A Flame in Hali

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Did she want to stay that long? Francisco had recovered as much as he was going to; already he was increasing the pressure upon her to function as a Keeper. With her strong telepathic abilities, she had no problem linking with another leronis and attuning their joined minds to the particular task. Gradually, one became two and two extended into three. She learned to submerge her personal antipathies, finding ways to appreciate and make the most of the particular strengths of each worker.

  Varzil had been right. She had both the strength and the aptitude to do a Keeper’s work. But whether she ought to assume that responsibility was another matter. Her thoughts again bent toward the incident at Hali Lake, the monstrous dragon she had inflicted upon the unprotected minds of the mob, the deaths that had resulted. Varzil had insisted her debt was discharged, her restitution for that rash act complete. Even her own Keeper, Raimon of Hali, said so. As Varzil had pointed out, she had restrained herself from a similar spell when they encountered the Cedestri aircars.

  What, then? What? Night after night, after her work in the circle was done, she paced the confines of the Tower room that had been given over, newly refurbished, to her use. Instinct told her that once she proved biddable, the Isoldir Lords would find an excuse to hold her here. Until she was clear in her own mind whether she could fulfill a Keeper’s responsibilities, it was dangerous to remain under such conditions.

  If Isoldir would not provide a timely escort, then she must apply to Hali. Surely Carolin would, at Raimon’s request, spare a handful of men to bring her home. Though it was near dawn and the night’s chill lay thick and heavy upon the stone walls, she threw a shawl over her working robes and made her way to the relay chamber.

  Dyannis seated herself on the bench in front of the screen and composed herself. She herself had repaired much of the damage to the matrix device. The lattice of starstones brightened, humming in resonance. She closed her eyes and the familiar, floating sensation engulfed her. Every Gifted worker experienced relay communication in a different way; since she preferred visual imagery, she saw the psychic firmament as a vast, misty void, like the sky before dawn.

  Hali . . . she thought, and watched as the pale light shifted and condensed into a pinpoint of light.

  Hali is here—Dyannis, is it you? Rorie’s mental voice sounded strong and clear.

  Dyannis felt an absurd rush of gladness.

  Quickly, he shifted. Is something amiss? Some new trouble at Cedestri? Are you well?

  Yes, I am quite well, she answered quickly. Cedestri continues with its recovery and there have been no new signs of war. In fact, things are going so well here that I fear they do not want to let me go.

  She felt his grin. That’s because you’re still on your best behavior, imp.

  Pest. Seriously, Rorie, I’m either going to grow roots here or steal a horse in the dead of night. Since I’m trying to observe some minimal propriety, would you be so kind as to ask Raimon to arrange an escort for me?

  With pleasure. Life here is much too dull without you. You are wise not to travel without armed escort.

  Why, is there some new trouble? Dyannis asked.

  Not in Thendara, but in Asturias—do you know of it?

  Dyannis felt her heart give a little flutter. The small kingdom of Asturias had long threatened Ridenow lands and she had heard of their ruthless new general, the Kilghard Wolf.

  Carolin wishes an end to hostilities, Rorie said, so I do not think he will be easily drawn in as a combatant.

  They talked for a while longer of other, less important news such as the comings and goings of Tower workers. Ellimara Aillard had gone to Neskaya to be trained as under-Keeper.

  I wish her joy, Dyannis replied, with an odd shiver. She did not know if it came from regret or jealousy or relief that Varzil had found some other woman willing to take on the responsibility. Ellimara was younger, more flexible. It was better this way.

  A tenday later, word came from Hali that an escort had been arranged, and within a month, a company of soldiers, clad in Hastur blue and silver, arrived to take Dyannis home. If Francisco and the Isoldir Lord were sorry to see her go, they gave no sign, but heaped her with expressions of gratitude and what small gifts could be spared. She returned the copper coins and jewelry, saying that as a leronis, she had little use for riches. As for herself, she did not take a truly free breath until she could no longer see the Isoldir promontory on the horizon behind her.

  26

  Returning to Hali, Dyannis felt like a stranger, though she had lived there for most of her adult life. When she had first come to the Tower, she had been fourteen, barely a woman. She had but lately recovered from a bout of the threshold sickness that had claimed the lives of her older brother and sister. She had seen the fear in her father’s eyes that she, too, would die in convulsive madness. To this day, she did not know what would have happened had Varzil not gained admittance to Arilinn Tower, and thereby opened her father’s mind to the possibility. As soon as it was safe for her to travel, she had been bundled on her way.

  Hali Tower had been a world like none other. The leronyn had welcomed her for her Gifts, even undeveloped, but more than that, they had treated her like an adult woman, capable of managing her own life and taking responsibility for her own actions. How proud she had been of her psychic strength, how eager to practice her new skills. Everywhere she looked, some wondrous new vista opened before her—life as a leronis of one of the most prestigious Towers on Darkover, the rhu fead with its mysteries and ancient holy things, the lake with its cloud-water, the city, the glittering court . . . the knowledge that she belonged here and had a part in it all.

  Varzil had come to the Hastur court for that first Midwinter Festival, along with Carolin, who was returning from his own season of training at Arilinn . . . and Eduin.

  Dyannis turned her vision inward, toward memory. Her body moved to the easy gait of her mount as she rode, surrounded by King Carolin’s escort, along the length of Hali Lake to the Tower.

  Eduin.

  When they had danced, he had held her in his arms as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She had no previous experience with the feelings that arose in her, each wave more tender and tempestuous than the one before. Something in him touched her heart of hearts, perhaps the vulnerability she sensed beneath his borrowed finery. It was not until Varzil had forbidden her to have anything more to do with Eduin that she fell in love.

  Would I have done so without Varzil’s interference? She could not be sure. In all honesty, she knew her own reaction to being ordered about by anyone. Regardless of the instigation, she had ended up in Eduin’s bed, and it was a good thing the monitors at Hali had already taught her how to prevent conception, for she had come away without any permanent entanglements.

  In due time, Eduin had returned to Arilinn and she to her life at Hali. She had studied and mastered and worked. And loved, but never with that feverish intensity of her time with Eduin.

  It is a good thing that first love comes but once, or none of us would get anything done. So her first Keeper, Dougal DiAsturian, had said.

  Before her, Hali Tower rose like glimmering alabaster reaching for the sky above the shifting currents of the lake. Its beauty caught at her heart. Her vision blurred. She knew every room, every stair, every window ledge, every corner of the kitchens, every viewpoint, and yet now she stood outside.

  It was all nonsense, of course. Hali was her home. They were waiting for her. She had missed Midwinter, but that was of no great matter.

  What was she waiting for? Why the odd thoughts, the hesitation? There was plenty of work to be done.

  The riot at the lake had taken its toll in more ways than one. She had changed, and never again could she stand beside the lake or walk the halls, sit in a matrix laboratory or bend her mind to the relay screens, as if nothing had happened. Events had brought her to a crisis in her own mind, and brought Eduin back into her life.

  Eduin had come to Hali some years back, b
efore he went to Hestral Tower. Before Felicia Leynier had died under mysterious circumstances, and before he had led an unlawful circle in a brutal counterattack against Rakhal’s besieging army. She set that thought aside and returned to their brief reunion.

  He had been distant, almost cold. She might have sworn he had never loved her, except for the memories. He had come to Hali, he said, to serve as archivist and do genealogical research. She had assumed it was either for Dougal or Barak, who was Keeper at Arilinn. It had never occurred to her that he might have been searching for some reason of his own.

  What had he been looking for in the Hastur lineages? Had he found it—acted upon it?

  That way, Dyannis told herself sternly, lay madness. The past was beyond amendment, and Varzil was right in that there were some things she might never know.

  Let it alone.

  They rode up the last stretch of road, almost to the Tower gates. Rorie and Alderic came out to greet her. She urged her weary horse forward.

  I am home, Dyannis thought, but she did not truly believe it.

  Dyannis settled back into her old quarters, unpacked her belongings and sent her travel clothing to be cleaned. She spent the evening gossiping with her old friends and then soaking in a steaming tub, something she had not enjoyed since leaving Hali. Certainly, Cedestri had not been able to offer such luxuries, and she had grown weary of bathing with a sponge and a basin of cold water.

  Raimon suggested that she rest a while before resuming her usual duties, but Dyannis would not hear of it. She insisted on joining the circle that very evening. “I am not some pampered plaything who cannot travel a few leagues without collapsing for a tenday,” she told him with more tartness than she intended.

  That sounds like our Dyannis, he replied mentally. Aloud, he said, “We are most heartily glad to have you back among us.”

  She composed herself upon her usual bench in the laboratory that was as familiar as her own chamber. The task tonight was straightforward, making medicines for the muscle fever ravaging the lake district. It struck children, and those it did not kill were left crippled, sometimes mute as well. The circle at Neskaya had devised a method of using laran to enhance the potency of herbal remedies, and Carolin had asked Hali to produce a supply.

  Dyannis glanced across the table, spread with flasks and beakers of tinctures. Once this chamber, like so many others, had seen the manufacture of clingfire and worse, but now was given over to the making of medicine to heal children.

  Without thinking, she reached out her hands to either side, then quickly drew them back. The circle at Hali did not make physical contact. After the initial feeling of strangeness, she had become accustomed to it at Cedestri.

  Dyannis lowered her barriers, focusing on the matrix lattice in the center of the table. Deftly, Raimon wove their minds together. The process felt at once familiar and strange. She found herself out of step, resisting his control.

  I have become accustomed to having my own way, she thought.

  It is of no great matter, Raimon answered her with unexpected kindness. We will accommodate one another. Varzil told us you had been working as under-Keeper at Cedestri.

  Varzil again!

  Come now, it is hardly a state secret. He also said you wished to return to ordinary circle work. I was merely observing that giving up a Keeper’s autonomy is just as difficult as acquiring it.

  Indeed, she agreed ruefully. Not all the smiths in Zandru’s Forge can put that chick back into its egg.

  Dyannis bent her will to submerging her thoughts in the unity of the circle. Being unfamiliar with the method, she took the plan from Raimon’s mind and concentrated on each step. Although the work was not difficult, she approached it with care. The ingredients, herbal tinctures, distilled wine, honey, extracts of flowers and powdered bone, felt fresh and clean, still bearing the energetic signatures of living things. The work refreshed rather than drained her.

  Dyannis was surprised when Raimon dissolved the bonds of the circle. She realized from the stiffness of her joints that some hours had passed, and yet she felt little fatigue. Knowing better than to trust her sense of well-being, she went with the others to eat and rest.

  “Aldones, you’ve grown strong!” Rorie commented when she spoke her thought aloud. “What have you been doing, drinking banshee milk?”

  She shook her head. “Building stone walls.”

  “That’ll do it every time.” He eased himself into a chair and she realized that he was still favoring the shoulder that had been shot by an arrow at the lake shore riot. How easy it was to forget events when she did not have to live with their consequences.

  Seeing her pensive, he reached out and touched her lightly across the back of her hand, tracing a line from wrist to fingertip. “It is good to have you back.”

  She knew then that he meant it for himself, and not just as a member of the community.

  Blessed Cassilda! She cut off the thought and, as gracefully as she could, hurried away toward the women’s quarters. Only when she was within the confines of her own room did she let herself finish the thought. He is in love with me. How could I not have known?

  Dyannis lowered herself to the edge of her bed. Perhaps Rorie himself had not known until now. Sometimes when people met again after an absence, they saw each another differently.

  When and how were fruitless questions whose answers changed nothing. Of far greater importance was how she felt about him. A dozen images rose to her mind . . . Rorie laughing at some joke, teasing her, calling her Pest, rushing to meet her . . . his mind like fine-grained steel, strong and flexible, welcoming her mental touch—

  Overlapping each of these memories came a series of far more disturbing thoughts.

  Eduin looking up from the scroll he had been examining in the Hali archives . . .

  She’d sought him out in the end, for he had avoided her. He had gestured to the pile of scrolls, some of them in such fragile condition that they would not survive more than another winter or two. “The work—”

  “Has lain here for longer than Durraman owned that old donkey of his, and is not about to sprout legs or go anywhere,” she’d said, adding, “you must please yourself.” When he started to turn away, she pulled up a stool so that, short of unspeakable rudeness, he had no choice but to sit with her. “What have you been excavating?”

  “Genealogy records.”

  That much was obvious. “Whose?”

  “Obscure branches of the Hasturs,” he’d answered and then added that he was researching lethal recessive genetic traits from the Ages of Chaos.

  Dyannis shuddered, for like most modern young people, she found the thought of inbreeding to manipulate laran traits utterly repugnant. “I think we are living in an age of progress. You should hear my brother talk! He’s full of new ideas.”

  Varzil had last visited Hali some time ago, for a funeral. At the time, Dyannis had little interest in it, small and private. She was saddened to hear of the death of Queen Taniquel Hastur-Acosta, of whom so many ballads were sung, but she had never known the legendary heroine. Queen Taniquel had ridden at the side of her uncle, Rafael Hastur II, he who held the throne at Thendara before it passed to Carolin’s uncle, and even defied the might of the assembled Comyn Council. If half the stories were true, Taniquel had been instrumental in Hastur’s victory over the power-mad tyrant, Damian Deslucido. Without her determination, the present world would have taken a very different shape. There would be no Hastur ascendancy, no bloody wars of succession, no King Carolin, no rebuilding of Neskaya and Tramontana Towers . . . no Compact.

  After the funeral, Dyannis had been pleased to see her brother again, and intrigued by his unvoiced but obvious love for Arilinn’s new leronis, Felicia, newly come from Nevarsin Tower.

  How young they had all been then, Dyannis thought with a trace of nostalgia. She had eagerly picked up Varzil’s unguarded emotions and spun them into a tale of romance. He had no intention of being indiscreet, of course, but their
closeness of blood and sympathy granted her an exceptional sensitivity to his thoughts. When she realized that the woman he was so smitten with, this Felicia of Arilinn, was actually the nedestra daughter of that same legendary Queen Taniquel, she thought it the most wonderful thing imaginable.

  But Felicia had died in the wreckage of Hestral Tower, and Dyannis could not help wondering if some part of Varzil’s heart had died with her. She was still naive enough to think that such love, such passion came only once in a lifetime.

  And so, he carries her memory in his heart. And so, he looks to blame Eduin, his old adversary.

  That explanation, although reasonable, brought little comfort. If it were true, why did the suggestion of Eduin’s guilt gnaw away at her like some dreadful cancer? Why could she not set it aside and let the past rest? She could not shake the feeling that she had forgotten something crucial.

  She would have no future here at Hali, nor any chance of resolving her feelings for Rorie, until she discovered the truth.

  Raimon had directed the circle to rest for several days, although various members had other tasks. Dyannis pleaded continuing fatigue from her journey, and went to that part of the Tower devoted to the storage of ancient records. She found the room in which she had spoken to Eduin without any difficulty. It was one of several set aside for the study and copying of manuscripts.

  She lowered herself on the bench drawn up at a reading desk beside a tall window. It was early in the afternoon, for she had slept long and fitfully. The bar of brightness across the desk glowed, strong enough to read or write by. She placed her hands in it as if conjuring a spell that would burn away all falsehood, all confusion, leaving only the starkness of truth.