Exile''s Song

  He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and started to sing.

  “0, my father was the Keeper of the Arilinn Tower He seduced a chieri with a kireseth flower From this union there were three Two were Comyn and the other was me . . .

  He had a good voice, untrained but strong and deep, and Margaret was grateful to him for distracting everyone from the mention of her mother. It was clear from Javanne’s expression that this was not to be talked about! That was fine with Margaret, because she had no wish to discuss Thyra either. Why had she mentioned the haunted ryll at all?

  Liriel chuckled. “You are behind the times, brother. That is not forbidden, just in terrible taste. I learned that song myself, within the walls of Arilinn when I trained there.” She glanced at Jeff. “I suppose you did also, cousin.”

  “Of course! We have begun to learn to laugh at ourselves, and that is a very healthy thing.”

  “Did your father ever sing that one for you, Marguerida? He is remembered at Arilinn as one of the best technicians ever, as I know to my regret.” Liriel made a face. “It is very depressing always to be compared to someone you never even knew.”

  “No, not a note. The Senator was too busy with his duties to tell me anything,” she said, dissembling slightly. As for Arilinn Tower, or any other, the very thought of them gave her the creeps after her adventure in the Tower of Mirrors. “In fact I never knew he was trained in a Tower until recently.” He failed to inform me on a number of matters, and I am looking forward to taking him to task—soon, I hope!

  “He never told you . . .” Liriel looked shocked and angered, much as Istvana Ridenow had. “Do you mean to tell me you have been walking around for all these years with the Alton Gift, with laran almost dribbling out your ears, if I may be so blunt, and . . .”

  “I don’t mean to tell you anything,” Margaret snapped. It was her business to criticize Lew Alton, not that of people who had never even met him! This reaction surprised her, because Margaret had not known until that moment that in spite of rejection and abandonment, in spite of everything, she had a deep, abiding loyalty to her father. If only she had the affection to go with it, she thought, she might be completely content.

  “Forgive me, cousin. I have the Alton lack of tact,” Liriel said, and Margaret knew she was sincere. She liked Liriel more for being able to admit a fault, and decided that tact was largely absent at Armida, that a stiff politeness was used because everyone was both volatile and blunt to a fault. Both Dom Gabriel and Javanne looked to be the sort of people who spoke their minds, no matter whose feelings got injured.

  “It is a little close in here, isn’t it,” Javanne announced suddenly, as if she wanted to steer the subject away from Lew Alton quickly. “You look a trifle warm, Marja. Rafael, why don’t you show your cousin the fragrance garden?”

  This suggestion was met with a sullen look from the middle son, and a twinkling glance from Mikhail. “Of course, Mother. You may need a wrap—it is quite cool outside.”

  Margaret rose so quickly there was no time for Jeff to help her with her chair. “That sounds delightful.” She wanted to get out of the room, with or without a shawl. Rafaella grinned at her, and Margaret nodded back. She could depend on Rafaella to keep her in a good mood.

  A servant produced a finely-embroidered wrap, and Rafael took her down a hall and out into the clouded night. There was the smell of rain yet unfallen in the air, and then a scent that almost overpowered the senses.

  “I am so used to seeing the stars,” she said in the darkness, aware of her cousin’s nearness, “that I do not know if I could ever get used to so many clouds all the time.”

  “I’ve heard Terranan say that before. What shall I call you—cousin or Marguerida, or Marja?”

  “Anything you wish, but I think I am rather too old for Marja. Cousin seems safe, doesn’t it.”

  “Very well.” He seemed at some loss for words.

  “What is that ravishing smell?” Margaret drew the shawl around her.

  “This is Mother’s fragrance garden. Many years ago, before the Terranan came to Darkover, there was a Keeper at Arilinn who was blind. She made herself a garden of all sweet-smelling things, both those which smell by day and by night, for it was always night for Fiora, and Mother liked it so much, when she was training there, that she made one for herself.”

  “It is very wonderful.” The clouds parted, and one of the moons gleamed. “I would like to see all four moons in the sky at once.” Some faint memory rose in her mind, and she could hear her father and Dio laughing about things which happened beneath four moons. From her present adult perspective, the tone of their words was so clearly sexual that she knew that she had probably said something regrettable. To conceal her discomfort she continued, “I suppose it is a rare astronomical occurrence.”

  “Yes.” He shifted his weight back and forth. “We on Darkover do not talk about it . . . damn! We didn’t come out here to talk about the weather or the moons or if the rain will hurt the grain crop!”

  “Yes, I know.” Margaret sensed his discomfort, but could not think of any way to lessen it.

  Rafael took a long breath and exhaled mightily, like a man under a heavy burden. “Mother isn’t very subtle, is she?”

  “No. But I would have thought . . .”

  “Cousin, I am unmarried and healthy,” Rafael interrupted, as if he had to keep talking. “Therefore I am free, and I would count it a great honor if you would reunite the branches of our family by marrying me.”

  Margaret stared at him. “You cannot mean that,” she said. “We never set eyes on each other till this afternoon.”

  “On Darkover that is not important. Mother and Father married the day after they met. It would be a good thing and . . .” His voice faltered.

  Margaret said forthrightly, “I wouldn’t even think of marrying you. I don’t care what the customs are. Marriage is too important a decision to be made by people other than the ones who are going to get married.” And the way your parents mistreat doors does not speak well for not meeting until the day before the wedding!

  No, it doesn’t! Rafael laughed, a little uneasily and said, “Thank you very much. I did promise my mother I would try. I don’t think it would be so terrible, but you are . . . rather strongwilled, like my mother, and I suspect that would not suit me. Can we be friends?”

  “Your mother is a very interfering woman,” Margaret answered severely, liking Rafael for his honesty, and resenting her new aunt more by the second.

  “Perhaps. She does her duty as she sees it. And she really does want to see the Altons one family again.”

  “She will have to manage that without me. It is getting cold. Let’s go back in—or do you want to escape without facing the music?”

  “It doesn’t matter. One look at your face, and she will know you refused me.”

  “Then I think I will go right to my room! I really don’t have the energy for another hour of watching my words, or my face!”

  “As you wish, cousin.”

  18

  Margaret woke at first light and rolled over in the huge bed. The soft, steady sound of Rafaella’s snoring from the trundle bed was a soothing, normal noise, and she rather wondered how she could sleep without it. That made her laugh silently. She could hardly take the Renunciate off Darkover. What a thought! She wondered how Rafaella would behave, and decided she was adaptable enough to cope with almost anything. How had they become so close, so quickly? She was not sure, but she certainly liked having a woman nearby she could trust, and felt safe with. Unlike her new relatives, who made her feel threatened despite their clearly good intentions. And, if by chance she actually became freemate to Captain Rafe Scott, then she would be Margaret’s aunt! That was too much, and she laughed aloud. She rather hoped they would, just so that she could enjoy the absurdity of the situation. At least they would be happy.

  Margaret contrasted Rafaella with the Alton clan, and decided that the difference was that the Renunciate had
no plans or ambitions for her. There was nothing she wanted from Margaret, and that made her safe. She found herself feeling mildly lost, and sternly told herself not to get into a mood.

  She stared at the ceiling and noticed a large dark spot in one corner. It was moist, though not dripping. Evidently the leak which Liriel had spoken of had not been tended to. Margaret started to get slightly angry. Her uncle Gabriel was so busy minding other people’s business he had let Armida fall into disrepair. Her house! No, not her house—but she still felt a kind of attachment. How annoying! The vehemence of her thought startled her, and she exclaimed, “Damn!”

  “Burrf? Huh? What?”

  “Oh, Rafaella, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.

  “No matter. My bladder would have gotten me up soon enough.” She pushed her covers away, got out of the trundle bed, and left the room. When she returned a few minutes later, Margaret was sitting on the side of the bed, trying to sort out her feelings. She wriggled her bare toes in the chilly morning air and coiled a strand of hair around one finger.

  “Are you thinking or brooding,” Rafaella asked.

  “Both, I suppose. Rafael asked me to marry him, while we were in the garden last night, and I expect that sometime today young Gabriel will do likewise.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him no, of course. What did you think I would say?”

  “He wouldn’t be the worst husband in the world, and I thought maybe you would take him as the least of several evils.” Rafaella laughed. “Ever since you mentioned Rafe Scott, back at Ardais, I have been thinking that I could have a freemate, if I wanted one,” she went on. And perhaps I do. “I never really considered it until now. I don’t know if it would work. But you would have to marry di catenas, and I don’t know if you could abide that.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “Did you notice that heavy bracelet that Javanne wears? And the one that Lady Ariel has?”

  “I did notice Javanne’s, but not Ariel’s. Why?”

  “That was placed on her arm when she married Dom Gabriel, and it will never be removed, not even in death. He wears one, too, but it is smaller, and you don’t notice it, because on men it is usually hidden by their sleeves. Di catenas is forever, and it is how the Comyn marry. It means a woman belongs to a man, not to herself.”

  Margaret scowled. “So Dom Gabriel can go around fathering nedestro sons all over the landscape—though frankly I have a lot of trouble imagining that—but Lady Javanne has to be a good little wife and keep her skirts down?”

  The Renunciate roared, and her laughter seemed to bounce off the roof beams and brighten the entire room. “That is pretty close,” she added when she finally got her breath back.

  “No, I don’t think that would suit me one bit. My father and Dio are very married and, as far as I know, faithful to one another, but Dio never belonged to anyone but herself. How can a woman ‘belong’ to a man? She isn’t property, like lands and horses.”

  “But she is, almost. A lot of women in the Comyn, and the other classes, for that matter, are just property, just for making sons. That is one of the reasons why the Renunciate’s Oath forbids any form of marriage except that of freemates—because we do not wish to be some man’s property.”

  “Oh. Well, that has nothing to do with me. You are quite right. I could not abide being some fellow’s brood mare. Speaking of mares, I wonder if I will get a chance to ride that dark gray, Dorilys, while I am here.” She changed the subject because she was extremely uncomfortable with talk of marriage. It seemed to loom over her, like a closet-monster, waiting to leap out and grab her by the throat. The sense of chill which had been absent for several days returned, and she felt an echo of Ashara which made the average closet-monster seem quite nice by comparison. Even with all Istvana’s assurances that she had bested the shade of the ancient Keeper, she was not certain that the manipulations of Ashara were not influencing her in some fashion, and she hated it.

  “Marguerida, if you remain on Darkover, you will be married, whether you wish it or not. And changing the subject won’t change the circumstances! Really, for an intelligent woman, you can be very silly!” There was impatience in her voice, but affection as well, and Margaret felt her fears of Ashara begin to fade again.

  “That’s why I am not going to stay here. Probably I will just renounce my claim to the Alton Domain. Then I will go back to University, where I really belong.” She was whistling in the dark, and she knew it, but Margaret was determined not to get more enmeshed in the strangeness of Darkover, in heavy bracelets that made a woman a chattel and all the rest of it. What she would do about the problem of being a functional telepath she did not know. If only it would just go away!

  “Are you sure?”

  No, I’m not, and damn you for seeing it! “Let’s get dressed and find some breakfast. I’m ravenous.”

  The dining room was empty except for Liriel. She had an empty bowl in front of her and was looking at it as if she were considering another helping. She looked up when Margaret and Rafaella entered the room and smiled.

  “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Very well, thank you, but I think there is still a leak in the ceiling.”

  Liriel chuckled. “Mother wanted to murder me for mentioning that. Mother often wants to murder me, which is one reason I chose Tower life. It keeps us out of each other’s hair. Ariel lives about twenty miles away, and she and Mother are always visiting back and forth. But then, Ariel gets along with her, and I never did. We are alike, Mother and I, and two strong-minded women under one roof is a recipe for misery, isn’t it?”

  “I never thought about it before, but I think you are right,” Margaret replied. She liked her cousin more and more, and thought she could become close friends with her if she remained on Darkover. And until she found some way to live with her telepathy, she was going to, however much she wanted otherwise. They sat down and a servant brought cereal and fruit, and Liriel held out her bowl for another serving.

  “I had hoped to talk with you alone,” Liriel said, after cleaning her bowl in record time. She gave Rafaella a quick glance, and the Renunciate returned it. “You must remain, Rafaella—by alone I mean without my meddling family.”

  “You seem to have your wish,” Margaret answered warily. I hope she won’t plead the suit of one of her brothers because I don’t think I could stand that.

  “By no means,” Liriel said, clearly picking up her thought. “I am sure you will have enough of that before the day is out.” Her tone was dry, but the look she gave Margaret was a sympathetic one. “I went to the Tower to avoid just such a forced marriage—they wanted me to marry young Dyan Ardais, Mikhail’s liege. You must have met him at Castle Ardais.”

  “I did, and I think you were wise not to have taken him. He seems . . . not up to your strong character. Perhaps I misjudge him, since I did not really talk to him much, and then mostly about ordinary things.”

  “That’s a kind way to say I would have made breakfast out of him, and wanted a side of meat to finish with.” They all laughed, and Rafaella got some cereal down the wrong part of her throat. Margaret pounded her vigorously between the shoulders, glad to have an outlet for her conflicting emotions.

  “Are you all right?” Margaret asked.

  “Oh, yes, but please do not try to be funny when I have my mouth full.”

  “I know that it is very hard for you to understand our ways,” Liriel continued, “but they have worked well for centuries. You regard my mother as an enemy, and you should not. She does her duty as she sees it, which does not always suit me or my brother Mikhail. Even though I am firmly engaged in my technician’s work at Tramontana, she keeps suggesting it is not too late for me to wed and bed and have lovely children.”

  “Everyone on Darkover seems to have marriage on their minds,” Margaret answered darkly. “I keep expecting a priest to leap out of the corners and marry me without a by-your-leave.”

/>   “That is a misplaced apprehension. We have good reason, from our history, for our customs, Marguerida. Many of the Comyn, including my father, refuse to realize that times are different now, that Darkover is different than it was in the past. But I don’t want to discuss our colorful history—though I can see you are interested. I had a long talk with Uncle Jeff last night, after everyone had retired. We are both aware that you have the Alton Gift, and have it in full measure.”

  “How do you know that?” She felt uneasy, as if someone had seen her without the protection of her clothing.

  “Chiya, to any telepath it is as obvious as the color of your hair. Jeff and Istvana Ridenow also discussed it, so we knew before you arrived that you were in possession of the Gift.”

  Hell! Talking about me behind my back, and there’s not a thing I can do about it! So, there’s more to Javanne’s wish to marry me off to one of her sons than Armida—they want to make sure this cursed Gift doesn’t get lost in the genetic drift. I feel like a prize, like I did on Mantenon, when that chieftain offered Ivor a herd of cows for me. Then it was funny; now I want to scream bloody murder.

  Margaret mustered her emotions with an effort that robbed her of the rest of her appetite. “I know you are right, but I don’t think it is really any of your business,” she said stiffly, her previous feeling of friendliness vanishing.

  Liriel looked stern, and it gave her round face a startling grandeur. “Laran is the business of anyone on Darkover who possesses it. It is not like other talents, like being able to paint or compose music, which one may accept or ignore. If you have it, you must deal with it and learn to use it properly. Otherwise you are a danger to yourself and to everyone you might encounter. This is particularly true of the Alton Gift, because the ability to force rapport with another is like walking around with a loaded crossbow. If something startles you, you might fire without realizing it is not a deer, but your own kin.”