Citadels of Darkover

by Deborah J. Ross

  I thought, I’m by myself at the far end of the galaxy while my friends are boasting about their fossil finds.

  “One: Didn’t whoever sent you actually read any of the fifty odd years of geology reports and scholarly papers about this place? The tectonic plate movement that built those huge mountain ranges means that any fossils were likely destroyed. Or if the fossils exist on mountain slopes, they are probably nothing more than sea shells and are totally inaccessible because the mountains are snow covered year-round. Two: It would require permission from Comyn Council and they have never granted access to archaeologists. Will never. So, I am not going to try explain to the ruling council of this backward planet that believes they are native to this world what a fossil hunter does.”

  “Paleontologist.”

  “You’re here for three months, so find something else to do and stay out of my hair. And what is that you’re wearing on your tunic?”

  “It’s the red dragon of Wales. I grew up in a little town on the coast called Tywyn.”

  “That’s going to be the only dragon you see on Darkover. Goodbye.”

  I stood.

  “Don’t ever tell the natives that you’re a fossil hunter.”

  “Paleontologist.”

  I opened his office door.

  “One more thing. If you’re going to go out to the Trade City, you have to attend cultural sensitivity training. If the Comyn Council granted you access tomorrow, which won’t happen, you’ll need the full ‘Beyond Thendara’ course that lasts three months and by the time the three months are up, you’ll be lifting out of here. Explore Trade City,” he concluded. “Don’t give me any trouble. The Spaceport library is excellent.”

  I rented the cheapest possible room in the Sky Harbor Hotel, a hole in the wall single with no windows on the central corridor. It was a strain on my expense account. Maybe he was right and I was on a fool’s errand. Yet anything was possible. I truly believed that. I remembered one amazing grad summer in the Rockies working on the Burgess Shale, those beautiful, pure, high-resolution fossils from the Cambrian Explosion.

  Giblin was deliberately baiting me. He would have known from my file that my undergrad third year field season had been on Hawkesbury’s Planet.

  Hawkesbury’s Planet. A blazing white sun—always too hot. But I had barely noticed the sweat dripping from my forehead as I spent the days on my knees using an ultrafine laser pick to expose the delicate exoskeleton of what in life must have been a nightmare.

  On a rare day off, I was wandering in the street market when a flash of green caught my eye. It was just a pendant hanging by a chain—green Hawkesbury amber, like thousands of others. Or so I thought. When I looked closer, I saw a distorted fossil, a cross between a seahorse and a dragonfly. The reverse caught the light of the sun—and then the fossil resembled a Welsh dragon.

  Even with the weight limitations for fourth class interstellar passage, I kept the pendant in a small pocket in my carry-on.

  ~o0o~

  I called up Cultural Sensitivity Training on the com-tab. A three-hour course for crew and passengers who weren’t going to go beyond the Trade City. A three-day course for longer-term Empire staff and visitors. The three-month course, limited to those with permits who were going beyond Thendara. The next three-day course started in the morning. I signed up.

  I approached the instructor, Melora n’ha Mesyr, at the end of the afternoon session. “In class, there was this reference to a Darkovan saying, ‘It is ill done to keep a dragon to roast your meat.’ Are dragons on Darkover?”

  “That saying reaches back to the Ages of Chaos,” Melora answered. “There are ancient tales of creatures called dragons. Any reliable information is lost, so there are no definitive descriptions. There are some rocks called Dragon’s Eggs, but they are just that, rocks. Darkover is not the best place for...” she looked at her com-tab. “Paleo....that kind of exploration. What are you going to do for the next three months?”

  “The Foundation has a mandate to enhance scientific understanding,” I explained. “I am hoping there are fossils in the marketplace.”

  “In the marketplace?”

  “On almost all worlds with intelligent beings...” I was going to say in pre-scientific eras but caught myself in time “...legends grow up around fossil discoveries. Fossils are often sold in marketplaces as jewelry, as charms, or as interesting types of rock. If I make a discovery there might be a chance that the Comyn Council would issue a permit.”

  “You’ll most likely find something on Kyrrdis Way—there are jewelers and gem dealers just off the main marketplace,” Melora said. “It may be expensive. The price often triples for someone carrying interstellar credits. Then there’s the Night Market on the east side. Just don’t wander into any of the side streets. That’s the Thieves’ Market and dangerous. You are more likely to be robbed and perhaps killed. It isn’t worth risking your life for a couple of rocks.

  “To be honest, young man,” she added, “even if you find a fossil, it is unlikely that the Council would grant you permission. I would be wary of letting you look for such things.”

  I passed the exam and was issued an exit pass.

  ~o0o~

  Even though it was summer, the forecast was for icy rain. I didn’t want to look too Terranan, but the weather gave me no choice, so it had be my trusty faded blue T-Level All Hab-Planet All-Weather field jacket with the red and white Simon Fraser U logo, where I did my Masters, and the high viz yellow stripes down each side. I put the green pendant from Hawkesbury’s Planet around my neck under my Welsh Dragon tunic, both for good luck.

  The wind was driving the rain along the narrow streets. I spotted a deep alcove between two stone buildings where I could check my map.

  “Watch out!” came a cry in accented, barely understandable cahuenga.

  I collided head-on into a man coming out of the alcove. I fumbled for the word from my language immersion. “Sorry.”

  I found myself looking into the blue eyes of a young Darkovan, perhaps a year or two younger than me. His eyes widened in surprise, his pale freckled wet face framed by a ragged tartan hood. There was a smell of old wet wool that reminded me of rainy days in the Tywyn Valley back home, combined with tangy oily scent, likely waterproofing.

  “You’re a Terranan.”

  “Yes. I am,” I replied, slowly to get the words right. “I am completely at fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going,”

  “I too am sorry,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I was looking the wrong way. I must go.” His pronunciation seemed as bad as mine, yet there arose an unspoken connection: we understood each other. “Be careful, Terranan, you might trip on the cobbles.” He ran off into the rain. The connection was suddenly gone, like an airlock slamming shut.

  Kyrrdis Way turned out to be a disappointment. Guards with hooded rain capes huddled in doorways. The buildings closest to the main street were like fortresses, with bars on the windows and doors. At the largest, a black metal sculpture vibrated in the driving wind, the universal three balls of a pawnbroker. The next shop had a polished copper representation of Darkover’s bloody sun. Signs in Empire Standard read, “We buy all forms of metal. Top prices.” On a metal-poor planet, one where copper was the most valued, these buildings must be those of metal smiths.

  Further down I found the gem shops and jewelers. Each time the proprietors’ faces lit up when they saw my Terran garb. Here I found beautiful sparkling gems, including the famous Darkover star sapphires, all kinds of gold, silver and copper settings, rings, necklaces, small crowns, brooches, and raw stones as well. But nothing close to what I was looking for. I asked about amber, about fossils, only to be met with expressions of quickly-masked scorn. Without giving offense by saying so aloud, the shopkeepers made it plain that no respectable person bothered with such things.

  Back on the street a symphony of smells of baking bread, aromatic spices, and roasting meat struck me. I was starving. Where Kyrrdis Way opened
into Market Square I spied a sign depicting a white horse frozen in a gallop across a green field with purple mountains in the background.

  Melora had told me, “Look for the White Horse Tavern. It’s one of the best places to eat in Thendara. Good plain Darkovan food.”

  “This way, via dom.” Speaking Terran Standard, the greeter ushered me into the dining room. It was hard to hear him over the cacophony of voices. “You have not been here before? Are you from the latest ship?”

  “Yes, the latest ship.”

  “We share tables during bad weather,” he shouted. “Is that all right?” Before I could say yes, he began to lead me among the maze of tables. Most of the customers were Darkovan, but I recognized a couple of off-duty Space Force guards.

  At the very back, at a small table, a Darkovan man bent over his meat pie. The greeter pulled back the second chair. When I sat down, the diner looked up. My eyes met the blue eyes of the young man I had encountered near the alcove.

  “Hello again, Terranan. I see you are indeed smart enough to come out of the rain.”

  A server approached our table with a pictograph menu.

  “Let me order for you.” My companion spoke slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. “The Terranan is newly arrived. A mug of jaco, the spiced mud-rabbit pie, and honey cakes.” He turned to me. “That’s what I had, it’s very good and it’s cheap.” He took a spoon and gulped down another chunk of his pie.

  “Thank you. Please stop calling me Terranan. My name is Rhodri ab Brymor Owens.”

  He looked up. “Dominic Ansaldo,” he replied with his mouth almost full. “Of the Vale of Valiante. It’s good to meet you Ryoodari. I am only in Thendara for a couple of days and have much to do, so I unfortunately do not have the time to savor this lunch.”

  Dominic finished his pie and was about to lift the mug of jaco. “What is that on your tunic?” he asked. “Is it some kind of monster?” With that question he looked more like a curious kid. I think I can like this guy, I thought.

  “It is the Y Ddraig Goch,” I replied. “The Red Dragon of Wales.”

  He frowned just a little. “A dragon,” He thought for a second. “Excuse me if I am being rude, but is there a story of this dragon?”

  “Wales is an ancient country on Terra. It is where I grew up. In the tale a king wanted to build a castle on a mountain. Try as they might, after it was built each day, at night it fell down. So the king sent for the most powerful wizards in the land. They looked into their visions and told him that beneath the mountain two dragons were trapped and when they fought, the ground shook. That brought down the castle walls. The king had his men dig a tunnel. Both dragons escaped from their underground prison. One was white and one was red. They continued their battle in the sky. The red dragon won, and the white dragon fled. The king built his castle and the red dragon remained to protect Wales. That’s the short version.”

  The server arrived with a steaming mug of jaco, a plate with an aromatic crusty pie, and a smaller plate with the two honey cakes.

  Dominic drained his mug. “I thank you for the tale and your time. Enjoy your lunch.” He walked away just like that.

  After my meal, I went to explore the market. I thought I spotted Dominic in a leather shop but couldn’t be sure. No place sold anything close to what I was looking for. It was a disappointing day, except for that chance meeting.

  ~o0o~

  My hotel room was only slightly bigger than a fourth-class single berth on a star liner. It was little different from the cramped rooms when, in my student days, I’d come back after an exhilarating day in the field and lie in the dark on a lonely cot. I had good friends and amazing colleagues but there was always something—or someone— missing.

  I had a fleeting image, probably my imagination, of Dominic in a small room in a tavern. His bed had an intricately carved headboard and tartan blankets.

  I got up and accessed the Darkovan database.

  Vale of Valiante.

  No matches. No fuzzy matches. Possible translation, “Valley of the Valiant.”

  ~o0o~

  The next day was hot. This time what I wore resembled local clothing, heavy-duty field work pants combined with a loose-sleeved shirt I’d bought in the Oriel IV spaceport.

  The streets and market were busier than before. I browsed the stalls but again no one sold rocks, either raw or polished. People kept staring at me. At first, I thought it was because I was obviously Terran. A haughty Comyn woman asked me, “What is it you wear around your neck, Terran? Why isn’t it in a silk bag?” She meant the green pendant, visible in my open neckline. It must resemble the legendary blue starstones that the telepaths were reported to wear. I buttoned up the shirt and headed back to the Terran Zone.

  I refused to accept failure, however. I might get lucky. With all this talk of Darkovan telepathy, I was wondering if there might be something to my granny’s tales of second sight.

  The Night Market was a series of stalls, lit mostly by torches that burned a fragrant wood, and also by candles or lanterns, the bright lights dancing on the faces of the crowds. Stalls with knives and swords attracted young men. One with the long knives favored by the Free Amazons brought members of that order and some young men as well. Other merchants sold cloth or leather goods. I thought I spotted Dominic haggling with a merchant that sold trail clothing, but he disappeared before I could make my way over. There were food stalls. Stalls that sold pots and pans. Again, I found nothing resembling a fossil.

  The Thieves Market was almost as crowded as the Night Market, but the crowd was different, poorer, and roughly dressed. I was about to leave when I spotted a table near the entrance to an alley, lit by a dozen red wax candles. An ancient woman in a tartan shawl sat on a stool with wooden crates filled with small, flat stones.

  “You want a charm, Terranan?” she said. “Good luck charm? Curse charm for that man in the Terranan tower? Charm to keep you safe in a fight?” She looked at me. “A love charm, perhaps?” She searched through a box as I studied the display. Not what I’d hoped for, only eroded sandstone, slate, or shale.

  “This is the one you want.” She handed me a grayish stone about half the size of my palm. There were two painted figures, and the stars of a constellation. “Gareth and Donnell,” she chuckled, “The Bredu. This charm will find you the man you have sought all your life.” Her grey eyes danced. With her white hair I had no way of finding out if she had had red hair and laran, but somehow she knew what I wanted.

  “That will be one reis,” she said firmly.

  My granny’s second sight prompted me to say. “But you sell them to Thendarans for five sekels.” She paled for a second and then grinned. I laughed. “I know,” I said, “The price for Terranan,” and handed her the coin.

  I slipped the charm in my pocket and turned to head back. “Wait,” she called out. She handed me another stone, one with a horned chervine. “You’ll need this,” she said. “The safe travel charm, for tomorrow you begin your journey. No charge.”

  ~o0o~

  Back at the hotel, I spied a notice that a ship was due in two days. Was this the journey she’d spoken of? Should I cut my losses, return to Terra, file a report, and hope the Foundation would award me with a new contract?

  I spent a couple of vital credits to call up the Empire newsfeed. A new species of plesiosaur was found in my old stomping ground, Dorset’s Jurassic Coast. There was the accidental discovery of fossils on an uninhabited part of Keef. The government of the pleasure planet was already anticipating an increase in tourist credits—and hiring paleontologists. If I was going to leave, however, it was worth it to have one more lunch at the White Horse Tavern.

  The greeter once again led me past the tables, but to my surprise he turned and took me through a door to a small private dining room. I was so surprised that I bumped into the greeter. Sitting at a table was Dominic Ansaldo.

  “I knew you would come today,” he said. “I have already ordered the best of the lunch menu.” He
handed me a glass of golden liquid. “Syrtis cider. Don’t worry, it won’t get you drunk. It is good to keep a clear head when speaking of serious matters.”

  I thought, he isn’t trying to seduce me.

  “You search for dragon bones.”

  The cider went down the wrong way. “Dragon bones?”

  “I saw in your mind when we first met in the rain, you look for dragon bones. I’ve watched you search the merchants and markets, even the Thieves Market. You do not ask, you just look. You seek dragon bones.”

  “You know of dragon bones?” Does that mean there are fossils on Darkover?

  “Perhaps. Your thoughts betray you, Rhodri ab Brymor Owens. You were sent across the stars to find ancient bones and found none. You keep it deep inside but you are a desperate, disappointed man. What can disappoint so much in one as a young as I am? No matter. I can take you to dragon bones. First, you must swear that everything I tell you must be secret. If what I tell you is not what you seek, then you will have had superb lunch and you can return to the stars. If I have what you seek, then tomorrow I will take you. But it must, must, be secret. Swear on that green stone that is around your neck. I will know if you lie.”

  “This is not a starstone, even one from off world.”

  “In that stone is the same dragon that is on your tunic. The dragon of your people’s castle.”

  The skeptical scientist in me replied, “It’s just an insect fossil from Hawkesbury’s, nothing more.”

  I saw that spark in those blue eyes. This time they seemed to be looking into my mind. “You think it is a dragon. And that green stone channels your thoughts.”

  I put both hands on the pendant. “I swear I will keep everything you say secret.”

  I meant it. Then came a stray thought, If this guy is right, I can find a similar geology elsewhere and keep my promise. I instantly tried to suppress that idea.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of flat stone, the finest small fossil I had seen in my life. It was an iridescent winged insect, so detailed it could almost fly away from the table. Even the colours had been preserved, unless a fluke of mineralization had created those brilliant hues.