Margaret closed her burning eyes against the light, but she heard talking on the other side of the room. There seemed to be a great many birds just outside the window, and all of them were chattering at the top of their voices. She wanted to tell them to be quiet, but she couldn’t even summon up the energy.
After a time, she opened her eyes again and found both Istvana and Rafaella bent over her, hovering above her like anxious angels. She had no idea how long they had been there, because she had been trying not to listen to the birds, and the rustle of the wind against the stones of the castle, which gave her the shivers.
“We found your medkit,” Rafaella told her.
“Patch,” she repeated. Her tongue seemed a little less leaden now, and she supposed the effect of the numbweed was wearing off. They could have been bending over her for hours, and she would not have known.
“What does she mean,” the guide asked Istvana? “There are not scraps of cloth in it. Unless she means these gauze things?”
Marguerida! Tell me what you mean! She sensed the urgency in Istvana’s unspoken words, but she shrank back from the contact.
Don’t get in my mind!
I will leave you alone as soon as you tell me what you want from this kit!
Margaret flogged her brain, and pictured the familiar contents of the medkit. It was standard issue for all Terrans when traveling. She had completely forgotten about it, which was stupid, since it contained a variety of antibiotics, dressings, bandages, and even a foam-splint that could be used to set a broken limb. She could sense Istvana observing her mental images without real intrusion. It was almost as if the leronis were standing some distance away, watching her mind without making her want to scream with fresh terror.
Most of the medicines were in the form of small squares which were intended to be applied to the skin, the same way hyperdrome was administered for space flight. One of these was a euphoric which would, she knew, ease pain and bring a deep and dreamless sleep. She did not want to sleep, but she knew that if she didn’t soon, she was going to die. So she pictured the patch, and the lettering on it, and then showed it placed on her arm. The effort was exhausting, and she felt her brow bead with sweat in the effort, but she decided it was worth it.
There was the sound of the contents of the kit being sorted through, with occasional mutterings from Istvana and questions from Rafaella. Margaret was not able to follow this conversation, because the terror was creeping back, and it was all she could do not to scream and thrash around. She held her body still, telling herself that soon she would feel different, if not better.
“Ah, here it is. I have never before regretted that I do not read the Terranan script, but this is what she pictured.”
“But, domna, she is so confused! What if it is something deadly, some poison?”
“The image is very clear, Rafaella. Now, what do I do with it? Ah, I see—what a clever thing this is.”
“What is it?” There was a sound of plastic being torn.
“From what I was able to gather from Marguerida’s mind, this little thing contains a drug of some sort which enters the blood through the skin—which is very useful when one cannot keep anything down. See, it is sticky on one side, which goes onto the arm, thusly.” Istvana sounded extremely pleased, and relieved as well.
Margaret felt the patch being pressed against her skin very tenderly, and she winced a little. Then she waited.
First her arm seemed to become numb, then her hands and shoulders, and after what seemed like an eternity, the rest of her body. The ever-present terror began to fade, to recede into some mental distance, and she fell into soft and blessed sleep.
Wakefulness came suddenly. One moment she was floating in whiteness, and the next she was in the bed. Margaret’s eyes opened, and she stared at the hangings. It was very quiet in the room, with only the flutter of the hearth making a soft and pleasing sound. Her first thought was that she didn’t hurt, and her second was that she was very thirsty.
The room seemed very dim, and she decided it must be night. What night she could not say, for she had no sense of how much time had passed during her illness. It didn’t seem to be very important. Nothing was important except not being a mass of pain. And fear.
The thought of that made her yelp, and brought the sound of footsteps across the room. Istvana Ridenow emerged from the shadows around the great bed, looking worn. In the dim light, her family resemblence to Diotima was much greater, and Margaret’s heart lurched. She hadn’t known until that moment how much she wanted her stepmother.
“Thirsty,” was all she said. She wanted to say more, but her throat was too dry.
Istvana laid a small hand over Margaret’s brow, a gesture so like Dio’s that Margaret wanted to cry. Indeed, tears filled her eyes, as the leronis bent forward and helped her to sit up. Then Istvana held a cup against her lips, and she drank a mouthful, then another.
“Not too much at first. Yes, yes, I know. You want to drink the Kadarin dry. What? You shuddered all over.”
Kadarin!
Istvana flinched in spite of herself. “You needn’t shout, chiya. And it was not kind of me to use that river, I realize. I confess I am not at my best just now. There, lean back, and I will give you more water in a few minutes, when we are sure this will stay in your belly. Your fever is gone, thank goodness, and your eyes are clear enough. You have given us quite a time.”
“Sorry.” Her brain didn’t feel up to making long sentences, though she understood Istvana well enough.
“There is no need to be sorry, for you certainly did not do it to trouble us. I think you are past the worst of it, though you may have a small relapse before you are done.”
“No!”
“You are as willful as your father, which is good. I think you would have died if you had been otherwise.” She patted Margaret’s hand. “I cannot say how grateful I am that you managed to remember your med-kit, and to show me what you needed from it. That patch thing turned the tide. I think a bit more liquid is in order now.
Margaret realized how weak she was, when the effort of swallowing left her feeling limp. But she could feel the water soothing her throat, and her body seemed to enjoy it. Although she knew it was impossible, she imagined she could feel her individual cells drinking up the fluid, or whatever cells did.
Istvana kept up a small flow of chatter while she continued to give Margaret more water, a bit at a time, until she found her thirst was quenched. She barely heard what the leronis said, concentrating her mind on her body.
She could feel the terror still lurking, ready to leap out and envelop her. If only she was not so weak. How could she fight against her fears now? “Ashara!”
Istvana gave her a long look. “She is gone.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Yes, you are, and you will be for some time to come. I will not pretend otherwise. But right now you need to get your strength back. I have some strong chicken tea, and I am going to get you a cup now.”
You can’t make tea from a chicken!
Tell that to the chicken.
Margaret didn’t remember falling asleep after the tea, but she did, and woke again, refreshed and untroubled. It was daylight now, and by the slant of the sun, afternoon. She felt fretful, restless to get up, and too weak to do it.
Rafaella was sitting on a chair beside the bed. She looked tired, but she smiled at Margaret. “Well, lazy bones, how are you?”
“I think I am hungry.”
“Domna Istvana said you would be. Oh, Marguerida! You gave me such a scare. I have never felt so helpless in my life.” The brows of the Renunciate drew together, making deep lines between them, and the corners of her mouth turned down.
“Me either,” Margaret answered. “But I am fine now. Stop frowning! It makes you look like a dried fruit, and Rafe . . .” She stopped abruptly, and felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment.
Rafaella’s face mirrored her own, red with blush. “What do you know about him?
”
“I didn’t mean to pry, really. It’s just that a couple of times I sort of heard you thinking about him, and since he is my uncle, I knew who you were thinking about.”
“Your uncle! Well, of course. Why didn’t I make the connection?” She almost jumped out of the chair and bustled away from the bed, muttering to herself almost happily. When she came back, she had a bowl of soup and a slice of bread on a tray. “I try not to think about him much, but it doesn’t seem like I do a very good job of it.” She put the tray across Margaret’s lap, then started feeding her like a baby. The inclination to protest was drowned in the first mouthful, and Margaret decided she wasn’t up to feeding herself yet. “It doesn’t matter, for likely nothing will come of it.”
Margaret swallowed her mouthful. “Why not? If you like him and he likes you—what’s the problem? You could be freemates, couldn’t you?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t gotten that far yet,” Rafaella said doubtfully.
The door of the bedroom opened, and they both started, and looked at one another, as if they had been interrupted at something unseemly. Rafaella’s expression was so peculiar that Margaret almost choked on her soup, holding in her laughter. Ouch! Her ribs were very sore, and laughing hurt.
Istvana Ridenow approached the bed, her face serene and almost rested. She smiled and bent over Margaret from the other side of the bed, peering at her eyes, and brushing her forehead with a swift stroke. “So, chiya, you are awake again. How do you feel?”
“Pretty well, everything considered. I would like a bath as soon as possible! I know I would feel much better clean!”
“We’ll see,” the leronis answered. When she saw Margaret’s scowl, she added, “Perhaps late this afternoon. I don’t want to have you having a relapse from trying to do too much too soon. You have been a lot sicker than you can imagine.”
“Maybe. It is just that I have never been very good at doing nothing. And I think I have slept enough to stay awake for weeks now.” I still don’t want to sleep, do I? Who was Ashara?
“Rafaella, I will take over here. You go get some rest.”
“Yes, domna.”
“I don’t think I can eat any more right now,” Margaret told Rafaella. The guide removed the tray, and she left the room quietly.
When she was gone, Istvana took the chair beside the bed, and looked at Margaret for a long time. “You have a great many questions, some of which I can answer, and many of which I cannot. But I think you need to know as much as is possible.”
“This isn’t going to be another time when I just get bits and pieces, and no real information is it? Because, if that is what you are going to do, I will probably go into a high fever again!”
“Ah, threats. A sure sign of recovery.” The leronis looked almost pleased. “I shall try to answer your questions, but the problem is that I may not always know the answer. You see, there was a time in the history of Darkover which our historians call the Ages of Chaos, and properly so. We have lost many records of that time, because of the wars that occurred, and some of the tales we have are closer to myth than to history. It is hard to tell which is which, you see.
“That is true on many planets, Istvana. I’ve heard a lot of stories during my travels, where some perfectly human fellow has gotten turned into the sun god because he did some remarkable things, some things that didn’t seem possible for a mere mortal.”
“Forgive me. I keep forgetting that you are educated in a way I cannot comprehend. Very well. I will tell you what I know about Ashara Alton—and it isn’t much!”
“Alton? You mean she was some sort of ancestor of mine?” For some reason, Margaret did not like that at all.
“You are certainly descended from members of her family, but since Ashara was a Keeper, you are not related to her directly.”
“Why not?”
“At the time when she lived, Keepers did not marry or have children. It was thought that virginity was necessary for the job. It was not until recently that this was disproved, and the disproving of it was a painful episode in our history.” Istvana seemed troubled, as if the memory of those times disturbed her.
“But I thought that in order to preserve these Gifts, women had to marry and have children, or at least have children.”
“That was certainly the rule, but Keepers were the exception to that rule.” Istvana cleared her throat. “Ashara Alton was the Keeper at Hali, which was at the time the principal tower of Darkover, and, by all accounts, she was the most powerful leronis of her time, or any other. Now, under normal circumstances, a Keeper remains in her Tower for life. Even when they are old, and no longer quite in their correct minds, they stay in the confines of the Tower. But Ashara did not remain at Hali. I do not know the details—no one does. But she was expelled from Hali.”
“Just a second! If she was so powerful, how did they make her leave?”
“Marguerida, I just don’t know. My guess is that she was dislodged by the concentrated effort of several telepaths—but that is only a guess. What records existed were destroyed, and all we have are a few tales and fragments of stories. I do know that they did not kill her, because we know that she retired to Thendara, and became a recluse in a tower of her own construction. It was when they were just starting to build Comyn Castle—not the one you have visited, but an earlier building which is concealed within it today.”
“The Maze!”
“What?” Istvana looked quite startled.
“When Captain Scott took me to see Regis Hastur, and we came into the courtyard of Comyn Castle, I felt as if I could ‘see’ a pattern of . . . well, light is the best description, running through the building. There were places where it ran into walls, but the light just went on. I thought I was crazy at the time. And on one side there was this tall tower that gave me the creeps, and the light seemed to start there. All I can say for certain is that at that moment, I think I could have found my way around the castle blindfolded—if I could have walked through a few walls.”
“I see. Well, there is indeed a legend that some sort of labyrinth exists within Comyn Castle, though I never heard of anyone who knew what it looked like.”
“If this . . . ancestor of mine was there when the first castle was being built, and she was as powerful as you say, then maybe . . . could she have influenced the architects?” Margaret could feel her terror, hut it was a distant emotion, because she was intensely interested in the story. It was all in the past, and the past was safe. No, it wasn’t! She felt her agitation start again, and swallowed hard.
Istvana gave a laugh that lacked any merriment, a sound of discomfort. “With the Alton Gift, chiya, influencing others is not difficult. It is the nature of forced rapport to be able to do so. And what little we do know about Ashara Alton is that she never hesitated to use the Gift as she wished.”
“So, what happened to her?”
“Being mortal, she eventually died. Her body, that is. The rest of her lingered in her tower in Thendara, and we know that she overshadowed several Keepers from time to time.”
“Overshadowed? I’ve heard that word several times, but I am not sure exactly what it means.” This was not entirely true, because Margaret had a very good idea what was meant, and she did not like it. But her scholar self had taken over now, and she wanted data, hard data, if she could get it.
“It is difficult to describe, but it means that the personality of one person is shoved down, bottled up, you could say, and dominated by that of another.”
“Is that what she did to me?”
“Yes, it is, though why I cannot imagine. You were only a child!”
“How evil! I am glad I . . . killed her!” Margaret’s breath was coming in little pants, and Istvana looked alarmed. She reached out and touched Margaret’s right hand, and calm started to return. Dio had done that sometimes, just touched her and made her fears go still. It must be some empathic skill. “Can Keepers see the future?”
“What a peculiar question.
There are those who can, but it is not an Alton attribute. Why do you ask?”
“It might be nothing, but I had a dream or something, and I could swear I heard her voice saying that she would not let me destroy her—as if she knew I was coming or something. Probably just my imagination again. I mean, it was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”
“Hundreds of years, Marguerida.” Istvana thought for a moment. “There is mention of a handmaiden who came from Hali with her, of the Aldaran line, and their Gift is foretelling.”
“But she is gone forever now, isn’t she?” Margaret found she was desperate for reassurance, that she was afraid that Ashara would somehow return and seize her again.
“She has not existed in the material world for centuries, Marguerida, but only in the overworld. And when you took the stone from her Tower there, you destroyed the place where her spirit dwelt. She cannot hurt you any longer. But I do wonder how much of her memory remains with you.”
“I wish I could believe you, that she was gone for good. And for the other, I can’t say. I don’t have any way to sort out my own memories from hers, if I have them. At least, right now, when I think about it, I don’t have any, so I am going to assume that I don’t. But, there is something else. When you mentioned Kadarin—that’s a river, isn’t it—I got very scared. It was a different scared than from Ashara. Why is that?”
“Robert Kadarin was part of the Sharra Rebellion, and was the lover of your mother,” Istvana replied, her mobile mouth pinching.
“What did he look like?”
“He was quite tall, I understand, and had hair of silver, and shining eyes.
“Ah—so that’s it!” She felt a great relief. “He is dead, isn’t he?” Margaret hoped he was.
“Yes, he is. But why does it upset you?”
“He was always there in my dreams, with her, Thyra, and there was something unnatural about him. He was like some nightmare, because he seemed kind to me, as if he cared, but there was also a way in which he used me! He took me to the orphanage . . .”