Marguerida said, “It is one in which I would gladly include you, child. Now that we are all gathered, we can begin.”
The meal, served by a pair of servants Domenic had known all his life, began with mushroom soup, fragrant with herbs, followed by savory onion and cheese tarts, crusty nut bread, and fruit compote topped with clotted cream. After the first bite, no one spoke much. Domenic had not realized until that moment how hungry he was.
“I’ve always been amazed at how much laran energy you burn under those telepathic dampers,” Marguerida said, just as if he’d spoken aloud. “Pass the bread, Yllanna dear.”
“I wondered about that, too.” Alanna picked up the basket at her elbow and offered it to Yllana. Yllana, looking puzzled at this act of courtesy, handed it to her mother.
“Is it true for normal—I mean people without laran—as well?” Alanna asked.
“I shouldn’t think so,” Mikhail said.
“Even when we are not speaking mind to mind, we are always in some degree of rapport with one another,” Lew explained. “Our laran creates a web that binds us together. What touches one affects us all. It is not possible,” he said directly to Alanna, “for any sorrow to be truly private.”
“That is why we must be especially polite to one another,” Alanna said with a trace of diffidence in her voice, as if asking for his approval. “Because we all need something—some place within ourselves—that is ours alone.”
“Exactly,” Mikhail said, smiling at her in approval.
Marguerida sighed. “Sometimes, I fear, that lesson takes a lifetime to learn.”
Lew reached out to brush her wrist with his single hand. “We have all the time we need to do all the things we must. Not one minute more, not one minute less.”
Domenic rubbed his temples, which had begun to throb. “I don’t understand any of this. Grandfather Lew is leaving tomorrow and Alanna’s going who knows where, Yllana’s off to Aldaran again, Mother is to return to a Tower, even if it is in our back yard, and here you sit, talking philosophy!”
His words sounded peevish to his own ears, but no one laughed at him. Instead, Marguerida answered seriously.
“I know this will come as a surprise to you, Nico. It certainly did to me. I am feeling—I supposed the correct word is relieved—to have this whole matter done with. You see, in some part of my mind, I knew it was wrong to use the Alton Gift to control other people. When I was only a small child, I was overshadowed by that horrible old witch, Ashara. It took all my will and strength, not to mention a good deal of rescuing by Mikhail, to finally get her out of my mind. You would think, wouldn’t you, that I would be the last person to use my laran on anyone else?”
Domenic stared at her, horror-struck. “Are you saying you have been overshadowing someone?”
“No, of course not!”
“Don’t be silly, Domenic,” Alanna said. “Auntie Marguerida would never do anything so vile. She may be bossy, but it’s only because she loves us.”
Something in Alanna’s tone, so like her old impertinence, made Domenic want to laugh. The tension in the air evaporated. Even Yllana, who had endured a great deal of Alanna’s bad temper, relaxed.
“No,” Marguerida said, more slowly, “what I mean is that I may have been born here, but I was raised off-world. I never received the intensive training in laran that I would have here on Darkover. When I was surprised or frightened or sometimes just too tired to think straight, I reacted without thinking. I used the Alton Gift.”
She paused, her golden eyes thoughtful. “In ordinary matters, I believe I manage my temper well enough. But the Alton Gift, because of its lethal potential, demands more than ordinary control. I’m looking forward to learning how to trust myself completely with it.”
“So, you’re not unhappy about having to study with Lady Linnea?” Domenic asked.
“Not at all. She’s always been kind to me, and it will be fun learning from her,” Marguerida said. “She’s like me, a woman who had a career, and a very important one, and then gave it up for husband and family. Now she has returned to the work she was trained for, but in new and exciting ways. She not only helped to create the Keepers Council, she will have a Tower of her own, one that has not functioned for years!”
“I think you will understand one another very well,” Mikhail said. “Linnea knows the pressures a woman of the Comyn must face. I suspect you will find in her a friend and ally, as well as a teacher.”
Domenic turned to Alanna. She had been listening quietly to most of the conversation, her face reflecting her understanding. Mirrored in her eyes, he saw her own hopes, that she might find the strength to live with her visions, a purpose for her life, a use for her talents.
“Now, I suppose it is my turn,” she said, looking up at him with a new straightforwardness. “Domenic, we could never have made each other happy. At least, I could not have made you happy, and no man alive could have done for me what I needed to do for myself. To grow up.”
She glanced at Lew, and again Domenic was struck by her obvious admiration for the old man.
“All my life,” she explained, “I have gotten what I wanted by throwing childish tantrums. I behaved especially badly to you, Auntie Marguerida, and to you, my foster-sister, Yllana. No one took me seriously because I did not deserve their respect.”
Alanna turned back to Domenic. “I could not understand why, when you were so clearly in love with Illona, you were still willing to marry me. The only reason that made sense was that you were too honorable to do otherwise. But as I felt the serum working in me, another thought came to me. You did not want me to die—you cared about me.”
“Of course I did,” he said. “I always have.”
“If you cared,” she went on, “then there must be something in me worth caring about. Something beyond bad temper and selfish behavior. It was then, I think, that I started paying attention to my other visions, the good ones.”
She paused, her eyes shining. “Yes, mixed in among the city of the dead, the explosions in the sky, the fires and floods, I saw things of beauty. I saw myself standing on a balcony overlooking a valley filled with flowering trees, and their perfume rose up to fill me, and I was laughing. I saw myself cradled in a circle of light, made up of people who knew me and loved me. I…well, never mind. Nowhere did I see myself with you. So I went to Illona and asked her advice.”
“To Illona?”
“She, too, was once terrified of being sent to a Tower,” Mikhail pointed out.
“Remember when you discovered her among the Travelers?” Marguerida said. “She’d heard nothing but horror stories about ‘the witches of the Towers.’ And look where she ended up—under-Keeper at Nevarsin, and now at Comyn Tower.”
“Here? At Comyn Tower?” In a moment of wild confusion, Domenic wondered if he were still asleep and dreaming this entire conversation.
Illona was to stay in Thendara!
“I believe I said that,” Marguerida said. “Didn’t she tell you?”
He shook his head. “She was called away…to talk to Domna Linnea.”
Yllana giggled at him. “You goose! Couldn’t you guess why?”
When Lew smiled, it seemed to Domenic that the old scars on his face faded into crinkles of delight.
Of course. Now it was all beginning to make sense.
“So where will you go?” Domenic asked Alanna, trying to distract his thoughts from dizzying conclusions.
“To Nevarsin Tower. It’s a fair journey, but I believe the separation from home will be good for me.” She gave Lew a shy smile. “I will still have you as my teacher.”
“Poor Darius-Mikhail,” Marguerida sighed. “How he will miss you.”
Alanna lifted her chin. “There is nothing to miss. We have not exchanged more than a dozen sentences. All he can know of me is a pretty face, and when I marry—if I marry—I want to be valued for more than that!”
For a long moment, there did not seem to be anything more to say. They a
ll looked at one another with expressions of satisfaction.
The servants returned with a pitcher of Terran coffee. Its distinctive aroma filled the air. Sighing in contentment, Marguerida poured it out for everyone.
At the first sip, a grin stretched Lew’s scarred features. “Wherever did you get this, Marja?”
“Jeram has connections it’s best not to question too closely,” she said.
“Then there’s only one thing to do,” Domenic said, lifting his own cup, “and that is to tell you all how much I love you and to wish everyone the blessings of the gods, wherever they may go. Adelandeyo.”
“Yes, indeed,” Marguerida said, laughing. “I’ll drink to that.”
EPILOGUE
The first winter snows fell gently upon Thendara. At first the flakes melted as they touched the ground. By morning, however, white draped the roofs and piled in drifts along the streets. Children darted through the marketplaces, where farmers were still bringing in late-harvest sweet gourds and bushels of oats, hazelnuts, and hearty rye.
Snug and warm behind the walls of Comyn Castle, Danilo lingered over breakfast in his sitting room with Linnea. It had become their custom once or twice a tenday, after her night’s work in the newly constituted circle of Comyn Tower. He had been concerned about her at first, to take up such a demanding post at her age.
“Do not trouble yourself for me,” Linnea said. “Instead, be happy that I am once again doing the work I was trained for. I did not have to give up marriage or children”—or love, as we both well know—“the way Keepers trained in the old tradition were forced to. Look at Illona and how well she balances her own work as under-Keeper and her relationship with Domenic.”
Domenic and Illona had been quietly discreet about their relationship, and Illona was so respected that no one would have dared to call her a barragana. In fact, the winter court had taken to referring to her as his leronis-consort.
“I have never seen him so happy, either,” Danilo said.
She laughed. “It seems there is no end to goodness!”
Some good things end.
A pang of loss brushed his heart, sweet and bitter. In the very edge of his vision, he caught the brightness in her eyes as well.
Linnea picked up her thick knitted shawl, a gift from Marguerida. She yawned, covering her mouth with one delicate hand. “I fear there is one way in which I do show my age, and that is I no longer have the stamina for staying awake past my bedtime.”
“Rest well, then,” he said, getting to his feet. “Come again when you will.”
Linnea paused, one hand on the latch of his door. “It is good to speak with an old and dear friend. For all our differences, there is even more we have shared, and those memories now form a tapestry of life between us. We have both loved and been greatly loved in our turn, and for one lifetime, that is enough.”
Thendara. Once Jeram had never wanted to see it again, and now it would very likely be his home for the rest of his life.
He reined his sturdy gray mountain pony to a halt at the crest of the pass, letting the beast catch its breath while the wagon bearing Morna and their household goods caught up. He wanted to see her face when she looked down at Thendara’s walls and spires. She’d never been to any city larger than Nevarsin and had never seen anything like the Terran Zone. He felt as if he were seeing the world anew through the lens of her delight.
The edifices of metal and glass, now showing the effects of decades of harsh Darkovan winters, faced the beautiful old stone towers of Comyn Castle. Another place, he thought, he once never wanted to see again.
“What do you think?” He turned in his saddle.
Her mouth made an O of surprise. “Who would have thought there could be so many people in one place? Are we truly to live here?”
At first she had not believed his story, not to mention his adventures since leaving for Nevarsin. In the end, however, she relented. No sane man, she said, could have made up such a tale. She did not care where he had come from or where he proposed to go. Like everyone else in her mountain village, loyalty and adaptability had been bred into her bones.
Jeram was happier than he could express that she had chosen to come with him. Their relationship had begun with shared comfort, a way to ease their loneliness, or so he had thought. When he had returned to Rock Glen at the close of the Council season, his heart had opened to her. Or perhaps he had discovered that he already loved her for her generous spirit, her honesty, her simple acceptance. He could face his new life in Thendara with confidence because she was at his side.
It began snowing again as they approached the Thendara gates. Only a few traces remained of the old encampment. Ulm and his son had long since returned to their own village with a line of chervines laden with seed stock, some precious metal tools, fine woolen cloth, and leather—riches enough to ensure a good life for years to come.
The Guardsmen at the gates recognized Jeram by name if not by face and admitted him with an almost embarrassing degree of courtesy. They made their way through the maze of cobbled streets to the old Terran Trade Zone, where Jeram had, with Marguerida’s help, purchased a walled compound with a comfortable house, kitchen garden, and stabling for a couple of animals.
Morna’s expression showed that he had guessed rightly at what would please her. A ball or a banquet at the Castle would be all very well for a treat, but she would derive far more joy from her own plot of herbs and vegetables beside her own house. Two servants, a married couple, greeted them at the front door and began unloading the cart and caring for the ponies. A fire burned merrily in the central room, and the aromas of fresh-baked nut bread and herb-laced stew hung lightly on the air.
Morna flew from one room to the next, exclaiming at the spacious kitchen, the chests filled with bed linens and blankets, the furnishings, the wide bed with its beautifully carved headboard.
“’Tis big enough for a Dry Towns lord and all his wives!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, we must take care not to get lost in it,” he laughed. Perhaps life in Thendara, in a home that blended Darkovan and off-world, might not be so bad. With Morna, he need never hide who he had been or pretend to be other than he was.
“Tomorrow or the next day, when you have rearranged everything to your satisfaction—” he began, sitting on the bed.
“Oh, surely it will take longer than that!” Slipping onto his lap, Morna put her arms around his neck. Her eyes gleamed.
He kissed her tenderly. “We must get you some city clothes. My friend Ethan comes from a tailoring family on Threadneedle Street.”
“What would I do with such finery? Am I not well as I am, a simple country woman?”
Jeram shook his head, half in disbelief. What other woman would not jump at the chance for a new gown?
“You are exactly perfect,” he told her, smiling, “but do it to please me, as a favor to my friend. Ethan is a proud man—all you Darkovans are—proud and stubborn. It would be a generous gift on your part to allow him to do this for me.”
Morna frowned. “Yes, you talked about your work here, but I did not understand it. You will be teaching your Terranan ways to this man, Ethan? Why, if they have gone?”
“They will not stay gone forever.” Jeram set her aside and walked over to the window. The bedroom was on the second story, and from here, he could look over the wall of their compound toward the old spaceport. It lay empty now, but for how long?
How long before the Federation’s vicious civil war reached Darkover? How long before one side or another wanted the strategic advantage of Darkover’s position on the galactic arm? Or some bureaucrat discovered a forgotten record about matrix science? How long before some band of refugees or smugglers decided the planet of the Bloody Sun was easy prey?
Jeram had not saved Darkover from trailmen’s fever only to lose it to politicians or scavengers. His knowledge and skills ran beyond immunization protocols. He knew war, he knew men, and he knew communications equipment.
 
; Morna stood beside him, soft and sturdy and loving. He put his arm around her, drawing her close.
“Not forever,” he repeated, “but we will be ready for them.” Starting with Ethan and his friends, perhaps working with the laran-trained youngsters Danilo would enlist, he would begin searching the skies, listening…and preparing a defense.
Let them come, he repeated to himself. Darkover will be ready.
Marion Zimmer Bradley, The Alton Gift
(Series: Darkover # 38)
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