I suppose I excel at running away from things.
Taking the way of least resistance, you mean? I do that, too, you know. I never have pushed Uncle Regis to make a decision, because I was afraid of the outcome. I know he is waiting for young Dani to show whether he has the Hastur Gift or not. Shameful as it is, I confess I have occasionally wished that he doesn’t have it—terrible of me!
No, just very human. I guess I have this idea that telepaths ought to be some sort of supermen, and am rather disappointed that they are still totally human, full of passion for power and glory, just like anyone else.
I love it that you will say things no one else will, Marguerida!
What?
One of the features of living with other telepaths is a degree of repression—a kind of dishonesty in order to keep things from coming to blows.
Really? I would have thought that everyone would have to be totally honest, all the time, no matter what!
If that were the case, he laughed in her mind, then no one would be alive today, for we would have all killed each other off centuries ago. And we nearly did, too, with our passions. We don’t want to remember the Ages of Chaos because we behaved very badly a great deal of the time. It has only been through struggling with the problem that we have come up with ways to be who we are without destroying one another.
I see I have a great deal to learn—which does not exactly make my heart go faster with delight. Margaret paused, reflecting, aware of Rafaella’s calm presence on her left. The Renunciate seemed lost in thought. Her father and Jeff had ridden ahead again, as if they wanted to leave her with some vestige of privacy, and she was grateful. I suppose I would just like to do something meaningful, whatever that is.
Wouldn’t we all!
What?
Do you think waiting around for Regis to die, or being paxman to Dyan Ardais has been anything meaningful?
I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess it would be pretty empty.
That’s a good word for it. Not that I was ever conscious of feeling empty. I just went around being discontented and a real pain in the behind to the family.
You can say that again! Jeff’s mental voice interrupted then, his thought full of friendly laughter. Your sister, Liriel, was the fortunate one. She wanted to go to a Tower, and she did it—though not without a lot of fuss from Javanne. I have always thought it a shame that your mother was not a sufficiently powerful enough telepath to become a Keeper, for nothing less would have satisfied her ambitions.
Margaret was a little startled by Jeff’s intrusion, and felt mildly embarrassed at having a conversation with Mikhail that she had thought was private. Still, she hadn’t thought anything terrible, so she guessed it was all right. She didn’t think she would ever get used to telepathy, however, no matter how long she trained in a Tower.
Then she looked toward her father’s back, strong and straight, as he rode beside Jeff, and decided that if he could manage to be a telepath, so could she. As if he heard her, Lew turned on his horse and gave her such an encouraging smile that she had to work hard not to weep. Why couldn’t he have been like this, she thought angrily, when she was younger.
The travelers stopped at a little inn at midday. The innkeeper, a fat man in his fifties, greeted Lew Alton cheerfully, but with a kind of deference that made Margaret want to squirm. As she ate fresh bread and cheese and fruit, she wondered if she would ever be able to feel like an aristocrat, like a comynara. She had spent so much time in the relatively democratic environment of University—where deference was given on merit, not birthright—that she found all this forelock tugging more than a little distasteful. No doubt, in time, she would become accustomed to it, and even expect it, but she hoped she would not.
They continued their journey after lunch, and Margaret felt more relaxed the farther they got from Armida. Rafaella pointed out various features of interest along the way, but did not tire her with endless chatter, so Margaret was able to just enjoy the ride and think her own thoughts. It was the first time in days she had had any peace, and she reveled in it. Even Mikhail seemed to realize she needed quiet, and he kneed his horse ahead, until it caught up with the men. She looked at the three strong backs—at three generations of Darkovan men, and found herself experiencing pride in her birthright for the first time in her life.
After a time, Jeff dropped back and rode beside her. She could feel his gentle protection, and she smiled up at him. He added an occasional bit to Rafaella’s mention of the passing sights, and Margaret listened to the two of them exchanging versions of old stories. It seemed that every foot of Darkover had some history attached to it, and at any other time, she would have been fascinated. But the warmth of the day made her feel pleasantly unfocused, and she had a great deal to think about after her conversations with Mikhail. For once, her academic mind seemed to be taking a holiday.
Toward the end of the afternoon they came to a lake, vast and a little misty in the soft sunlight. It seemed odd that there should be mist on such a fine day, and she stood up in her stirrups to see it better. In the distance, Margaret could see a tall, white Tower gleaming, its stones uncolored by the sun. It looked very like the places she had seen in the overworld, except it seemed more solid and real than anything in that strange place.
“Is that Arilinn, Uncle Jeff? Where you live?” She pointed toward the building.
Jeff turned to her in surprise. “What?” He looked where she was pointing. “Marguerida, what do you see?”
“I see a Tower like the ones in the overworld. Is it Arilinn?”
“No, chiya. This is Lake Hali. In that direction stood the Hali Tower.”
“Oh. No one has mentioned that one before. No; wait—Istvana said that Ashara was Keeper at Hali Tower. Can’t you see it?” She could not keep from shuddering at the very mention of the name of her dead tormentor, and she felt her breath grow thin and tight.
He shook his head. “Hali Tower was destroyed, a thousand years ago or more, in a war during the Ages of Chaos. It was never rebuilt, though I don’t know why.”
“But I can see it, just as plain as my hand before my face.” Her voice was shrill, and her blood felt like ice. She wanted to turn away, but she was riveted. It was very beautiful, and it seemed to call to Margaret. But it was like a siren’s call, and terrified her to the bone.
“I am sure you can, but I assure you, there is nothing there except the ruins now. It is a sort of memorial of that war. You might call it a ghost of a Tower,” he added playfully, but Margaret could tell he was disturbed.
She was cold all over, despite the warm sunlight against her skin, and she shivered. She could see the Tower quite clearly, and it looked very real and solid and extremely ordinary. “What would happen if I went up and knocked on the door?”
Jeff looked at her for a long, shocked, silent moment. “I don’t know, and I don’t think I want to find out. That you are able to see Hali is troubling enough without you banging the knocker, Marguerida. I wouldn’t advise it.”
“But what would happen?” Beneath her glove, Margaret felt the traceries on her left hand begin to pulse, and she felt possessed by some demon of curiosity. No, it was more than that. It was almost a compulsion, and she wondered if, somehow, Ashara had set another trap for her.
“To my knowledge, other people have seen Hali from time to time, but no one has ever attempted to enter the ghost Tower, so I just don’t know what would happen.” Jeff looked worried, as if he thought that she just might dash over and try to enter the illusory building. “If you went in, we probably wouldn’t be able to follow you, Marguerida.”
“Uncle Jeff, you’re frightening me—you sound as if you’re talking about fairy tales or elf-mounds or something.” They continued to ride, and he did not respond to her comment immediately.
“That is not a bad analogy,” Jeff said slowly as he turned his horse away from Lake Hali and they continued down the trail. “I haven’t thought of elf-mounds in a long time—I loved the
stories of them when I was a young man, back on Terra. The Kerwins were of old Irelandic stock, and my adopted father’s mother had a great store of tales—about Oisin and Fionn mac Cool and King Arthur, whom she insisted the British had stolen from the Irish. Called them ‘shee hills.’ It really takes me back.”
The steady drone of the old man’s voice calmed her, and her fears began to vanish as she listened. She knew some of the stories he mentioned, and a great many more, for it seemed that wherever humans settled, they carried tales of other races, of fairies and elves and dwarves, with them, and they often lived in places where time was somehow different.
Margaret turned in the saddle and looked back over her shoulder. The Tower was gone as if it had never been. All she could see were the ruins of the foundation stones, not white as she had seen, but blackened, as if they had been struck by lightning. It was not the craziest thing that had happened to her since she came to Darkover, but it was surely one of the most unsettling.
“It’s gone now,” she said with deep regret. “Like it never was. But I have a very odd feeling about this place.”
“And what is that?” Jeff asked reluctantly.
“I can’t quite say—except I think someday I will bang on the door of Hali. Why do you think I can see it, when you can’t?” Despite the absence of the thing she had seen a few minutes before, Margaret felt a tremendous pull, a tug that seemed to fill her chest. She wondered if she would find Ashara there, a woman still made of flesh and blood . . . or merely find herself standing in an empty room.
“You have a strong part of the Aldaran Gift, Marguerida, and that is precognition.”
“I know—and I wish I hadn’t! But that’s seeing into the future. I was looking into the past! That’s totally different.”
“Metaphysics was never an interest of mine, so I can only guess.” He mused for a moment. “Just because we think time is a past, present, and future doesn’t mean time thinks in those terms. But I trust you will not do anything foolish, chiya, and leap off your horse and dash over there, will you?”
“No, I won’t. I think I have had enough adventures already, without going into ghost Towers. But for someone who pretends not to be a metaphysician, you seem to have a pretty good grasp of the matter.” She gave a little laugh, but she did not feel merry. “Time as a matter of viewpoint reality—I studied a bit about that at University—is enough to drive you crazy, there are no reference points, nothing makes sense. Has any Aldaran seen into the past?”
“Well, now I think on it, I do know of one occurrence.” He stopped speaking and looked troubled.
“Are you going to tell me or just let me die of suspense?” She teased him, feeling the need to break the mood. She looked toward her father, riding a few lengths ahead of her, talking to Mikhail. She wondered if she would ever be able to tease Lew Alton this way, the way she had sometimes done with Ivor, the way she already did with Mik. She found she wanted to, that it was an easy way to express affection.
They had drawn closer during the time at Armida, but the habits of a lifetime kept them still somewhat formal and distant. Lew would be almost cheery at times, then fall into his usual brooding silences. Margaret knew he was very worried about Dio, and was upset that he would not talk with her about it. She remembered that Jeff had said her father had a great deal of difficulty in opening up to other people, and she knew her uncle was right. But, for all of that, she still yearned to be at ease with her formidable parent, and she found herself impatient for that closeness. She shook away her thoughts, and turned her attention to what Jeff was saying now.
“My grandfather, old Damon Ridenow, whose name I am proud to bear, entered into Timesearch during the era of the Forbidden Tower. He was successful, but it was very dangerous. You will need a great deal of training to attempt such a thing, and I hope you never will.”
I don’t want to search time—I want to go into Hali Tower, and I don’t know why. What would I do if Ashara was there? Maybe I’ve already been there and met Ashara! Maybe that was why she was so determined to overshadow me. Damn. I wish I had never seen that place, now.
“I saw it, too, Marguerida! That’s never happened to me before, and I’ve ridden along the lake hundreds of times. I hope you aren’t planning to do anything . . .”
Mikhail had seen Hali Tower? She was so stunned that she did not respond for a moment. Then she felt annoyed. Don’t you dare say “stupid,” Mikhail. I am not going to rush over there—besides, it’s gone now—but, someday, someday, I will go there. I just know it! I can feel it in my bones, and it scares me to death.
Maybe I’ll just come along with you . . . . He sounded happy—his usual playful self.
Margaret wondered what Mikhail and Lew had been talking about as they rode. I thought you wanted to run off and see the stars!
I did. I do! But Darkover seems more interesting to me these days than it used to. I can’t imagine why.
Margaret caught the subtle undertone in his words, and knew he was flirting with her. It was a very odd sensation, and she wished she had had more experience with men. There had been a couple of young men at University who had tried to get her attention, but the hidden presence of Ashara, she now knew, had made it impossible for her to do more than draw away abruptly. Most of her knowledge of flirting came from books, and it had always seemed silly and rather embarrassing to her when she read it. Now it filled her with a strange warmth and excitement. Maybe Mikhail would come to Hali Tower with her some day. Beneath his teasing tone, there was an element of seriousness. I would follow you to the ends of the world, Marguerida. Never doubt that. She had her answer now, and it thrilled her in ways she could not describe, and she had no idea what she should do about it.
25
The party came into view of Thendara the following morning, after a pleasant night at an inn. Margaret could see the tip of the great skyscraper in the Terran Sector, and it brought back memories of her uncle Rafe Scott, the old ethnologist Brigham Conover, and Ivor Davidson. She wondered if he was still in the overworld listening to music, or if he had passed beyond to some other place.
It was midday, but the sky was overcast, and a chill wind swept down from the Kilghards, across their backs. Margaret watched Jeff struggle to conceal the pain from his aching joints and a desire for a hot bath, and felt Rafaella brighten up as she rode beside her. The Renunciate had become more and more quiet the closer they came to Thendara, and also quite tense. Margaret had missed her usual cheerful chatter, but she knew that her friend was thinking of Rafe Scott, and how she would resolve whatever stood between them.
As they approached the gates of the city, Rafaella began to look eager, and her eyes sparkled. It was clear that she was looking forward to returning to Thendara House, and to seeing Captain Scott. Margaret wished her own situation was so easy to resolve, because Rafaella could choose to be a freemate, but, because of the social strictures of the comyn, if Margaret remained on Darkover, she herself could not.
“Rafaella—how is courting done on Darkover?”
“Huh?” The guide, deep in her own thoughts, looked puzzled for a second at this question. “It isn’t very much, at least not among the comyn. Even the merchants and traders arrange those matters for their own profit, not for love or romance. Oh, at balls and such there is a bit of flirting, I have heard, but we don’t have much actual courting, I think.”
“Yes. I should have guessed, what with all the marriages being what they are.” Margaret sighed. She knew what she wanted now, and she knew what Mikhail wanted as well. She knew, as well, that Gabriel Lanart and Javanne Hastur would oppose her marriage to their youngest son, and she rather doubted that her father had enough power to influence the outcome. His position was, as she understood it, extremely ambiguous, since he had given up his claim to the Alton Domain long ago. She did not know enough about Darkovan law to guess what would happen, and it was fairly pointless to speculate.
It seemed hopeless, and rather ironic. She had finally
found the man who captured her heart, and he seemed to be the one person she could not have.
As they passed beneath the wide gates of the city, Margaret looked at her father, riding ahead, lost in his own thoughts. She could tell he was very worried about Dio, and was eager to get back to her. How selfish she was being, worrying about Mikhail when Dio was sick. She was disgusted with herself.
Lew Alton had been very close-mouthed about Dio’s illness, and that made her afraid. Until she left for University, there had never been anyone she loved or trusted more than her stepmother, and so soon after Ivor’s death, the mere idea that Dio might die was unthinkable. She tried to harden herself, to make herself strong and able to face anything, but inside she wanted to crumple up and cry.
She very much wanted to talk to her father, but after that wonderful dinner at Armida when they had seemed so easy with one another, Lew had withdrawn from her again. It was not as bad as when she was a girl, but it was so reminiscent of the past that she hesitated to ask him the many questions that plagued her night and day. Her problems, right now, were unimportant beside the health of Diotima Ridenow Alton.
Margaret was used to keeping her own council, and now she realized that it was a habit she had picked up from her father, and that it was both good and bad. It made it very difficult to ask for help, to ask questions of a personal nature at all. She thought he liked Mikhail well enough, but though he had indicated that he understood her feelings about her cousin, he had showed neither approval nor disapproval. Maybe he wouldn’t like the idea any better than Javanne had or perhaps he was genuinely indifferent.
She cursed herself for a fool. Lew Alton was never indifferent. He might be a near stranger to her now, but Margaret knew that he was a strong and passionate man, who did what he did for what he believed were good reasons. She would just have to depend on him to be her advocate—he owed her that at least—and stop fussing over things she could not control. She gritted her teeth. It was so hard to trust him, or anyone, it seemed.