Enchantress from the Stars

by Sylvia Engdahl

  “Very well, Georyn,” she said slowly. “I will be honest with you; we are in great trouble, and we face a fate that will be hard to bear. You have guessed truly that they seek information from us.”

  “From us, Lady?” he asked, appalled. “From you also?”

  “Yes, but I shall not give it to them.”

  “Nor shall I,” Georyn assured her. “I will die under the torment before I reveal any of your secrets.”

  She blanched. “Still am I struck with horror at the ways of your world. It will not be as you think; they will inflict no pain upon us. Nevertheless, we will need all our courage; for we are to be taken far away to a prison from which there is no escape.”

  “Shall we then spend the rest of our lives in prison?” cried Georyn. This was far worse than a quick death in battle with the Dragon!

  “It appears so. I tell you this, Georyn, because I believe you have a right to the truth; but you must not despair, for in the end some power beyond my seeing may save us.”

  He clasped her hands between his. “I shall not despair,” he told her, “so long as I have the Stone. But the quest, Lady? Have we yet hope of killing the Dragon, or must evil indeed overcome the earth?”

  The Enchantress bent her head. “I must confess to you, Georyn,” she said sadly, “that there is now very little hope.”

  As she spoke thus, the guard returned to take Georyn away, and wretched was the time that followed; but not yet was the hour of complete hopelessness come. For in his heart, Georyn did not believe that the power of the Enchantress could be defeated. It was possible that he should fail, die, or be cast into perpetual imprisonment, but not that the Lady should. Yet she now seemed to consider it so. How could this be, when her wisdom encompassed so vast a realm, past all knowledge of men?

  At the beginning, Georyn had assumed that the Enchantress’s magic was infallible: that she knew all truth and could control much of it. He had by now perceived that this was not so; the Lady herself was liable to perplexity and also to danger. Had she not told him that even she could have no specific foreknowledge of all that must come to pass ere the Dragon could be challenged? And in the matter of the final condition that was so puzzling, the requirement that he must give up that which he deemed most necessary to the triumph of good, she had been unable to offer any guidance. When it has been fulfilled, you will know, she had said. It had not been fulfilled yet; and was that not, perchance, the reason for their present desperate case?

  The thought of the paradoxical condition had long disturbed him; he knew not how he could meet such a requirement. Still, he was aware that he was not meant to know. It is ever the way with forces that are arrayed against evil, that they run deeper than a man’s understanding; had he not heard tales aplenty of wicked spells broken through the fulfillment of conditions that on the surface seemed quite impossible? There was yet a chance, surely, that the opportunity to fulfill this one would come to him in some unforeseeable fashion.

  But as he pondered this, Georyn knew a dire foreboding, and the implications of it smote his heart. For one thing above all else did he deem essential to good, and that was the Lady’s well-being; and he could see no logic to her captivity if it were not to serve some mysterious end. He had thought himself willing to make whatever sacrifice was demanded as the price of the Dragon’s defeat, but not until now had he guessed how cruel a choice he might face. With dark forces indeed was he dealing, should the breaking of the spell involve any hurt to the Enchantress! Thus at last did Georyn fear that he was to meet a trial in which he could do naught but yield; and for this anguish, even the Stone held little comfort.

  I lay in the dark, wondering whether this was my last night on Andrecia. Where would I be this time tomorrow? Would they let me be with Georyn? Would I ever see Evrek again, or Father? Would I ever see anyone again with whom I could communicate? My guard, the doctor named Jarel, wanted to communicate—he tried so hard, it was doubly difficult not to respond. For I could see that Jarel was not an unkind man or even an unthinking one; however immature the attitudes of his people might be, he was sympathetic, and sympathy’s much harder to stand out against than cruelty. Was it even possible to hold out forever, for days and weeks and years? Oh, Father, I thought desperately, what do you do when the challenge you’re given is just too much for you?

  Elana?

  Father? We hadn’t ever communicated over any distance; I hadn’t been sure it was possible, even under the stress of the emotion I now felt.

  What’s happening to you, Elana?

  I told him; almost before I could form the thought I sensed his response, swift and strong and heartening, though grim. I suspected that. Evrek and I are nearby; we’re going to do everything we can. But I’m not going to pull punches. You’re in a pretty serious fix.

  One reason you can trust Father so implicitly is that you know that if there’s something really bad to be faced, he’ll give it to you straight, no matter what it costs him personally. He’ll be brutally honest, and then he’ll offer you the only help there is to offer, his belief in your ability to bear up under it. It was so in this case. He didn’t ease into it; he simply presented the facts that I had to know.

  The Imperials have a research center, their own way of studying primitive people psychologically—

  I know. I understand their talk. I’m not sure if I’m brave enough, but I’ll try to be. I’ll fool them.

  Elana, you don’t understand! You can’t fool them. Imperial psychologists aren’t that backward. They have drugs, facilities; they can get all they want from your subconscious mind. There would be a very extensive disclosure indeed; all that you know of the Federation would soon become the property of Imperial science. Their own race would be harmed—but more than that, there are things they’d misuse, things that could help them invade not only this world, but others.

  It’ll be worse than if I sat right down and explained the plan to them, I thought wretchedly. Andrecia will be theirs for sure; and on top of that, once they’re warned, the Service will never be able to save any planet from them by this kind of a ruse. And what if—what if their development is thrown out of kilter? What if their whole future’s jeopardized because of me?

  There was a pause. Then finally Father continued, Sworn agents don’t let themselves be put in that position, Elana.

  But I don’t see how I can prevent … I didn’t complete the thought, for all at once I did see. No, an agent does not allow such a disclosure to take place, not when the stakes are as high as all that.

  I think I really must have known before he brought it up; I just didn’t know that I knew it. If you commit yourself totally to a principle, eventually you have to think it through to its fullest logical conclusion, and I’d done a lot of speculating after the incident of the fire. Ever since the day I’d seen Father communicate with Ilura in the moment before her death, I’d been aware that deliberate sacrifice of an agent’s life is not, in the Service, a subject beyond the pale of frank discussion. The Oath makes fearful demands of a Senior Agent; he is bound, in circumstances such as these, to introduce that subject.

  Is that an order? I queried, half hoping he’d ease the agony of the decision by saying yes.

  No! I don’t give such orders!

  And that clinched it. Because it wasn’t just that I was his daughter; he would, I realized, have replied the same to anyone—and that was another reason why the Service was so careful about selecting people in the first place. This was a matter not of an externally imposed duty, but of the Oath. Above all other considerations. How could there be any question? When you dedicate your life to that, you do it without reservations.

  I knew I could find some means. It is easiest if you are equipped beforehand with a small red capsule, as I later found that Father and Evrek had been all along. (Both of them having known more about Imperials than they had seen fit to mention to me.) But there are other ways, and my captors were not watching for that; it was not a move that they would expect
from the natives, and they didn’t suspect that I had any inkling of their plans for me.

  So I assured Father, You needn’t worry about me. I won’t board their ship. I wondered, though, if I’d really have what it takes; whereas the prospect of life as an Imperial captive was an appalling one, I did not want to escape in that manner.

  Elana! Don’t be afraid! Underneath, things aren’t as terrible as we make them. Besides, it may not be necessary. We’ve still got some time; we may be able to find a way out. I’m not giving up hope yet, and you mustn’t either!

  I won’t. Not till the very last minute!

  After a short interval he contacted me again. Look, I’m going to do something that may help a little. I don’t know if it’ll work over this distance, but we’ll give it a try. Just relax for a while, if you can.

  Relax? Well, that was a rather unrealistic suggestion, I thought. I lay back on the bunk believing that very likely I would never close my eyes again; but pretty soon I began to feel better somehow. Maybe it is less painful once the decision’s made, I reflected. And yet, I didn’t see how I could possibly feel reassured and safeguarded at such a time. Then I realized that he was transmitting to me in the other way, the way that gives you not words, but deep knowledge. In this case it was a sort of faith in the underlying rightness of things that I would never have found in my own mind. He was giving me his conviction that no matter what happened, it would turn out all right. And with that feeling, I fell easily into a dreamless sleep.

  When I awoke it was still dark beyond the window, but inside the room there was a light; the young doctor, Jarel, was holding it over me. He smiled sympathetically. “Don’t be frightened,” he said to me. “I wish you weren’t so scared of me. I’m not going to hurt you. I wish I could get you to believe that.”

  I avoided his eyes, trying to look as if I didn’t understand without overdoing it. After all, even the average Andrecian would pick up some reassurance from his tone and his expression. How ironic it is, I thought. He really means it! He really means me no harm! Yet surely he must know that for anyone, even a person much more primitive than an Andrecian, the life of a zoo specimen would be intolerable.

  No, not exactly intolerable. I knew better now. There is nothing that teaches you the value of life for its own sake faster than the prospect of having to give it up.

  Jarel went on talking to me as he had before, conversationally, as a man does to a dog he is fond of. He didn’t dream, of course, that I could understand him; and he spoke mainly to reassure himself, I think, for it was evident that he did not enjoy this job. “I’m sorry to wake you up this early, but we’re leaving in a few hours. I’ve got to get you ready. Look, I’ll have to stun you again; you won’t like it, but it can’t be helped.”

  He raised the stunner. Resolutely I made the mental adjustment to drop my Shield (I hoped it would work; it had before). Inwardly I was in a dreadful turmoil. A few hours … so little time. What if I couldn’t find any means to do what must be done? What if I was stunned until I was taken aboard their ship? Could I possibly use the Shield and then fake paralysis? No, I could never pull it off, not well enough to convince a doctor.

  Suddenly Jarel burst out, “I don’t care what they say, you’re human. You’re entitled to human dignity, if you can figure out what to do! Here, put these on; I’ll turn my back for a minute.” He presented me with still another set of clothing, and I realized that his own instructions had been to immobilize me and dress me forcibly. I debated briefly as to whether I was duty-bound to pretend not to understand, but I decided that enough was enough; I changed quickly, hoping that he would keep his back turned long enough to be oblivious of my practiced way with buttons. It was a relief, anyway, to get out of that awful Andrecian garment and into a clean white tunic.

  After I was dressed, he did stun me; the paralysis wasn’t total, just enough to keep me helpless, and I was still able to move slightly and to speak. (I tried not to take it too calmly, since a native would be understandably upset.) I wondered if they had done the same to Georyn, and was again thankful that we had prepared him, for it’s hard to bear when you don’t know what is going to happen. In this case, various things were done to ensure that none of the alien bacteria of which the Imperials were so afraid would get onto their ship; Jarel gave me shots and the like, besides treating me with some sort of ray that I suppose was designed to have an antiseptic effect. He’d be surprised, I thought, if he knew how well protected I already was! The Federation’s methods would make his seem no better than those of a primitive medicine man.

  Everything that I had was taken from me; it was lucky, certainly, that I hadn’t tried to rely on hiding the Emblem beneath my clothes. But as I realized this, I realized something else: the Stone! If they had done this to Georyn, they had taken the Stone.

  I don’t know why this struck me as the final, unendurable climax to all our troubles. Beside some of the other things, it was a mere trifle, for the Stone did not really have any power, after all. I must be going over the edge, I thought; I must be starting to believe that it is magic! And yet, Georyn believed. I had made him believe, and I had decided to let him go on believing. It was clearer than ever that without the Stone, he would be much worse off than before he had ever had it. He would think that he had fallen into the power of evil, as indeed he had.

  For the first time the enormity of what was about to happen to Georyn really came through to me. Before, our captivity had been a shared misfortune, a thing that, if we were brave enough, we could face up to. But I had not known as much then. Georyn would have to face the ordeal alone, and he would not go as an unthinking victim, as some Andrecians might. Drugs? Facilities? Georyn’s clear, penetrating mind torn open to the clinical probing of Imperial science? Are we then to spend the rest of our lives in prison? he had asked me, and he had not been able to hide the horror that prospect aroused in him. Georyn would die! Sooner or later, no matter how “humanely” they treated him, he would die; but before he died he would suffer terribly.

  And it was my fault. If I had not come with Georyn, the thing would have gone according to plan; he would very probably have either succeeded or died quickly, as Terwyn had. For that matter, if I had not taken on the role of an enchantress in the first place, he might never have come anywhere near the Imperials at all.

  Jarel stood by the window; he was still talking, more to himself than to me. “I know you don’t understand what’s happening to you. Maybe it’s just as well you don’t. Sure, they’ll give you plenty of food and the best medical care there is, and your quarters will be comfortable enough. It’s a top grade laboratory, nothing but the best for the glory of Imperial science. All the same, it’s a pretty rotten business as far as I’m concerned. I saw some films of the experiments they do in that place while I was in medical school. Strictly psychological stuff, you understand. They aren’t going to dissect you or anything, not physically. We’re above that sort of thing, didn’t you know? That would be inhuman! The biologists are always lobbying for it, saying they’ve got as much right to reap the benefits of interstellar exploration as the psychologists have, but they’ll never get the bill through; it would be a backward step, I’d say. But of course belief in the inevitable progress of civilization has gone out of fashion, and who am I to express any faith in human destiny after what I’ve seen done on this world? Sometimes I wonder whether what we’ve got ought to be labeled ‘civilization’ at all.”

  Turning, he came over to me and patted my hand gently. “Poor little native girl. You don’t know anything at all about such things. And who’s to say that we’re really ahead of you? Maybe we’d be better off if we’d never lost our innocence. It’s a long, long road from your culture to ours, and it’s even money, perhaps, that it ought never to be traveled. Is there anything it leads to that’s worth the cost? If so, it’s something we haven’t found yet. Why, you almost look as if you could guess what I’m saying!”

  I was staring at him, having been start
led out of my determination to keep my eyes expressionless. He really doesn’t know, I thought. How sad that he doesn’t know if the road goes anywhere!

  “If in some strange way you can guess,” Jarel went on, “if there’s a kind of knowing beyond anything we humans understand, the way a sick animal knows sometimes, if you’re about to put him out of his misery—well, I want to tell you one thing: I’m sorry. If it were in my power to free you, I would do so; and what’s more, if it were in my power to hand this planet back to your people, I would do that, too. I’d give anything to be able to fix it so that our glorious Empire would simply pull out and leave the place as we found it.”

  He meant it. I knew beyond the faintest doubt that he meant it very sincerely. And all of a sudden I got a wild, preposterous idea. The power to free me? No, Jarel didn’t have that; I was a unique specimen, one that he could scarcely persuade them to give up. But to free Georyn, to free him and give back the Stone—that might be a different story. The choice between the captives must have been more or less arbitrary. What would happen if he knew that Georyn had special powers? If Jarel knew, and no one else? If he really did want his people to leave, wouldn’t he cooperate?

  In order to understand, though, Jarel would have to know the whole plan. If the point of the plan was revealed to him, he’d see why he mustn’t tell, the immediate reason, anyway. And if he didn’t tell anyone, neither the Andrecians nor his own people could be harmed by the disclosure.

  But it would mean breaking the Oath—deliberately.

  I would be giving up the one thing I had to cling to, the only sort of comfort I had left. And I’d have to die knowing that if I’d misjudged, if Jarel proved unworthy of the trust, my death would be in vain. Well, not really in vain, because of course I wouldn’t give Jarel anywhere near as much information as the Imperial psychologists could get from me, but still not wholly effectual.