Star of Danger

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Kennard hesitated, and for a flooding, bitter moment Larry feared he would rebuff the gesture, and for that same moment Larry almost wished they had died together in the pass. They had grown as close as if their minds were one—and being closed away, now, hurt like a knife.

  Then, like sunlight breaking through a cloud, Kennard smiled. He held out both hands and clasped Larry’s in them.

  “Have another apple,” was all he said. But it was enough.

  * * *

  XIII

  « ^ »

  THE TRAIL downward was hard, rough going; but with the fear of the banshees behind them, and Larry’s growing skill at rock-climbing, they managed the descent better than the ascent. Weary, half starved, Larry felt a relief all out of measure to their present situation—for in a trackless, almost foodless forest, they had still several days walking to cover before they came to inhabited country. They had seen it from the pass, but it was far away.

  And yet the optimism seeded in him, growing higher and higher, like a cresting wave, like…

  Like the growth of his fear when they had been in the acute danger of capture by the trailmen and he had not yet known it!

  What kind of freak am I? How did I get it? I’m no telepath. And it can’t be learned.

  Yet he felt this cresting, flooding hope—almost like a great joy. The woods seemed somehow greener, the sky a more brilliant mauve, the red sun to shine with brilliance and glory overhead. Could it be only relief at escape? Or—

  “Kennard, do you suppose we might meet a hunting party who are in these woods?”

  Kennard, learned in woodcraft, chuckled wryly. “Who would hunt here—and what for? There seems to be not a sign of game in these woods, though later we may find fruit or berries. You look damned optimistic,” he added, rather sullenly still.

  He’s mad because I faced him down. But he’ll get over it.

  They scrambled their way to the lip of a rocky rise in the land, and stood looking down into a green valley, so beautiful that in the grip of this unexplained joy Larry stood almost ecstatically, entranced by the trees, by the little stream that ran silver at the bottom. Songbirds were singing. And through the birdsong, and the clear-running water, there was another sound—a clear voice, singing. The voice of a human creature.

  In another moment, through the trees, a tall figure appeared. He was singing, in a musical, unknown tongue.

  Kennard stood half-enraptured. He whispered, “A chieri!”

  Human?

  The creature was, indeed, human in form, though tall and of such a fragile slenderness that he seemed even more so. He? Was the creature a woman? The voice had been clear and high, like a woman’s voice. It wore a long robe of some gleaming grayish silky substance. Long pale hair lay across the slim shoulders. The beckoning hand was white and almost translucent in the sunlight, and the bones of the face had an elfin, delicate, triangular beauty.

  Flying around the head of the elfin creature were a multitude of singing birds, whose melodious voices mingled with that of the chieri. Suddenly the chieri looked sharply upward, and called in a clear voice, “You there, you evil tramplers! Go, before you frighten my birds, or I put an ill word on you!”

  Kennard stepped forward, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender and respect. Larry remembered the respect the Darkovan boy had shown Lorill Hastur. This was more than respect, it was deference, it was almost abasement.

  “Child of grace,” he said, half-audibly, “we mean no harm to you or your birds. We are lost and desperate. My friend is hurt. If you can give us no help, give us at least none of your evil will.”

  The beautiful, epicene face, suddenly clear in the patch of sunlight, softened. Raising the thin hands, the chieri let the birds fly free, in a whirling cloud. Then the creature beckoned to them, but as they began to trudge wearily down the slope, it ran lightly upward to them.

  “You are hurt! You have cuts and bruises; you are hungry, you have come through that dreadful pass haunted by evil things—?”

  “We have,” Kennard said faintly, “and we have crossed all the country from the castle of Cyrillon des Trailles.”

  “What are you?”

  “I am Comyn,” Kennard said, with his last scraps of dignity, “of the Seven Domains. This—this lad is my friend and bredu. Give us shelter, or at least no harm!”

  The chieri’s fair and mobile face was gentle. “Forgive me. Evil things come sometimes from the high passes, and foul my clear pools and frighten my birds. They fear me, fortunately—but I do not always see them. But you—” The chieri looked at them, a clear piercing gray gaze, and said, “You mean no harm to us.”

  The glance held Larry’s eyes spellbound. Kennard whispered, “Are you a mighty leronis?”

  “I am of the chieri. Are you wiser, son of Alton?”

  “You know my name?”

  “I know your name, Kennard son of Valdir, and your friend’s. Yet I have none of your Comyn powers. But you are weary, and your friend, in pain; so no more talk now. Can you walk a steep path?” The chieri seemed almost apologetic. “I must guard myself, in this land.”

  Larry, drawing himself upright, said, “I can go where I must.”

  Kennard said, “You lend us grace, child of light. And blessed was the lord of Carthon when he met with Kierestelli beside the wells of Reuel.”

  “Is that tale still known?” The alien, elfin face was merry. “But time enough later for tales and old legends, son of the Seven Domains. No more talk now. Come.”

  The chieri turned, taking an upward path. It was a long climb and Larry was sweating in exhaustion, his injured arm feeling ready to drop off, before they reached the top. At the end, Kennard was half carrying him. But even Kennard was too weary to do more, and the chieri came, an arm around each, and supported them. Frail, almost boneless as the creature looked, it was incredibly strong.

  They came out upon a flat space, screened with living boughs, and entered a door of woven wicker into the strangest room he had ever seen.

  The floor was of earth, not mud or of sun-dried brick, but carpeted thickly with grass and living moss in which a cricket chirped; it felt warm and fragrant under their feet.

  The chieri bent and removed his sandals, and at his signal, the boys removed their wet and soaking boots and worn socks. The grass felt comfortable to their weary feet.

  The walls were of woven wicker, screened lightly with thin hangings of cloth, heavy but not coarse, which admitted light but could not be seen through. In the roof of thatch, vines with great trumpet-shaped blossoms were growing, which pervaded the whole place with a fragrance of green and growing things. It smelled fresh, and sweet. An opened door at the back led to an enclosed garden where a fountain splashed into a stone bowl, running out and away in a little rivulet. A fire burned there in a small brazier of hardened clay, and over it was a metal crane on which a steaming kettle swung, giving forth a good smell of hot food. The lads felt their eyes watering at this steam. Furniture there was little, save for a bench or chest or two, and at the edge of the room an upright loom with a strung web on it.

  As they entered, the chieri raised its hands, saying in its clear voice, “Enter in a good hour, and let no fear or danger trouble you within these walls.” That done, it turned to Larry, saying, “You are hurt and in pain, and you flee from evil things. I sensed your minds within the pass. I will ask no more till you have had rest and food.”

  It went to the brazier, and Kennard, sinking down on the grass wearily, said, “Who are you, child of grace?”

  “You may call me Naradzinie,” said the chieri, “which is my name among your people. My own would be strange to your ears and overlong.” From a chest it took silver cups, plainly but beautifully worked, and poured drink into them. It offered a cup to each. Larry tasted; it was delicious, but very strong wine. He hesitated a moment, then his weariness and thirst overcame him; he drank it up anyhow. Almost at once the sense of complete exhaustion left him and he watched alertly as the
chieri moved the kettle aside from the brazier.

  “Porridge is slim food alone for footsore travelers,” it said. “I will make you some cakes as well. No more wine until you have eaten, though! Meanwhile—” It gestured at the fountain, and Larry, suddenly abashed at his dirty and torn clothes, went to wash and douse his head under the fountain. Kennard followed suit.

  When Larry came back, something like pancakes were baking on a flat griddle over the brazier. They smelled so good that his mouth watered. The chieri brought them food on flat, beautifully carved wooden trays, and there were also bowls of porridge, the flat pancakes which had a yeasty, puffy texture, bowls of hot milk, honey and what tasted like cheese. The flavors were oddly pungent, but the boys were far too hungry to care; they demolished everything in sight, and the chieri brought them second helpings of pancakes and honey. Replete at last, they leaned back and surveyed the room, and Larry’s first words were oddly irrelevant.

  “The trailmen might evolve something like this, instead of what you fear, Kennard.”

  The chieri answered for Kennard. “The trail-folk, in the far-back times, were our kinfolk, but then we left the trees and built fire, they feared it and our ways moved apart. They are our younger brothers, to grow more slowly in wisdom. But perhaps it is time, indeed, for what this child of two worlds has done.”

  Larry stared up at the alien’s strange beautiful face. “You— know all this?”

  “The Comyn powers are chieri powers, little brother,” the chieri said. It stretched out its long body on the green turf. “I suppose you have no patience with long tales, so I will say only this, Kennard—the chieri lived on Darkover long before you Terrans came, to drive us into the deep and deeper woods.”

  Kennard said, “But I am not Terran,” and Larry felt his amazed anger. “Larry is the Terran!”

  The chieri smiled. “I forgot,” he said gently, “that to your people, the passing of a lifetime is as a sleep and a sleep to our folk. Children of Terra are you both. I was here, a youngling of my people, when the first ship from Terra arrived, a lost ship and broken, and your people were forced to remain here. The time came when they forgot their origins; but the name they gave to this world—Darkover— indeed reflects their speech and their customs.”

  It was a strange tale he told, and Kennard and Larry, lying at ease and almost in disbelief, listened while the chieri told his tale.

  The Terran ship had been one of the first early starships to cross space. Their crew, some hundred men and women, had been forced to remain, and after dozens of generations— which had seemed like only a little while to the chieri-folk —they had spread over most of the planet.

  “There is a tale you spoke of,” the chieri said, “of the lord of Carthon—one of your people, Kennard—who met with a woman of my folk Kierestelli; and she loved him, and bore him a son, and therewith she died, but the blood had mixed. And this son, Hastur, loved a maiden of your people, Cassilda, and from this admixture in their seven sons came the Seven Domains in which you take such pride.”

  Interbreeding to produce these new telepathic powers in greater intensity had led to seven pure strains of telepathy, each with its own Domain, or family; and each with its own kind of laran, or psi power.

  “The Hasturs. The Aillards. The Ridenow. The Elhalyn. The Altons—your clan, young Kennard. And the Aldaran.”

  “The Aldaran,” said Kennard with a trace of bitterness, “were exiled from the Comyn—and they sold our world to the Terrans!”

  The chieri’s beautiful face was strange. “You mean, when the Terrans came again, for the second time, the Aldaran first welcomed their long-forgotten brothers to their own people who had forgotten their ancestry,” he said. “Perhaps among the Aldarans, their Terran heritage was never forgotten. But as for you, little son of Darkover and of Terra”—and he looked at Larry with great gentleness—“you are weary; you should sleep. Yet I know very well why you are in haste. Even now—” his face became distant—“Valdir Alton answers for your fate to these new Terrans who have also forgotten that these men of Darkover are their brothers. As, indeed, all folk are brothers, though there are many, many times when they forget it. And because you are both of my people, I will help you—though I would love to speak more to you. For I am old, and of a dying race. Our women bear no more children, and one day the chieri will be only a memory, living on only in the blood of those, their conquerers.” He sighed. “Beautiful were our forests in those days. Yet time and change come to all men and all worlds, and you are right to speak with reverence of Kierestelli and to call Cassilda blessed, who first mingled blood with blood and thus assured that the chieri would survive in blood if never in memory. But I am old—I talk too much. I should act instead.”

  He got to his feet. With those strange gray eyes—eyes like the eyes of Lorill Hastur, Larry realized—he enspelled them both, until nothing but those gray eyes remained; space whirled away and reeled—

  Bright hot light struck their eyes. Yellow light. They were standing on a brilliantly tiled floor in a brightly glassed-in room overlooking the spaceport of Darkover, and before them, in attitudes of defiance, stood Valdir Alton, Commander Reade—and Larry’s father.

  * * *

  XIV

  « ^

  THEY HAD SLEPT. They were rested and fed and re-clothed. Kennard this time in some spare garments of Larry’s, and once again they sat before Valdir Alton and Wade Montray and Commander Reade, finishing the tale of their adventures.

  Valdir said at last, his face very grave, “I have heard of the chieri-folk; but I did not know that any of them still lived, even in the deep woods. And what you tell me of our mixed heritage is strange—and troubling,” he added honestly, his eyes meeting those of Wade Montray with a confused newness in them. “Yet the old chieri spoke only a truth I already knew. Time and change come to all worlds, even to ours. And if our sons could cross the mountains together in harmony—and neither alone could have lived, but both needed the other’s ways—then perhaps our worlds are the same.”

  “Father,” said Kennard gravely, “I decided something on the way back. Don’t be angry; it’s something I must do. I will do it with your consent now, or without your consent when I come of age. But I am going to take ship for Terra, and learn all that they can teach me there, in their schools. And after me, there will be others.”

  Valdir Alton looked troubled; but finally he nodded.

  “You are a man, free to choose,” he said, “and perhaps the choice is wise. Time only will tell. And you, Lerrys” he added, for Larry had raised his head to speak.

  “I want to learn your languages and your history, sir. It’s foolish to live here without learning them—not only for me, but for all the Terrans who come here.”

  Valdir nodded again, gravely. “Then you shall do it as a son in my house,” he said. “You and my son are bredin; our house is yours.”

  “Ah, some day,” Reade said, “ a school will be established for sons of both worlds to learn about the other.” He looked wryly at the boys and said, “I appoint you both Special Consultants on the Bureau of Terran-Darkovan Liaison. Hurry up and finish that interplanetary education of yours, boys.”

  “One more thing,” Valdir said. “I think we need to learn from Terra about such things as forest fires, and what to do about bandits and banshees. And then, to use the knowledge in our own way.” He looked straight at Wade Montray and said, “Forgive me for intruding, but I am Alton. I think you should tell your son, now, why the chieri could call them both his kindred.”

  Wade Montray stood before his son. “You’ve grown,” he said. “You’re a man.” Then he wet his lips.

  “Larry, you were born on Darkover,” he said, “of a woman of the high Darkovan caste of the Aldaran, who forsook her people for me, and returned with me to Terra. For years I would not bring you back. I didn’t want you torn apart between two worlds, as I had been. I tried to keep you away from Darkover, but the call was too strong for you. As the c
all had been too strong for me.” His face worked. “So you’ll be torn between two alien worlds—as I was—”

  “But,” Larry said quietly, and he stretched a hand to his father, “Darkovans are not alien. Once they were Earthmen. And Earthmen are akin to Darkovans, even those who have not the chieri blood in their veins. The call is not of alien worlds—but of blood brothers, who want to understand one another again. It won’t be easy. But”—his eyes sought out Kennard’s—“it’s a beginning.”

  Wade Montray nodded, slowly and painfully, and Valdir Alton, suddenly, did a thing unprecedented for a Darkovan aristocrat. Awkwardly, the gesture unpracticed, he held out his hand to Wade Montray, and the two men shook hands, while Commander Reade beamed.

  They had, indeed, made a beginning. Trouble would come—as all change brings trouble in its wake. But it was a beginning, and, as with the bringing of fire to the trailmen, the benefits would outweigh the risks.

  The first step had been taken.

  Larry and Kennard would take the next.

  And after them, thousands.

  The brother worlds were once again reconciled.

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  [July 18, 2003—v1 html proofed and formatted by Archer for ELF]