“I can see that, and I promise to be very careful. But where is this leading?”
“Jeff believes it would be wise if I monitored you. Istvana has already tested you, but she feels that your channels are not really clear as yet. She believes that during your illness, you were actually creating new channels—a remarkable theory. She did as much as she dared in the time she had with you.”
“I know she did. She wanted me to go to the Tower with her, but I can’t. I can’t explain it.”
“There is no need to explain it, cousin.” Liriel gave a deep sigh. “I wish, myself that you had gone to Neskaya, as she suggested, for I have an enormous respect for her skills as a leronis. Jeff could do what needs to be done, of course, but that wouldn’t be at all proper.” She gave a laugh that was too nervous for humor.
“And Heaven forbid we should do anything improper!” Margaret felt trapped, as if there were not enough air in the room to let her breathe freely. Everyone either wanted to get her married to any man on two legs, or take her off and shut her in a Tower, to keep her from harm.
Liriel flushed. She said, “Our customs seem strange to you because you have not lived in a telepathic community, Marguerida. We have many rules that make little sense except on Darkover. Monitoring is intimate, and it is not a thing a male does with a woman who might be his daughter.”
“You mean you never talk to your father except vocally?”
“Don’t I wish! He and I have had any number of arguments without a word being uttered. But he would die of embarrassment before he would monitor me. Mind to mind is not so different than face to face, but monitoring is much more.”
“I am starting to see now. I thought Istvana asked Lady Marilla to monitor me, that night at Ardais, because they had worked together before, or maybe I just assumed there was no one else in the house that could do the task. But Mikhail could have done it, couldn’t he?”
“My brother is a good enough telepath for that, but he would no more have monitored you, in those circumstances, than he would have disrobed in your bedroom. In a Tower it is otherwise, for when one works in a Circle for a long time, many of these rules do not apply. Jeff is too like a father to do the job, and Mikhail . . . well.”
Margaret blushed to the roots of her hair. She remembered again the sudden intrusion of some male while she wrestled with the stone of Ashara’s keep, and how it had felt as if he were holding her, had his arms around her waist. She suspected that must have been Mikhail, though she could not imagine how he got into the overworld or why. And she was wary of asking. She and Mikhail had exchanged thoughts, but there had been a caution, a constraint in it, and while it had come close to intimacy a few times, it had not gone into anything really private. They would draw together, then apart, as if both of them were afraid of the feelings they were having.
She wondered what it must be like to be close to someone who was able to read one’s thoughts deeply. How did Dom Gabriel conceal his annoyance and chafing from Javanne? For that matter, how did Javanne hide her temper from her husband? She decided there must be self-restraint, and realized that her father and Dio must have a great deal of this virtue.
At last she had an understanding of why, when she had begun to be a young woman, her father had seemed to withdraw from her. It had hurt, and she found it still hurt. When she was very little, she had adored Lew, and then, without any reason she knew, he became cold and remote. She had been afraid she had displeased him in some manner. Why hadn’t he told her what was going on? Why hadn’t Dio?
Dio, we can’t handle this without a Circle, dammit! I can’t go mucking about in her mind, not when she’s shut down like this, not just the two of us. And we can’t go back to Darkover. I took this job, and I am going to see it to the end, no matter what. At least I will have done one thing in my life that was right!
The sound of the Senator’s voice ran along her nerves, and Liriel heard it as well, for she gave a nod. “You must have been picking up bits, little snatches.”
“How? I had the impression from Istvana that I was locked up tighter than a drum?”
“Even people with no laran catch thoughts spoken under strong emotions. We think now that it is a normal human trait, perhaps from before we possessed formal language. The Terranan are skeptical, but we have more understanding than they do.” Liriel gave a little snort which conveyed her low opinion of Terrans perfectly clearly. “True, for generations we believed that laran was a special thing, limited to the Comyn and their kin, but we have found in the past hundred years that many individuals possess these talents to some degree.”
“But I still don’t see why you want to monitor me.” Rafaella was almost squirming with discomfort beside her now. Margaret gave her a little nod, and the Renunciate left the table hastily. She was not happy to see her friend leave, but she understood that Rafaella must feel that she was intruding.
“You were over-shadowed very young, and while some of those channels are now clear, damage remains. Jeff and I think it is very important that we keep an eye on you, to see that you are healing.”
“Healing! I was left alone in an orphanage until I was useful, and I was kept in ignorance because the Senator decided it was more important to take care of Darkover than to take care of me! Then Fate or Destiny or something brings me here, and all of a sudden I am the most marriageable woman on the damn planet, and you want to make sure . . . to hell with all of you!”
To Margaret’s surprise, Liriel did not appear at all distressed by her outburst. “It is for those reasons, those exact reasons, that I want to monitor you, Marguerida. You are very angry, and you have cause. But can’t you see that this anger is dangerous, not just to you, but to anyone who might release those feelings by a word or look. I am trained, and I am well shielded, but others, like your friend Rafaella, are not. You could literally kill her with your anger.”
“I would never harm Rafaella. She is my friend—like the sister I always wanted.” She took a shaky breath. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be so self-pitying. I know no one meant to hurt me, not intentionally.”
“Marguerida, do you know what happens when you put water in a closed vessel and set it on the fire?”
“What? I know enough physics to know that if there isn’t somewhere for the steam to go, the pot is going to explode, most likely.”
“I wouldn’t have called you a pot, myself. You are more like a finely made alembic, clear and fragile but also strong. But if you stop up the opening on an alembic, it will shatter.”
“Yes, and to continue your metaphor, it will cut hell out of anyone in the neighborhood. I wish I had never come to Darkover.”
“But, as you said, it was your destiny. You like it here, even though you find us very odd.”
Margaret sighed and was silent for a long time. “That is true. I’ve always wanted something that I couldn’t name, and when I saw the sun setting behind the city and smelled food cooking, it had a name. It was Darkover. I have been an exile most of my life, and now I’ve come home. If I had known, I might have come here long ago, but . . . but, Liriel, I don’t want to be a telepath!”
“That is no longer a thing you can want or not. It is what you are. And for your own sake, and that of others, you will need frequent monitoring. Because now that the Gift has been awakened, it will grow and increase and change. And you will change. I am sorry, but that is just how it is.”
“You aren’t half so sorry as I am! Very well—do whatever you need to. I’ll be a good girl.” She didn’t feel like a good girl at all, but more like a storm about to break.
“Let’s go to my study. Mother keeps it for me, rather grudgingly, so I can be alone. No one will interrupt us there.”
“They don’t need to. They can just poke their noses in without . . .”
“Marguerida, don’t be foolish.” The big woman rose with a flutter of green cloth. “My father, who is very strict and correct, won’t even remain within doors while we work, and Jeff is not at al
l snoopy.”
“What about your mother?” Margaret was repelled by the idea of Javanne being aware of her thoughts.
Liriel grinned. “She will be curious, because that is her nature, but she will not intrude.”
“Why not? Good manners?”
“Partially. But it is more like good sense. You are so strong you could knock almost anyone into the next tenday if you felt threatened.”
“I could?” Margaret followed her cousin down the hall, considering this. The idea that she had the power to injure people without lifting a finger was even more terrifying than that of being a telepath.
The room they entered was modest in size. It had one window overlooking an open court which was different than the one in the front of the house—the stones were laid out in a circular rather than a rectangular pattern. Before she could really have a good look, Liriel drew the curtain across it. Margaret looked around then, and saw plump cushions piled on a thick green rug, and along two walls, shelves of books. The paneled walls reflected the light of lampions and she moved toward the shelves.
“Is this your personal library?”
“Yes, it is. I started it from books that were left in the house, some of your father’s, and of Grandfather Kennard’s, though he was not really much of a reader.
There are books here that Ann’dra Carr had imported when he lived here, in Terran, and others I ordered from Thendara. Mother always told me I would ruin my eyes with reading, but so far I have not.”
It was an eclectic collection, from volumes of children’s stories to works on mapping and surveying, and novels from all over the Federation. Margaret saw a collection of poetry dating from pre-space Terra, the work of Rupert Brooke, and another by Gala Montaral who had lived and died on Tau Ceti V two hundred years before. Since she loved Gala’s verse, she thought well of Liriel for giving it a place in her library. From the shininess of the spine, it had been read often and, from the lack of dust on it, recently, too. “I was starting to think no one on Darkover read.”
“Well, as a general thing, it is not so common a pastime as singing or sewing or hunting, but we are not all illiterate bumpkins.”
“I never imagined you were, but I was rather surprised by how little reading matter I have seen. There were some books at Ardais Castle, but these are more interesting. That’s all.”
“Come, sit here by the brazier.”
Margaret did as she was told, ignoring her unease. She felt as if she were visiting the doctor, where she would be probed and measured and tested, and she did not like the sensation at all. She tucked herself onto one of the large pillows and watched Liriel toss a handful of what looked like weeds into the tiny brazier. They hit the glowing charcoal and burst into flame, sending up a cloud of pale smoke. A sweet smell arose, a drowsy scent, like herbs under a hot summer sun.
She noticed that some of her uneasiness seemed to be fading. “What is that you are burning?” she asked Liriel.
“Just some dried flowers. They have a calming effect, rather like incense. It is my own creation, and I admit I am a little proud of it. One of the books there is an old herbal—Koolpipper—and it gave me the idea, so I went out and gathered things, and consulted some of the local old wives who use herbs, and experimented until I got the effect I wanted.”
“Koolpipper? Oh, you mean Culpepper.”
“Is that how you say it? Do you know the book?” The technician looked pleased as she smiled at Marguerida.
Margaret was rather startled. Her cousin was a continuous source of surprises. She had never expected to find anyone like her on Darkover. “I know of it. I took an exotic botany class while I was at University, to fill part of my science requirement, and Culpepper was part of the optional reading list. That’s an old book, you know, from long before the Terrans went into space, but for some reason it keeps being reprinted and translated. Am I supposed to feel as if my body is light as a feather?”
“Well, you should feel relaxed,” Liriel answered, looking a little concerned.
Margaret gave a little laugh. “If I were any more relaxed, I would be asleep. I am a little sleepy, but not too much. I just feel as if nothing in the world matters. Is that relaxed enough for you?”
“That’s good. You are a very tense person, Marguerida.” Liriel paused. “Watchful is perhaps the best word. Overalert? Do you know why that is?”
“I can guess. When I was Marguerida Kadarin . . .”
“When you were what?” Liriel looked startled, then a little peculiar.
She did not answer at once, filled with strange feelings, all a little removed and not immediate. “In the orphanage, that is what I was called. Funny. I didn’t remember until you asked me why I am always anxious. There was a girl there, my age but bigger, and she liked to pinch and scratch and bite. And she seemed to enjoy pinching me a great deal. And then, when I went from the orphanage, and I was with . . . with my mother, she was cheerful one minute, and screaming the next. I would try to make myself very small, so she wouldn’t see me.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I used to believe I could make myself invisible, if I just tried hard enough.” And he was both kind and uncaring—Robert Kadarin.
“I see. You did some of that at dinner last night, didn’t you? Becoming invisible.”
“I suppose I did. Your family is rather overwhelming, all at once.”
“Our family, Marguerida. And, yes, they are, particularly when Ariel has all the children about. She cannot bear to have them from her sight. I don’t know what she will do when they are grown and want to leave home. She and Piedro Alar watch those brats as if a hawk were going to carry them off. We are twins, but we are most unlike in disposition. She is always droopy and worried, and I am generally cheerful. It has always been like that.”
“I know you have a high infant mortality on Darkover. Did Ariel lose children—is that why she is so fussy?”
Liriel shook her head and set her long hair flying. “My sister has been extremely fortunate, and all her children have survived and are as healthy a pack of brats as I have ever seen. But she sees no value for herself, I believe, except as a mother. I don’t think she knows how Piedro adores her. My mother may have made that match, but she chose well for Ariel. She is pregnant again, though you can’t see it yet. A daughter, at last. I hope she will stop when this one is born, because she is killing herself having a child every two years.”
“How do you know it is a girl?”
“I’m a technician, Marguerida, and Ariel and I spent months together in Mother’s belly before we breathed the air of Darkover. I always know when Ariel has conceived, and I know the sex of the child as well. It’s part of my laran.”
“I guess I don’t really understand all this laran business. It’s more than just telepathy, isn’t it? Istvana Ridenow told me her gift was that of empathy, and while I think I understand that intellectually, I don’t have any emotional grasp of it. And I was too sick and upset to really pay attention to anything she said, unless it was about me. How selfish!” She would have wanted to sink with shame, but the incense made all her emotions seem vague and distant.
“Yes, it is more than telepathy, cousin. Each family of the Domains has a Gift, which is to say a talent that runs in the blood. The Alton Gift is that of forced rapport, which means the ability to enter the mind of anyone, whether they are telepaths or not. For that reason we have always been suspect by the other Domains. Forced rapport can kill, which is why Jeff and I feel it is so important to monitor you. The Ardais are catalysts, and can awaken the laran of another. The Aldaran have the Gift of precognition, and you may possess that as well.”
“Oh, great. It isn’t enough I can poke into people’s minds whether they want it or not, now I am able to foresee the future. Wait a minute—why would I have the Aldaran Gift anyhow? Lady Marilla thought something when I asked her about the Gifts. She didn’t tell me much, and she got very agitated when I asked about the Aldarans.”
“Thyra Darriell’s father was
Kermiac Aldaran, and your father’s mother was Yllana Aldaran, who was half Terranan. So, you have Aldaran bloodlines not once but twice.”
“I see. Well, I guess the Aldaran Gift missed me, anyhow. If I had had any precognition, I would never have come to Darkover.” Even as she said this, Margaret realized it was not quite true.
“The ability to see the future is not the same thing as being able to avoid it, Marguerida. Now, let us start.” Liriel drew a cord from beneath her robe and Margaret saw a small pouch similar to the one Istvana had worn. She pulled something out, and removed several layers of wrapping until a crystal was revealed.
Margaret held back her impulse to stand up and bolt from the room, so great was her terror of the shining stone in her cousin’s hands. She tensed her shoulders and clenched her teeth, waiting for the hated and familiar voice which had possessed her at Ardais to speak. When, after several minutes, it did not come, she relaxed slightly. “I have to tell you, Liriel, I don’t like those things.”
“Yes, I know. But just look at it calmly. Don’t try to touch it. You must never touch the keyed matrix of another person. It can throw them into deep shock, and even cause death.”
Instead of looking at the crystal, Margaret opened her left hand and slowly removed the glove she was wearing. Then she studied her palm. She could sense Liriel’s surprise at her action, surprise but no alarm.
The blue lines that had traced themselves on her skin seemed a little faded now, but she could still make out the pattern. If only she could understand what the lines meant. She felt a faint pulsing beneath her skin, as if some energy was moving that was not entirely from her body. Margaret shivered as the lines seemed to darken, to become bluer and bluer.
The room around her became vague, a place of shadows, and the technician seated across from her seemed not Liriel, but an image of faint light, lines of energy without any flesh around them. Then, abruptly, even that vanished, and she was plunged into her own mind, into a dark vision.
A twisted corridor yawned before her, and somewhere a woman screamed. It was a terrible sound, and she knew that its source was that woman, that unknown female who was Thyra Darriel, her mother. There was madness in the scream, and she felt herself shrink, becoming small and anxious and altogether wary. A voice, a man’s voice, rang out “She’s mad—she’s out of control!”