And he himself, caught between them, what was he?
All his life, Eduin had been a tool for someone else. He had never been allowed to choose his desires, or even know what they were. He’d sacrificed Carolin’s love, a place in the Towers, whatever bizarre fellowship he might have had with Saravio, everything. Only in Dyannis had he found the smallest measure of happiness. To his father, he was a thing to be used, taken up and discarded or remade in a more useful, obedient mold, but in her clear eyes he had seen himself as something more, someone worthy of love. He would never see her again, or hold her in his arms, but if he could prevent her death, even at the cost of his own, even if it meant letting Varzil live, then he would do it.
Anguish rushed through him, pouring forth from some hidden recess of his being.
I will live my life on my own terms, he raged, or I will end it! Against them both, the twin ghosts of father and Keeper, he threw all the passion of that cry.
The physical world rose up around him. His eyes focused on wall and window, the tangled web of gleaming metal, the ash-pale woman standing before him with a handful of sun-bright gemstone. He had won that much.
He hurled himself from the bench at Callina. Too late, the Keeper realized his intention. Callina jerked backward like a puppet, but not before Eduin reached her. He dared not try to take the crystal. It was somehow working through her. He took a long stride, turning sideways, and swung a backhand punch. His blow connected, spinning her around. The instant the starstone left her grasp, he felt a lessening of the Keeper’s mental attack.
Callina staggered but kept her feet. She screamed out a curse in cahuenga. The crystal rolled across the strip of bare floor toward the door. She lunged for it.
Eduin grabbed Callina around the waist and hauled her back. It was like trying to hold a furious cloud leopard. She twisted, kicking and scratching. Her nails raked the side of his face, drawing blood. She spat in his face, for a moment blinding him. Her weight unbalanced him. He fell back, landing against something low and hard-edged.
The two of them went crashing down amid splintering wood and shattered glass. Too late, Eduin realized they’d fallen on top of the table holding the relay screen.
They were on the floor now, rolling over the debris. Callina kept clawing at him, aiming for his eyes. Eduin tried to grab her wrists. She shoved a knee into his upper thigh, hard enough to numb the nerve. He released her.
She scrambled to her hands and knees. He rolled up and caught her on the temple with a roundhouse punch. It was poorly aimed, with little power behind it. He wasn’t much of a fighter, but he’d learned a few things on the streets of Thendara. He came at her again. Her body spun away and she landed, limp, a short distance away.
Eduin turned back to the relay screen, but he already knew what he would find. The delicate mechanism lay shattered past repair. His mind caught no hint of resonance.
The Keeper’s crystal still glowed, although not as strongly as when Callina’s mind had fueled it. Grimly, Eduin hauled himself to his feet. He walked the few paces over to where it lay on the stone floor and brought one boot smashing down on it. It shattered with an almost human wail that hung for a long moment in the air and then died away into silence.
Eduin stood, chest heaving. His muscles trembled and his stomach churned. Blood trickled down his face where Callina had gouged him.
Dyannis . . .
He had failed. There was no way to get a message to Hali Tower, even if it were not already too late. Not even Varzil could reach so far with his unaided mind.
Eduin’s knees buckled under him and he collapsed. The hard stone floor stung his knees. He bent over, curling himself around the knot of pain. Moment by moment, one heartbeat after the next, it swelled until he was no more than a shell of agony. If there had been a dagger or any weapon to hand, he would have ended it.
In that vast and unchanging Overworld, he wondered, would he find any respite? Would his soul wander there, forever tormented, forever torn, until time itself came to an end?
An idea took shape in his mind, so fantastical that he would not have dreamed it had he not been so distraught. In the Overworld, neither time nor distance had any meaning. A laranzu could travel to a Tower halfway across Darkover, could shape thought into reality. He had been warned many times about the lands of the dead, which bordered the Overworld.
What if he could travel through the Overworld to reach Dyannis? Just because it had never been done before did not mean it was impossible. The worst thing that could happen was that he would remain there, without hope or home or meaning, long after his body had fallen into dust.
What was the risk in that? He was already doomed. He had nothing to lose.
Eduin felt his body drop gently to the floor even as his mind reached out.
He must have been partway into the Overworld to begin with, for he had never made the transition so smoothly before, not even with a trained Keeper to guide him. Perhaps his own desperation fueled the leap.
A featureless gray sky arched above an equally unbroken plain. Eduin turned slowly, scanning the distant horizon, but saw nothing. The light was diffuse, betraying no direction, but a chill breeze brushed his cheeks. He glanced down and saw himself clothed in a gray robe, loosely belted. A shiver passed through him, for he had not worn such a garment since he last worked at Hestral Tower. He wondered if he might encounter Felicia in this realm, and what he might say to her. Better that her spirit flee him, as the dead were supposed to do.
Valeron Tower had created no structure of mind and thought to mark its location. That was hardly surprising if its workers never ventured forth to the Overworld. Without such an anchor, he might be unable to return to his own place, his own body, but at this moment, he did not care.
He had no idea in which direction Hali Tower lay, but that made no difference. Here in the Overworld, only will and thought had any meaning. He must remember Hali as he had known it from the inside, the essence of the place, the mental signatures of Keeper and circle. These were the true landmarks of a Tower. It had been many years since he lived and worked there, but such communities had their own stability. Workers might come and go, novices complete their training, and Keepers pass away, but the spirit of the place, the ways of thinking and working together, these changed slowly or not at all.
Most of all, Dyannis would still be there. She would have grown. Certainly, she had increased in strength and skill. Her astonishing performance at Hali Lake proved that. Yet, he felt he would know her anywhere.
Dyannis . . .
The unearthly stillness of the Overworld swallowed his cry. Again he called, pouring all his love, his longing, his anguish at lost hope, into that name.
Dyannis . . .
Gradually, he felt a change in the air. He could not judge distances across the plain, but he sensed a ripple, like space folding in upon itself. The light shifted, charged now with a heightened energy, an imminence.
A figure condensed as if from mist, standing before him. His first reaction, joy and relief, faded as the outline became clear. It was too large, too thick, too stooped to be Dyannis.
His father stood before him, wavering and indistinct, yet unmistakable. Straggled locks framed a face as pleated and ashen as the tattered funeral shroud. Marble spheres veined in gray filled the eye sockets. Charcoal lips moved silently and a skeletal hand pointed a bony finger at Eduin.
That tyrant voice whispered once more through his skull. You swore . . . revenge . . .
For an instant, the old habit of obedience paralyzed Eduin. He heard his own voice, now a child’s, now a man’s, pleading, promising, begging for mercy.
“I won’t fail you, Father! I won’t fail!”
“Please don’t die! I’ll do anything . . .”
“No, don’t—please, don’t!”
But those words had been spoken long ago and far away, distant in both time and space and the unfathomable geometry of the heart.
“Get out of my way!” he
howled, “or by Zandru and all the demons in his Seven Frozen Hells, I will walk right through you!”
Eduin’s belly cramped. He knew his body here was only a mental fabrication, yet he felt the twisting as physical agony. Anger flared in response, spreading like a wildfire through a grove of pitch pine. Fists clenched, teeth bared, he strode toward the ghostly figure.
Zandru? But it is Zandru’s Bride who owns you now!
The figure shimmered, as if light itself crumpled. Instead of the lineaments of an old man, stooped and bearded, a cloak swept back to reveal the bone-pale features of Naotalba. She lifted her chin. Her white throat glimmered in the gray light.
A death, you said, but you did not say whose.
“Not hers! I never meant hers!”
Fool of a mortal! Do you think to bargain with me now? Naotalba shifted, and he sensed all the legions of frozen demons at her back. Her breath touched him, icy as the coldest grave.
Eduin drew back. He realized what he had done. He had poured all his hatred, all his rage, all his father’s twisted need for revenge into the figure of Naotalba. She was as beautiful as when he’d first seen her in Saravio’s mind, a human woman with the power to stir men’s hearts. But there was no pity left in her. She had become as hard and unfeeling as any stone.
Because he had made her so.
Once Eduin had been innocent, full of hope and trust. In his own madness, his father had taken him, twisted him, crippled him. He had no choice in what he had become, and yet in a terrible way, he was still responsible for his deeds.
He could never undo what he had done, the things he had set in motion, the lives he had ruined. But he could choose what to do now.
Eduin set his jaw and plunged through the shadowy figure. Whiteness shocked through him. He could not see or feel or breathe. It was far worse than passing through the coruscating laran Veil that guarded Arilinn Tower.
The next instant, Eduin stumbled free.
A Tower stood there, slender and shining. A woman, her robes the crimson worn only by a Keeper, darted toward him. Curls bright as flame streamed down her back. Her gaze was steady as she met his in recognition.
Dyannis.
42
Dyannis passed from sleep to waking in the space of a heartbeat. Pulling aside the summer-weight bedcovers, she sat up. Her room at Hali Tower and the corridor beyond it lay quiet. With her laran, she felt the slow rhythms of sleeping minds and, farther off, the hum of activity from kitchen and yard. Milky predawn light filtered through the partly-drawn curtains. A gentle breeze, cool and fragrant with night-blooming flowers, barely stirred the air.
The fragments of her dreams slipped away, leaving only a sense of unease. She had been working regularly long into the night until Raimon urged her to relax more, to take time for fellowship and exercise.
“You will be of no use to yourself or to the circle if you are too exhausted to work properly,” Raimon said. “Knowing your limits and respecting your own needs are as much a part of the training of a Keeper as anything you do in a circle.”
Varzil had watched her uncritically, with that sympathy of mind, that deep understanding. He was the only one at Hali Tower to truly understand why she dared not stint or hold back, why she must prove herself. It was not because she was a woman. Ellimara Aillard, whom Varzil was training as a Keeper back at Neskaya, felt no compulsion to work harder and better than any five men.
If I am to have the power and authority of a Keeper, then I must also have the discipline to use it wisely. Never again would dragons fly, born of her unthinking rage. Never again would a careless word cause another’s death.
Her strategy was working, for as she gained in skill, her fears had diminished. Little by little, she began to trust herself. Varzil’s arrival at Hali Tower had strengthened her faith in herself. In his clear vision, she glimpsed her own goodness.
Varzil never told her not to work so hard, or attempted to soothe her with bland reassurances. He refused to offer advice, and she knew why. If he told her what to do, he would then become responsible for the consequences. If she were to rely upon herself as Keeper, then she must be free to make her own decisions.
Varzil ...
Barefoot, not bothering with a shawl, she hurried through her sitting room and flung the outer door open. Her brother stood there, holding a laran-charged glow. In its light, his gray eyes glinted.
She put her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“It is time to say good-bye.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Just so.”
For a long moment, she stared at him, not quite sure she’d understood. “Then we need to talk.”
Varzil dipped his head and stepped inside. Dyannis excused herself and went into her bedroom to change. As an under-Keeper, she enjoyed larger quarters than she had as a mere circle worker. When she’d objected, saying that she had no need for two separate rooms, Raimon had pointed out all the times she had met with him in his own chambers. Now she was glad to be able to hold a private discussion in some place other than her bedroom.
It took only a few minutes to wash her face and hands and pull on a sleeveless tunic over a simple underdress, the kind of loose, comfortable clothing she preferred. Her hair was still braided for sleep in a single plait reaching almost to her waist.
Varzil stood beside the window overlooking the courtyard. He’d lit several candles, enough for them to see each other’s faces. He turned at her approach, and they settled themselves in the two cushioned chairs beside the hearth.
“Now,” she said, “tell me what this is all about. I thought you were to stay here until the end of autumn.”
“So did I, and so it must be given out.”
That confirmed her suspicion that his departure was to be kept secret. “Is it some mission for Carolin?”
“Very astute, little sister. As I once said, you have an instinct for statecraft.”
She shrugged. “I made a lucky guess, that’s all. It wasn’t hard. You brought us good news from Isoldir, that Dom Ronal was prepared to make his peace with the Lady of Valeron, but these are shifting times, and even the best intentions may not hold. Nor is that the only brewing storm. Asturias still threatens our own kinsmen at Serrais. From everything I have heard of him, their general, the man known as the Kilghard Wolf, is not to be trusted. And—”
Varzil held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You need not elaborate further. For every kingdom or Tower that has sworn itself to the Compact, there are three others who are ready to set all the land ablaze in their quarrels.”
Dyannis nodded. This must be some business having to do with the Compact, then, and one that demanded secrecy. If Varzil’s mission were known, rumors would fly before him, possibly placing his cause in jeopardy. Varzil had already gained a considerable reputation among the Comyn lords as either a savior or a madman. His revolutionary ideas had made him a traitor to his class in the eyes of more than a few members of the Council.
She asked if there were any way she might aid his mission.
“As a matter of fact, there is. Carolin has a horse waiting for me by the lake, and from there I will travel with a party of traders in salt and furs.”
Dyannis nodded. The cargo would not be rich enough to tempt bandits to risk an attack against numbers. In plain clothing, mounted on a lackluster beast, Varzil could easily avoid any particular notice. That is, if no one were looking for him.
And no one will be looking, if everyone believes you are still here at Hali.
She caught his affirming nod. No wonder he had been welcomed with such a public spectacle. The king himself had come to the Tower to visit him.
“Hali is big enough, now that we have two full circles at work, that days—even a tenday—might pass without encountering every other person here,” she commented.
“You might hear someone mention a person, and that would have the effect of keeping him in your mind, just as if you ha
d seen him,” Varzil said.
“That is true. I could let drop, ‘Varzil says this,’ or ‘Varzil did that,’ just as if I had come fresh from meeting you. I need not say when you had said or done something.”
Varzil laughed softly. “You were always a fine conspirator. If we had been closer in age, I think that Father would have been hard-pressed to handle both of us.”
“No,” she said, her voice coming with unexpected softness, “you, being the elder, took the brunt of it.”
I do not think I would have been allowed to come to Hali, if you had not taken my part with Father and then with Harald.
“You would have been married off, with five healthy sons, and never known the difference,” he teased.
She met his gaze steadily. “I would have known the difference. Believe me, I would have known.”
“I should know better than to say such things,” he admitted. “When I was a boy, I thought only of my own misery. I knew that if I had to stay at home and be the dutiful second son our father wanted, I would go mad. I have since learned that women, rich or poor, suffer even more unrelenting confinement all their lives. To have such Gifts—and to have no way of using them—if that is not a living hell, I do not know what is.”
“We speak of Zandru as the Lord of the Seven Frozen Hells, but I think he does not rule everywhere,” she said. “I think there is a special land of torment for women, in the shadow of Zandru’s Bride, Naotalba the Accursed. She was human once, or so the stories go, and so only she can know what has been lost, what—what might have been.” Her throat closed up.
Why should the idea affect her so deeply, when she now had everything she wanted? She had the training to use her laran, a useful independent life, the rank and privilege—and power—of becoming a Keeper. Why then did thoughts of failed hopes and unfulfilled talents fill her with sorrow?
The moment passed, a mist seemed to lift from her sight, and she saw a mirror to her own sadness in the eyes of her brother. She remembered how he had talked about his lost love, Felicia.
A little shudder passed through her shoulders. She stood, rubbing her arms. “The dawn approaches, and you must be on the road. I will do what I can, and hold you ever in my thoughts.”
A Flame in Hali Page 46
