The Shadow Matrix

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  "Very much. I was expecting to sit with the other students—except there is only Bernice Storn, it seems. Unless there are others I have not met yet."

  "There are a few, either upstairs minding the relays or sleeping. Conal is abed with the fever—he's a technician, too. You will meet everyone eventually. But we are a small Tower compared to Arilinn, a circle plus eight or nine more. And we all know how Arilinn is, so we wanted to make you feel as welcome as we could. Is Camilla MacRoss still looking down her nose at everyone?"

  Margaret laughed. "She is, I'm afraid. The rest of the students seemed almost frightened of her, and I suppose it would have been tactful if I had pretended to be as well. But I know her sort—the university was rife with such."

  "What do you mean—her sort? Here, have a little more wine."

  "I don't know if I should, Caitlin. I don't want to be put to bed with my boots on my first night here. Oh, well, just a little won't hurt." Margaret was relaxed for the first time in months, feeling that here she was almost safe, that she would not be criticized or made to think she was doing something wrong. She sipped at her glass.- "There are people, I think, who find something they can do ... um, say juggle. And they learn to juggle quite well, perhaps even become champion jugglers. And then, for no reason I can understand, they stop learning, and pretend that juggling makes them superior to everyone, and particularly to aero-, bats and wire walkers and equestrians and animal tamers." Listening to herself, she wondered if the wine was a good idea. She was as close to drunk as she ever became. But it

  was so nice to be able to talk without fear of censure that she could only hope she was not making a fool of herself.

  Caitlin nodded. " 'That dog only knows one trick,' we say in the mountains. That is Camilla, for certain."

  "Are you from the mountains, then?"

  "Yes, from the foothills of the Hellers. My family has been there for centuries, grubbing out a living with the sheep and goats and a few crops. I was glad to leave home, though I miss them sometimes. When I arrived at Arilinn to begin training, I thought I had fallen into Paradise. The Plain of Arilinn is very beautiful, particularly in summer. I had two dresses, one with many patches, and one with only a few, and my boots were almost worn through. Some of the others looked at me as if I were a spook, because while the Leynier name is old and respected, I did not come from the branch of the family that was wealthy. But my laran was enough to win me some respect, and as soon as I could, I left Arilinn and came here."

  "Why Neskaya?"

  "My mother is a connection of Istvana's."

  "I see. Tell me, if you will, how you came into possession of that book you mentioned? The one your brother had?"

  "You mean, why am I not semiliterate like so many other females?"

  "I would not have been so blunt about it, but yes."

  "The Aldarans are not as reluctant to learn new tricks as the rest of the Domains, which is one reason they have been exiled from the Comyn Council for generations. My father's sister married into the Aldarans, and when she was widowed, she came back to us, and she taught me to read and write, and a great deal more. Not that we had a lot of books, poor as we were. But I learned everything I could, being a very curious person."

  "I was starting to think that everyone on Darkover was incurious, except . . ."

  "Except?"

  "Well, my cousin Mikhail Hastur is very interested in things that his father says are entirely unnecessary."

  "I see. Is he as handsome as they say?"

  Margaret felt her cheeks redden at the question. "He is not a burden to the eyes," she responded quietly.

  Caitlin chuckled. "Tell me, why do you wear those mitts?

  Is there some new fashion in Thendara, or are you cold? Istvana told us that you had lived on a very warm world for a long time—it sounds interesting, and rather fantastic to me. She said you lived beside an ocean for years and years." There was an undertone of disbelief in Caitlin's voice, and a little envy as well.

  "That is true, I did. Sometimes I dream about it, although it has been over ten years since I stood on the shores of the Sea of Wines and watched the flower boats come in at the rising of the morning star. All the folk of the outer islands, wreathed in garlands, come paddling in, singing and chanting. The wind smells of blossoms and wine, which is how the sea got its name, of course. They make the first catch of ferdiwa, the spring fish, wrap them in kelp, and build great firepits on the shore. There is nothing like that wonderful smell. The fish is roasted until the flesh is white and flakes from the bones. It tastes almost sweet ... as sweet as summer peaches. And everyone eats and drinks until they cannot budge, except the dancers, who seem to be able to keep from getting drunk somehow."

  Caitlin's eyes were bright with interest, and Margaret hoped she had forgotten about the mitts. She was grateful to Istvana for not telling her folk about her peculiar matrix, because it still made her squirm to think about it. "And was the sea warm enough to swim in?"

  "Oh, yes. Everyone who lives on Thetis is within easy distance of the sea, or one of the rivers, if they live on the Big Island, and everyone swims."

  "How strange. We have a sea on Darkover, but I never heard of anyone getting into it on purpose. It is much too cold."

  Margaret's thoughts went to Mikhail, living very near the Sea of Dalereuth, and wondered if he had gone to look at it. If he had, he had made no mention of it in their infrequent contacts. As she thought of him, a shiver of unease traced itself along her nerves. He had been so odd the last few times—vague and preoccupied with the "Elhellions," as he had called them a few times. "No, from what I have heard about the Sea of Dalereuth, I don't imagine anyone swims in it voluntarily."

  "But you haven't explained the mitts, Marguerida. You

  don't mind me calling you that—we are cousins, after all— do you?"

  "No, I do not mind. When I was small, I was called Marja, but I feel rather too grown-up for that now. And I have become very, very weary of domna this and domna that, particularly at Arilinn, where everyone seemed to be obsessed with their lineage. I used to want to grind my teeth sometimes, when someone would get offended that I didn't know their ancestors for seven generations back, as if who their grandfather was made them . . . somehow special."

  Caitlin was quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful. "I see. Do you know, until this very moment, I never thought about how much time is spent discussing who married whom, or the names of their children, and their histories. I take it that such matters are not subjects of conversations to the Terranan?"

  Margaret laughed, relieved that she had once more deflected Caitlin's lively mind from the matter of her fingerless gloves. "There are worlds where asking a man who his mother was could get you killed, Caitlin. And others where you and I could not converse at all, because either we were of different orders of society, or because we were not connected properly. You have no idea of the diversity. I found a bit of verse, something that predates Terranan space travel, which makes it about four thousand years old. Let me see. Ah, yes.

  "There are nine and forty ways

  Of constructing tribal lays,

  And every single one of them is right.

  "At least, that is how I remember it. I think what the

  author meant is that each tribe thinks their way is the only

  way, and that this is not true, since it leads to wars and

  feuds.",

  "You must find us terribly ignorant and backward." "No, Caitlin, I don't. Infuriating, yes. And often puzzling, because I don't understand why the Darkovans do some things and not others. But I understand the pride of our people, and sometimes I want to take my uncle, Dom Gabriel, by his broad shoulders and shake some sense into

  him. He is not a stupid man, but right now he is behaving in a rather stupid way."

  "You mean his taking the matter of the Alton Domain to the Cortes?"

  "Yes, I do. I know that he thinks he is doing the right thing, but it is pretty hard on my fa
ther, and none too pleasant for me. He wants me to be declared his ward."

  "Uh-huh. Even up here, we have heard about that. Ist-vana says that once Dom Gabriel gets an idea in his head, nothing short of a bolt from Aldones will cause him to change his mind. This is a very unpleasant subject for you, I am sure. So tell me about the mitts. They are quite fetching, and I have never seen anything quite like them. All those layers of colored silk!"

  Margaret was torn between confiding in this woman, and pushing away from the table and running away to her room. After a moment, she reached for the wine carafe, tipped a bit more into her glass, and looked at Caitlin, lifting the glass vessel and gesturing. Caitlin nodded, and Margaret poured some wine into her glass.

  "I don't know how much Istvana has told you about me, so please stop me if I repeat what you already know. When I arrived on Darkover, I had no notion of laran, Gifts, or any of the rest of it, and, frankly, I could have gone my entire life without finding out. But, before I left Darkover, when I was about six, I was overshadowed by Ashara Alton, and she blocked my channels. I don't know why she · did that, but she seems to have imagined I was some sort of threat to her. And according to Gareth Ridenow at Arilinn, my channels are not completely open yet. There does not seem to be any precedent for me. He said he couldn't decide if I was a monster or a miracle."

  Caitlin laughed at this. "I can hear him saying just that. A good man, Gareth."

  "Anyhow, it was killing me—being overshadowed and blocked. I really do not understand the ins and outs of it, and probably I never will, although I have done as much research in the Arilinn scriptorium as I was able, and learned a great deal. So, with Istvana's help, I went into the overworld—which I will not talk to you about!" Margaret shuddered all over and felt her brows draw together in a frown. "It still gives me the occasional nightmare. But dur-

  ing the experience, I touched a matrix which was the keystone of Ashara's overworld abode, and when I came to my senses, I had a pattern on my left hand which is, as near as anyone can tell, the facets of that matrix stone. I keep it covered, because otherwise I am ... or it is, dangerous."

  Caitlin was listening intently. "Is that why Istvana had your chamber swathed in a Domain's ransom of wintersilk? We all wondered about it, and she wouldn't say a word, except perhaps to Merita, who never, never gossips."

  "Yes. The energy from matrixes runs along my nerves like cold fire, and just being in this room is a little uncomfortable. If I learned nothing else at Arilinn, I did find out how to endure that. If I had my way, I would never enter a Tower again, but until I learn more about how to control my laran, I am stuck, I suppose—unless I can figure out a way to study someplace other than a Tower."

  "Thank you for telling me about it. I had no idea I was being so nosy when I asked. Your eyes are getting glazed. Go to bed!"

  "I am sleepy, but it was good to talk to someone about it. I am a private person, and I keep myself apart, even when I long to be close to other people. I have to struggle to trust others, even when they mean well."

  "I will not betray your trust, Marguerida."

  Despite her weariness, when Margaret got to her room, she felt restless. After getting into her thick nightgown and brushing her hair, she still did not feel ready to sleep, and after pacing back and forth for a few minutes, she realized that she was missing Mikhail, that she wanted to speak to him, to feel the touch of his mind.

  She stripped away the mitt on her left hand, focused her mind as she had learned, and breathed deeply. For a while nothing happened. Margaret began to wonder if the silken hangings of her room were preventing her from reaching her beloved. Just when she was about to give up, however, she felt the familiar energy, faint and almost feeble, brush the edges of her mind.

  Mikhail!

  Marguerida? Where are you?

  I arrived at Neskaya earlier today, and I am sitting in a

  bower of silk, like some princess in a fairy tale. There is probably a pea under the mattress, to test me.

  What are you talking about? Mikhail sounded distracted, and almost angry.

  Nothing of importance, dearest. How are things with your young charges?

  Exhausting. I don't think I've had a whole night's sleep since I got here. And Priscilla and her friend . . . are very odd.

  Her friend? Who is that?

  What? I have a splitting headache, Marguerida.

  You sound very strange, Mik. Are you all right?

  Yes. No. I am just tired beyond belief.

  Then good night, sweet Mikhail.

  Good night, my Marguerida.

  She sat in the chair for several minutes, going over the conversation. Margaret was more than a little uneasy, but she tried to dismiss it. Something was wrong, she was certain, for Mikhail was never short with her. Who was this friend of Priscilla Elhalyn's, and why had he refused to tell her about it? Was he in some danger, and wanted to spare her worry? Didn't the bonehead realize that she worried more when she did not know what was going on? Of course not! Males could be so idiotic sometimes. And likely it was nothing at all—just his weariness and her own.

  Then doubt began to flourish in her weary brain. There was someone else, and Mikhail was afraid to tell her. There was probably some girl there who had taken his fancy, some woman of good family to whom no one would object, who would not disturb the precious balance of power between the Domains if Mikhail married her. Regis Hastur or Lady Linnea had probably sent someone off to Halyn House for just that purpose.

  Her mouth tasted like iron as she pulled the mitt back over the lines on her hand. She firmed her lips, swallowing the despair that rose in her throat, and got into the bed. The mattress was soft beneath her tired muscles, and it smelled of balsam and cleanness. She rested her head on the pillow, and let the tears come.

  I am not going to break my heart over this, Margaret told herself fiercely, as she fell into an uneasy slumber.

  8

  Mikhail ground his teeth in frustration and tried not to notice how very weary he was. After several weeks in residence in Halyn House, he was no closer to testing the boys, and all of his limited energy was devoted to trying to get the place into good enough repair for the coming winter. Already it was much colder, though the first heavy snows had yet to come. The wind from the sea gusted around the old place, crept in through windows he had tried to repair, under doors that no longer hung straight in their frames, and rattled the roof tiles.

  He had just finished another infuriating and futile interview with Priscilla Elhalyn, and his head felt full of mites, all cheerfully gnawing at his mind. He had tried again to persuade her to either move back to Elhalyn Castle, or to take the children away to Thendara. She had looked at him with her usual vague expression, a slight smile playing across her lips. "But we are going away, all of us except Vincent," she had said.

  "Where are you going?" Mikhail had asked that question so many times now that he had lost count.

  "Away to a place where we will be happy," she replied, as she had before. Then she had turned and gone down the corridor to the dark, little room where she spent most of her days and all of her nights, leaving him feeling infuriated and helpless. As she reached the dimness in the shadow of the stairs, she turned back, smiling sweetly. "If you would only take Vincent and be gone, it would be better, you know. He is the one you want, and the only one you will have. The others are coming with me, when I go."

  "Go where?" He shouted at her, venting some of his frustration. She had said this sort of thing several times

  before, hinting in a portentous way that never failed to annoy him. Just once he wanted to get a straight answer out of the domna.

  "That is no concern of yours, and I do not think you should be here when we leave. I think ... it might be fatal. And that would be very sad. Just take Vincent, and return to Regis Hastur."

  With these words, she vanished, and he stood in the hall, clenching his fists. It took all the discipline he had not to follow her, seize her by the a
rm, and shake her until he got some sensible answers. He had never laid hands on a woman before, and had never wanted to, even when his own sisters were being their most annoying, so he was rather shocked by the violence of his feelings.

  Mikhail shook his head, trying desperately to clear his thoughts. The house seemed to loom over him, and even though the windows in the front had been reglazed, it was still a dark place, gloomy and forlorn. As for Vincent, he was a sadistic bully to his brother and sisters and seemed to take real pleasure in tormenting the girls whenever he had the opportunity.

  Darkover had survived incompetent Elhalyns in the past—too many of them by Mikhail's lights. That was not a good reason to put another bad apple on the throne. He felt they should either eliminate the largely ceremonial position, or put someone in it who was both sane and able. Vincent seemed fairly intelligent, and there was nothing overtly insane about him, but his character concerned Mikhail. As eager as he was to be rid of the Regency, he was too honorable and responsible to take the easy way out, particularly since this solution was just what Priscilla proposed.

  Mikhail compared Vincent to his own brothers for a moment, and realized that their characters were already well-formed by the age of fifteen. Gabe was already bossy and certain of himself, and Rafael was a natural compromiser. They had both changed a little but not greatly, and he doubted Vincent would improve very much with age.