Enchantress from the Stars

by Sylvia Engdahl

  In the colony the night air was cool and sweet. Jarel took a deep breath, savoring its freshness. It was a great feeling after weeks of being cooped up in a pressure suit and helmet. He didn’t envy the men who still had to wear suits whenever they stepped outside; he would gladly have volunteered to take his off, even if he had not been ordered to do so as the junior member of the medical staff. After all, tests had already proved the adequacy of the new vaccines, though it was a wise precaution, certainly, to try out a few men’s immunity to the local bacteria before exposing everyone.

  The only trouble with being in the experimental group was that he would no longer be allowed inside the sealed shelters. He and the other guinea pigs would be bunking in one room of the barracks used for native prisoners until the rest of the buildings were opened up. And Dulard, never one to waste resources, had decided to kill two birds with one stone by assigning them all to guard duty on top of their regular work. Not that Jarel minded that; he welcomed the chance to get a closer look at the natives, as a matter of fact. But he did not much like Dulard’s policy toward these prisoners. The use of stunners, for instance. The paralysis resulting from a stunner jolt at low intensity might not be bad after you got over the first fright, but still—well, it seemed cruel in a way to keep the poor creatures physically helpless so much of the time.

  Of course, if he had his way they wouldn’t be locking the natives up at all, Jarel realized. “What harm would it do just to let them loose?” he asked aloud. “Does Dulard really think they’d organize a full-scale attack on us? As I see it, their society’s not geared for any kind of mass action.”

  “No sense in taking chances, is there?” replied his bunkmate, a technician named Kevan. “Do ’em good to learn respect for us, too. It’ll make it easier to herd ’em off to a reservation when the time comes.”

  Jarel frowned. He did not like Kevan and would never have chosen his company had they not been required to bunk together. It did seem as if the Imperial Exploration Corps ought to be more choosy about the guys they turned loose on new worlds. The colonists themselves were for the most part decent enough, though they were understandably more concerned with their own safety and their kids’ than with the treatment of the natives. But a few of the Corps people seemed to go out of their way to hurt any wild thing that crossed their path. Men like Kevan, now. What excuse was there for taking off on an unauthorized jaunt into the woods and coming back more proud than sorry at having had to kill a “savage” native woman? Dulard had not raised any objections; to him, what men did in their off-duty time was their own business, so long as they did not start any trouble that would be costly to subdue. But Jarel couldn’t look at it that way.

  “We’re doing a great job of earning their respect, all right,” he said bitterly. “No one can say you haven’t done your bit.”

  “Now, look—” Kevan began.

  Obstinately, Jarel went on. “I still don’t see why you had to blast the woman.”

  “She attacked us!”

  “Sure, she threw a knife at you. A knife that would’ve bounced right off your suit, except that it didn’t hit even close. Some attack!”

  “There were probably a dozen more natives back in those woods, armed with spears. What’s the matter with you, anyway? Do you think we’re here to play kids’ games, or what?”

  “What’s the matter with you?” retorted Jarel. “You could have stunned her; that’s what Dulard ordered in the first place—stick to stunners where we can.”

  “Dulard’s too soft,” Kevan declared. “We’ve got to make an example sometimes, put these devils in their place—or else sooner or later somebody’s going to get hurt.”

  “Hurt? Wasn’t she hurt? Or don’t you put murder in that class?”

  “Look, blasting a savage isn’t murder, and you know it,” said Kevan angrily. “Murder’s a word that applies to human beings.”

  “And these natives aren’t human, of course.”

  “Come off it, Jarel. I know you medics are great ones for getting sentimental over the aborigines, but human—that’s carrying it a bit too far. ‘Humanoid’ maybe, but they’re way below the level of humans. Any fool can see that.”

  Technically he was right, Jarel knew. So why should it seem so important? He guessed it all depended on how you defined humanity. Perhaps he was a fool. Perhaps he should never have joined the Corps. Once he had had ideas about what a fine thing it would be to explore the stars, to open the universe to humankind … but it didn’t seem quite such a high destiny now. Planets like this one were getting along quite well before the Empire came.

  Jarel suspected suddenly that he might not be cut out for the taming of primitive worlds.

  The fire was dying down; we piled more wood on it, for the night was chilly. I stood close to the blaze, shivering, while Evrek went to the hut for our cloaks. The stone I had picked up was still in my hand; I held it out to the light and looked at it. It was rather an odd stone, more or less egg-shaped but with a smooth-worn hole through the middle, and its color was lovely: a muted, blended shade of brown and red. River-polished, it shone on my palm, and not wanting to toss it aside I slipped it into the pocket of the cloak that Evrek put around my shoulders.

  “So where do I come into all this?” I asked Father as we settled ourselves again.

  He looked at me appraisingly. “Elana, what impression did the men you talked to this afternoon get of you?”

  I thought about it. They had been rather in awe of me, I felt; and with most of them, I’d been able to establish very little rapport. But one had been bolder than the others: a tall, blond, rather handsome young man. He hadn’t seemed as I’d have expected a Youngling to be at all. In fact, if I’d seen him at the Academy in other clothes I might have taken him for a fellow student; I’m used to meeting people from different worlds, after all, and they vary widely in appearance. This man’s mind and mine had touched in an almost exciting way, a way that made me hope we would meet again. Even in those few moments he had become a personality to me, an individual.

  “Well,” I began, “they knew I was strange—different—but they couldn’t have had any conception of what I really am, not knowing anything of space travel.”

  “That’s why it was a safe contact, of course. But how did they fit you into their scheme of things?”

  “I guess I don’t know.”

  “I’ll tell you, then.” Father smiled. “They thought you were an enchantress.”

  “A what?”

  “An enchantress. A sorceress, a witch. Undoubtedly they thought you could put a magic spell on them—that you had done so, in fact, since they understood your unfamiliar words.”

  “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted,” I said, laughing.

  “Be honored. Because this is an impression that we are going to foster.”

  “Now wait a minute!” Evrek broke in. “Why does it have to be Elana?”

  “Because I have some other plans for you,” Father told him. “And also because, telepathically, she is more adept.”

  Evrek put his arm around me protectively. I realized that he was still unconvinced, and I couldn’t see why. How could he not want me to take part, when he loved me? I’d be taking no greater risk than he. And wasn’t I in danger anyway, whether I played an active role or not?

  Well, it wasn’t entirely a matter of the danger. Evrek had guessed what we were in for. And, under the guise of a stiff-necked devotion to the letter of the law that was not at all like him, he made one last try to save me from it.

  “She hasn’t taken the Oath,” he protested to Father. “It’s not right for her to participate unsworn! She shouldn’t even have made the contact this afternoon.”

  Father nodded. “That’s true, and I hadn’t forgotten it. But it’s easily remedied; in fact it’s the matter I mentioned earlier that we must take care of.”

  Stunned by the way his ploy had backfired, Evrek burst out, “You can’t be serious! Here? On the spur of
the moment, when she hasn’t full knowledge of the implications?” Holding me close to him, he told me, “Elana darling, you mustn’t do it.”

  “But I want to!” I hadn’t dreamed they would let me go this far, but it was an exciting suggestion.

  “I withdraw my original objection,” Evrek said quickly. “If we must stretch the law, let’s go a little further and let her work here unofficially. Leave her free to change her mind.”

  Surprisingly, Father defended me. “Look, Evrek,” he said, “Elana’s not going to change. She chose the shape of her life years ago, as a child. She was born to it, as you were not; she has no other world to renounce. And she has the talent for it as well as the vocation. I know; I’ve seen her test results.”

  He reached for my hand and squeezed it, but he went on addressing Evrek as though I weren’t even present. “For her to be invested here—tonight—isn’t merely a matter of the law, and of this mission’s safety. It’s necessary for her own protection.”

  Evrek flushed. “It’s too soon,” he said obstinately. “The Oath’s too hard, too demanding.”

  “It’s been made so in order to keep out people who might try to use our power over Youngling worlds to their personal advantage. But underneath, the Oath is meant to make the job easier, not harder. It lifts the burden of decisions that would otherwise be impossibly difficult.”

  “You wouldn’t expose Elana to such decisions!”

  “Not deliberately, but they may come to her as they may to all of us.” Father poked the fire with a long branch, sending a burst of sparks up into the darkness. Soberly, he went on, “Just by being here, we’re in a position to change the course of history for two Youngling peoples, not to mention what we may do to the individuals we contact. You’re right when you say that no one should take such responsibility uncommitted. The weight of it would be unbearable.”

  Though some of this was over my head, I had a rough idea of what they were talking about. The laws and rituals of the Service didn’t just happen; they were devised by psychologists who knew exactly what they were doing. When you intrude upon a planet not your own, you play with forces beyond anything with which your personal experience of right and wrong has equipped you to deal. And it’s true enough that you can get thrown into a spot where if you weren’t bound, if you had to stop and debate as to which was the lesser of two evils, you might go all to pieces.

  Yet you don’t think of the Oath that way when you look forward to it. You think of the investiture: of the great hall of the Academy lit by torchlight, and the glistening, silver-trimmed white uniforms, and the triumphant beat of the anthem sending shivers up your spine … and of course, of the Emblem—of how you’ll feel when its chain is dropped over your head and you know that after all the years of study and preparation you’ve earned the right to wear it. Never in all my wildest imaginings had I pictured this as taking place beside a small campfire in the wilderness of an alien planet, with only Father and Evrek there to see.

  It was a thrilling idea but a rather scary one, too, and the cold tingle I began to feel wasn’t entirely pleasant. Not that there was any doubt in my mind about wanting to go through with it eventually. Only this was rather sudden, rather more of a plunge than I’d been thinking of when I’d so blithely stowed away on the landing craft that morning. For the first time, it occurred to me that I had not earned the Emblem and that perhaps it wasn’t quite right to take such a shortcut. Not that I wouldn’t have to complete my training anyway, but—well, wasn’t it akin to getting your diploma before having taken all the courses?

  Hesitantly, I said as much to Father. “That needn’t trouble you, Elana,” he told me. “The Oath concerns the future, not the past. You earn its Emblem not by your success in passing exams, but by your free acceptance of the responsibility an agent must carry, your consent to the ordeal of that responsibility.”

  That was a solemn thought, and sometimes you shrink from solemnity. I laughed lightly and said, “You’re making it sound ominous!”

  Father was not amused. “It’s not a thing to joke about!” he said sharply. He gripped my hand, and his voice was very stern and very intense. “Elana, there’s one thing I want to be sure you’ve got straight. Once you’re sworn, I won’t give you any more protection than I would give any other agent; if we get into a situation where I have to involve you in something unpleasant, I’ll do it. If you don’t believe that you can be hurt, don’t take this on. For you will be hurt, inevitably, in one way or another.” He sighed. “Maybe Evrek’s right; you still have too many illusions.”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said quietly. “Perhaps I did when I forced my way into the landing party. But now, since—since this afternoon, I understand.”

  “I wonder if you do? You’re thinking of Ilura and picturing yourself in her place. Have you pictured yourself in mine? Have you imagined a situation where it was a Youngling that was killed before your eyes, and you were answerable? Or not killed, perhaps, but changed, less happy?”

  He stared down into the fire: a breeze stirred, and the coals pulsed red. The smoke blew into my face, and it was a strange-smelling smoke, for Andrecian trees were not those I had known. Father went on sadly, “Of course you haven’t. You can’t, yet. So you’ve no comprehension of what I mean when I tell you that the price of power can be rather more terrible than what you saw this afternoon. But then, perhaps if we knew beforehand, none of us would ever take the Oath.”

  Determinedly, I declared, “Yet if we didn’t, how could we ever accomplish anything good? You can’t scare me that way, Father.”

  He smiled and took my hand again, pulling me to my feet. “No, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to make you afraid, Elana. Because it’s not all grim. There can be some pretty wonderful things, too. If the price is high, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth paying. We’ve the freedom of the universe, and it’s a fascinating universe. You’ll see much that’s good, and you’ll never be faced with boredom. And there are great satisfactions. If we can save the people of this world from slavery, for instance—”

  Evrek got up and threw another log on the fire; then he turned and opened his arms to me. “I’m sorry, darling,” he whispered. “Why do we always underestimate the people we care for by trying to shield them?” With the forced levity that he always uses to cover his more emotional moments, he went on, “After all, I might not love you if you weren’t willing to go through with it!”

  “Mightn’t you?” I laughed.

  He held me tight. “Well, I would,” he admitted. “I’d always love you. But you wouldn’t be the same girl.”

  “Come on, you two!” Father broke in. “If we’re going to do this, let’s forget the somber side of it and make it the happy occasion it’s supposed to be. We can’t celebrate as we would under different circumstances, but let’s at least give Elana the good memories she deserves.”

  “Can we really do it here?” I asked. “The whole ritual, I mean?”

  “Of course. Agents have been invested in the field before and will be again.”

  He took me aside for a few minutes to go over what I’d have to do, and to make sure that I understood what I’d be swearing to. None of it was new to me; the Oath, as you probably know, is very straightforward. Reduced to its most essential element, it’s simply that you will hold your responsibility to the Service, and to the Youngling peoples with which you’re involved, above all other considerations, though it does contain a number of specifics such as the absolute ban on disclosure of the Federation’s existence. I assured Father that I had no misgivings, and then we went back to the campfire and the three of us sat close around it, on the ground; and it seemed a natural, fitting thing, not like a makeshift ceremony at all.

  To me, in fact, it was even more beautiful than it would have been in its usual setting—though I suppose you are always more moved by your own rites than by those you observe. No ceremonial torches, no white uniforms, no music: only the flickering firelight and the dark s
hapes of the trees and the exotic, pungent smoke fragrance … and far away, rising above the rush of the river, the cry of an unknown bird—an Andrecian bird—that was different from anything I’d ever heard before. I shall remember that bird’s shrill, eerie call forever, I think, no matter how many planets I go to.

  It is a long ritual and a complex one, but Father knew it thoroughly, even the telepathic parts, the secret parts that the spectators never hear. Certain portions of it are frightening, for your mind is probed more deeply than is usual in telepathic communication and your inborn tendency is to fight that. It is not anything terrible, however, so long as you really are sincere in what you are promising and have nothing to hide. Of course it was easier for me with Father, whom I loved and trusted, than it would have been with some dignitary from the Academy; and this was not entirely proper, because there’s a point at which you are supposed to be scared. It’s a sort of test. More than that I can’t say, for the details, by tradition, are not spoken of.

  Once you’ve passed that point, though, something very wonderful happens to you: a glorious feeling of certainty and of conviction. Dedication, I suppose you could say. All my life I had heard people in the Service speak of investiture as a high spot of their experience, and I had always supposed that they were talking about the outward trappings—the pageantry and the festivities. How naive I was! Those things haven’t anything to do with it at all. What matters is that you are given something to draw on, a solid core to come back to over and over again, for as long as you live. Whether this comes to you telepathically or simply from your own commitment, I don’t know; but I suspect that it’s a little of both.

  The climax of the ritual is, of course, the repetition of the Oath itself, aloud, and the presentation of the Emblem. We stood; the firelight threw our shadows tall against the backdrop of foliage. Perhaps my voice wasn’t audible, what with the river and all, but if you have telepathic contact anyway you can’t always tell the difference. “… And I, Elana, swear that I will hold this responsibility above all other considerations, for as long as I shall live.…” That’s the heart of it; it doesn’t seem very difficult or very dramatic, but there’s more to it than you might think. You don’t see, at first, how many other considerations there can be.