Kindra had spoken of other women seeming always content with their lot. Am I simply, like Jaelle, constantly rebellious and questioning? I had thought myself wholly resigned—are then the Renunciates really as dangerous to the institutions of contented, happily married women as Gabriel—and Alida—think they are?
Certainly Kindra was the only person who had even seemed to understand how she felt. And truly that could be dangerous, she thought, without bothering to ask herself why.
Toward afternoon of the next day they could still smell the smoke; Gabriel was up and around, but looking exhausted and weary. Most of the day Gabriel was content to lie on a balcony overlooking the Ridge where they could smell and see the smoke and the distant fire; but he was too languid and weary to worry. Rohana did enough of that for both and fou
nd that much of her worry was about Kindra; would the woman expose herself to peril, or have enough sense to safeguard herself from the worst dangers?
VII
The sun was still invisible but the sky was darkening and night was evidently falling. Rohana jerked erect as if pricked painfully with a needle; somewhere within her mind, a signal had flared into brilliance, a warning. But with whose laran had she unknowingly made contact? A pattern of fire, fear . . . .
There was no one on the fire-line with sufficient laran to reach her this closely except Alida; Alida, who was herself a leronis and who had spent, like Rohana, several years in a Tower in training. But the general lack of sympathy between herself and Alida would prevent casual or accidental communication of this sort; this time it was obvious that Alida for some reason had deliberately reached out for her.
Warned by that silent signal, Rohana withdrew her mind from what was happening around her and concentrated on the matrix jewel inside her dress.
What is it? Alida, is it you?
You must come, Rohana. The wind is rising again; we must have rain or at least keep the wind from raising a firestorm which it will be likely to do.
Sudden dread clutched at Rohana, a warning of clear danger; at this stage in her pregnancy it was not safe to use laran except in the simplest and most minimal way. Yet if the alternative should be a firestorm which could ravage the entire Domain of Ardais and threaten every life in the countryside, what alternative did she have?
I cannot come out to the fire-lines; I cannot ride now, and I should not leave Gabriel. You will have to return here and we will do the best we can.
A silent sense of acquiescence; and the contact was withdrawn. Rohana sat silently with her eyes closed. Gabriel, with too little laran to know precisely what was happening, but too sensitive to let everything pass unaware, turned to her and asked gently, “Is something amiss, Rohana?”
“Laran signal from the fire-lines,” she murmured, glad of an opportunity to speak of what she felt. “We desperately need rain, and there has been no opportunity to gather a laran circle together. Alida is returning, and she and I will try to do what we can—at least to keep the wind from rising again.”
He lay without moving, except for his eyes, too exhausted and languid to have much to say. At last he murmured, “It is at times like this, Rohana, that I regret I have done so little to learn use of my laran. I am not wholly without it.”
“I know that,” she said soothingly, “but your health was never really strong enough to let you make full use of the talent.”
“Still, I wish I had been able to do more,” he insisted. “I would not now be so completely useless to the Domain. With fire approaching, I feel so helpless—more helpless than any woman—since it is you women who must do what you can to save the Domain, and I am here useless, or worse than useless, just another body to be protected. Perhaps we were too quick to send the boys away, Rohana; both of them have some laran.”
“It would have done no good to keep them here, Gabriel. I could not work in a laran circle with my own sons.”
“No? Why not, pray?”
“There are many reasons; for one reason and another it is not done.” Rohana did not want to go into the many reasons why parents and their grown children were barred from working together in matrix circles. “There is no reason to trouble yourself about it now, my dear,” she said peacefully. “Alida and I will do what we can; no one alive can do more. And try not to be concerned or your fears and worries will jam the circle.”
Vaguely she wondered if she ought to make sure that he was drunk or drugged before they began whatever it was that they would have to do. Now she was conscious at the edge of her mind of a horse being ridden breakneck—Alida was usually a careful if not an overcautious rider; now she was afraid and racing for Castle Ardais at an almost dangerous speed. Rohana felt a burst of fear; if it could so override Alida’s caution, the danger must be great indeed. She resisted the temptation to look back at the advancing fire through Alida’s eyes; that could only exaggerate her own fears, and now she must be calm and confident.
Now she could hear the rider’s hoof beats in the courtyard below the balcony where she sat. She laid her work aside, scornfully looking at the embroidery and being grateful that she had something more to give her Domain and people. How must Gabriel feel at a time like this? Well, she knew how he felt; helpless, he had said, helpless as a woman. But I am a woman and I am not helpless; I suppose that is just Gabriel; he associates helplessness with women in spite of the fact that I, a woman, am the strongest person in his life.
Alida was dismounting in the court, and to Rohana’s relief, Kindra was with her.
“Let us make ready quickly,” she said, and the women went up to the conservatory. Rohana and Alida seated themselves in two chairs facing one another, knee to knee.
“Can I do nothing to help?” Kindra asked, concerned.
“Not much, I fear, but your good will can do us no harm,” Rohana said.
Alida added, with instinctive tact, for once knowing how Rohana felt, “Sit here with us and make sure we are not disturbed; that no one should break in on us.”
Alida had her matrix in her hand. “Do not look at the stone,” she warned Kindra with a quick gesture. “You are untrained; it could make you seriously disoriented or ill.”
Helpless, like the rest of us, but, unlike us, not knowing it.
Rohana, knowing that she was delaying, swiftly thrust the field of her concentrated attention within the stone, moved upward and outward to survey, as if from a great height, the fire raging on the ridge above the Castle. With her enormously expanded senses she could see the air currents that fed the fire . . . she seemed to ride upon them, hungry to feed the swirling updraft of the fires. For an instant the exhilaration of it swept over her, all but carrying her to become part of it, but conscious of the link with Alida keeping her earthbound, she controlled herself, searching for remedies to the inexorable strength of the fire.
If there were enough moisture in these clouds to bring heavy rains—
But there was not; the clouds were there, heavy laden with enough moisture for rain—but not enough to drown the threatening firestorm. She felt Alida reaching out, making swift strides through the Overworld. It was as if hands clasped theirs, wings beat beneath them as they flew.
How can we help you, sisters?
Rain; it is fire we face; give us clouds for rain.
The faceless voices—Rohana sensed they were from Tramontana Tower—swiftly grasped them, displaying the mountains below as if on a giant picture—only a few scant clouds. When pushed toward Ardais, they were not sufficient for anything but raising more wind from the imposed motion, so that the best they could do was worse than no help at all.
The voices from Tramontana were gone, and Rohana, with a sense of helplessness, knew there was nothing to do with the fire but let it burn as it wished, down the ridge toward the Castle, where it would be arrested by the stretch of deeply plowed fields and by the stone of the Castle itself.
She opened her eyes and lay back exhaustedly against the cushions of her chair.
“I have never felt so helpless,” Alida said.
“It is not your fault, Alida, it is only that sometimes there is nothing that can be done.” She was suddenly seized by a wave of weakness, a gnawing pain reminding her that matrix work this late in pregnancy could bring on premature labor. With great bitterness she thought that she had risked her last child—and without even the justification of accomplishing what she had tried to do, the saving of Ardais.
Bent over, gasping with pain, she said, “Alida, warn them, the fire will come this way, they may have to fight at the very house doors . . .” and felt a wave of blackness sweep over her.
When she woke, she was lying on her own bed in her own room, and Kindra was beside her.
“The fire—”
“Lady Alida is gathering them together with soaked blankets and rugs; I knew not
how strong she was in a crisis,” Kindra said.
Rohana said flippantly, “I have not wanted to give her time to develop her strength, but now I am glad she has it.” She started to rise but was checked by pain, and Kindra held her back.
“Your women will be with you in a few minutes; Dom Gabriel became troubled and had to be taken to his rooms and put to bed, too,” Kindra said.
Rohana lay quietly, feeling the powerful forces working within her body. It was out of her hands now, inevitable, and she felt the usual resistless terror. Now she could not escape. She clung to Kindra’s hands almost feverishly, but the Renunciate made no sign of leaving her though her clothes were smoke-stained and still reeked of the fire-lines.
The women came and examined her; none of them could say whether or not she was actually in labor; they would simply have to wait and see. Rohana, knowing that nothing she could do or say could do anything one way or the other, tried to rest quietly, ate and drank the food they brought her, tried to sleep. Far away she heard voices and cries; but there was no way even the worst of fires could cross the wide band of plowed lands around the castle—thanks to all the gods that it was not late in harvest when these lands would be covered with dry plants which would burn—and at last the very stone of the castle would resist fire.
She was grateful that Gabriel had been carried to his bed; close-quarters fighting at the kitchen doors would agitate him beyond bearing. She hoped Alida had given orders for a sleeping-draught for him, at least.
That abortive attempt to link with Alida and use laran against the fire—had been her only failure ever in use of laran. She hated to fail, though she knew that even a fully trained Tower Circle could have done no better.
The cooks fighting with soaked rugs had done better; one of them had stepped on a live coal and burned through his shoe sole but had not been seriously hurt. All was well, the castle had suffered no harm; only she felt this intangible sense of utter failure. Everyone sooner or later finds something he or she cannot do, she told herself, but she did not believe it; she was not allowed ever to fail at anything.
Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover Page 23