The Shadow Matrix

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Istvana looked rather puzzled. "Marguerida, there hasn't been a tower there for hundreds of years. There's only a ruin. It must have been a trick of the light. Lake Hali . . ."

  "Mikhail saw it, too!"

  "Did he? Or did he merely see the image in your mind? The power of suggestion is very strong between two . . ."'

  "He believed he saw the Hali Tower, and he also felt the same compulsion to go there I did. I remember thinking at the time that some day I would go back there and ..."

  "And what?"

  "I don't know. When I saw it, and Jeff and I talked about time, he mentioned something called Time Search."

  Now Istvana was openly concerned, and she did not try to conceal it. "Time Search! Marguerida, you are much too inexperienced to even consider such ... I know that Damon Ridenow—the older one, not Jeff—did it once, but he was very skilled and had studied for years. Even so, it nearly killed him! Please, put this idea from your mind."

  Margaret could sense the deep distress of the leronis, and she did not wish to cause her more. How the hell do I put something out of my mind? No one can do that—the more you try not to think about it, the more it intrudes on your brain. She shrugged and changed the subject. She knew

  Istvana well enough now that she was aware that it was useless to argue with her when she had decided something. Beneath all her empathy and kindness, she was a very determined woman. "I'm hungry."

  Istvana looked relieved. "You are always hungry. I know that matrix work gives a healthy appetite, but you are the best trencherwoman I have ever seen. I don't know how you keep your figure. If I ate as often as you do, I would burst my seams. There's some soup in the kitchen. Come along."

  Margaret got out of the bed and put on a thick overrobe, focusing her mind on the gentle rumble of her belly. She knew she was dissembling, and she did not like herself for it. She would not forget the dream, or the voice that called to her. But she could not do anything about it now, except push it down into the depths of her mind. After all—it was only a dream.

  An hour later, after two bowls of thick soup and several slabs of bread slathered with butter and honey, Margaret felt replete and much less anxious. She left Istvana and returned to her room. As soon as she closed the door, she felt her hand begin to throb and an itching sensation started above her eyes. Over the past few, months she had learned some control over her waking mind; recently, when someone tried to reach her through it, she got the itching. It was not pleasant, but at least it caught her attention.

  Margaret sat down in the chair and leaned back, letting her careful control relax a little. After just a few seconds, the itching stopped, and she felt a familiar warmth steal into her* body. Sometimes she could not immediately tell one mind from another, but Mikhail's was one she could always recognize instantly.

  What are you doing up at this hour, Mik? The silk hangings in her room made it a little difficult to "hear" him, but she was too languid from her meal to move to another room in the Tower just now.

  I wish I knew. Longing for you and feeling very frustrated I suppose.

  Oh, Mik! Margaret knew that something was bothering him, something that had been fretting his mind since he returned to Thendara, and she wondered what it was. She remembered how he had never really told her what was

  going on at Halyn House until it was all over, and felt mildly troubled by this exclusion. She had thought she and Mikhail could talk about anything! But it was likely something to do with the Elhalyn children, and he probably did not think she was interested.

  I just love it when you go all maidenly on me.

  I know. It puffs up your male ego, doesn't it?

  Don't be a cat! How are you?

  Much the same. I keep learning and learning and finding out how little I know. And dreaming, too. Speaking of dreams, you really must stop yearning after me. People are beginning to talk!

  Let them. Besides, I can't help it. I never wanted to be Romeo, but between my father and yours—

  I know, I know. At least we aren't young and stupid, and we won't take poison or anything.

  No, if I were going to use poison, it would not be on myself. But speaking, of dreams, I had one a couple of nights ago.

  Yes, I remember.

  Not that one, you wicked woman. Occasionally I do dream about something other than you. And this one was peculiar, though at the time I didn't think about it very much. Since I came back to Thendara, there has been so much going on that a dream didn't have much priority. But I had it again tonight, oh, maybe two hours ago. Maybe it wasn't the same dream, but. . . there was this voice both times.

  Deep, resonant, like the earth groaning?

  Yes. How did you ...

  I heard it, too. I heard my name—or a version of it. Let me think here. Ah, yes, It called to "Margarethe."

  Uh-huh. I heard "Mikhalangelo" in my dream, not Mik

  hail. The pronunciation was strange.,

  Well, you are one of the Lanart Angels. Did you hear anything else?

  Just one word—Midwinter.

  Midwinter? Margaret was surprised by this, and mildly disappointed, for she had expected Mikhail to tell her he had heard Hali. It was as if they had each been given parts of a puzzle, as if each of them had a piece, but had to join together to solve it. Is there anything special about Midwinter? I don't know enough about Darkovan customs yet.

  It's a festival time, but the only thing I can think of that is special about the coming one is that the four moons of Darkover will all be visible—well, not really, since it tends to be even cloudier in winter than in summer—at the same time on Midwinter Eve.

  How often do the moons appear at one time, Mik? Astronomy was a mystery to her, and Margaret knew it. She understood music, but thinking in three dimensions was beyond her.

  Only a couple of times a generation, but it hasn't happened at Midwinter in hundreds of years. The street-corner fortunetellers are all abuzz with it, or I wouldn 't have known at all. Priscilla Elhalyn was very fond of fortune tellers, and I suppose that made me more aware of the gossip than I would have been before. His mental voice had a grim quality now.

  My poor Mik! If only ...

  If only Uncle Regis hadn't stuck me with the Regency.

  Listen, Mik, we had similar dreams, but in mine I didn't hear a word about Midwinter.

  What did you hear then?

  Hall

  There was a sound in her mind, a kind of mental sigh. I should have guessed, shouldn't I? We both knew when we saw the Tower that someday we were going there.

  Mik, no one is going to let us go running off into a ghost of a Tower, and you know it! You are just looking for any excuse to get away from the mess that. . . that your uncle put you in. She hated criticizing Regis Hastur, even slightly, but sometimes she could not help herself. And, at the same time, she sensed that Mikhail was disturbed about something else.

  Of course I am! But that is neither here nor there. Do you really think we have any choice? Use your Aldaran Gift and tell me we don't do this thing, and I swear I'll never mention it again.

  I don't know if I can, Mik. The Alton Gift is fairly straightforward. I can turn it off and on and either force rapport or not, as 1 choose. But the Aldaran Gift of foresight. . . that's a very different kettle offish. It's random. I don't have much control over it yet. I can't just. . . access it like a computer or something.

  No, I suppose not. I just remember how you saw Ariel's unborn daughter back at Armida the day that . . .

  The day that Domenic had his accident. It is all right to say it. The grief of memory blossomed in her mind. I was almost out of my mind, between Gabe's demanding that I marry him instantly and the rest. I've never had a vision that strong again, and frankly, I would be glad if I never did.

  I can understand that. I suppose it doesn't matter—but the dream had such urgency!

  Suddenly Margaret did not want to talk about the dream any longer, and she changed the subject. How are the Elhellions fari
ng in Thendara?

  Alain and Vincent have been removed to Arilinn, where they are being looked after properly. I confess I am greatly relieved to be free of that particular responsibility. Emun seems to be fine—he has gained a few pounds and no longer looks like a ghost. I just wish I felt more confident of him. And the girls are wonderful. Young Dani has fallen completely in love with Miralys, and Lady Linnea is watching them as if they were a pair of breeding hawks. Valenta, on the other hand, regards me as the paragon of manly virtues. I must warn you, dearest, that she will likely be quite rude to you when you arrive here, seeing you as her rival.

  It is a pity you cannot marry her, and keep me for a barragana.

  Marguerida! What a shocking thing. I love it when you say unseemly things.

  I know you do—which just encourages me! We must just wait, I suppose. I will be in Thendara soon.

  Not soon enough for me! Good night.

  Sleep well, Mikhail, with no more dreams to trouble you.

  Mikhail vanished from her mind, leaving only the tenderness of his parting thought. She sat and savored it for a long time, knowing that it might be all she ever had of Mikhail Hastur. And if Neskaya did not become snowbound, she would be with him soon.

  The room was cold now, and growing colder by the minute. Margaret noticed this and realized it was not that the temperature was falling, but that something was chilling her down to the bone. It was only a dream, and she did not have to think about it. But the sense of destiny gripped her in spite of her efforts to dislodge it.

  "Hali at Midwinter," she whispered.

  17

  Winter arrived in Thendara on Mikhail's heels, and kept him confined in Comyn Castle for weeks. At first he had not minded, glad to be in a warm bedchamber, with good meals cooked and served at regular intervals, and the children seen to by people more skilled than himself. But after the dream he seemed to have shared with Marguerida, he became restless and irritable. What did it mean? And who had called to him?

  Mikhail discovered that his recent experiences at Halyn House had left him with a powerful distaste for the supernatural, and at the same time, a great curiosity about it. The voice in the dream was all too reminiscent of the bellowing of the Guardian, roaring in his mind. He had a sinking feeling that he did not have a choice—something was going to happen whether he wanted it or not.

  With time on his hands, Mikhail had consulted Yoris MacEvers, the archivist at Comyn Castle and had read as much as he could about Hali Tower before it was destroyed. It was a frustrating search, for so much had been lost during the centuries, and what there was seemed vague and not terribly useful. There might be more at Arilinn, but he did not feel he could ride off, even if the weather had allowed it, leaving Regis with a castle full of Aldarans and small children.

  Everyone in the snow-bound castle was irritable, except the Elhalyn children, who were settling in nicely. And Mikhail knew the situation would not improve when his parents arrived. After several days of being on his best behavior, playing chess with Gisela and listening to Dom Damon's opinions on seemingly everything, he sank into a foul mood. Mikhail did not let it show, but it wore him down, to smile and smile, when he just wanted to be left alone.

  The more time he spent with Dom Damon, the more Mikhail .wondered at his uncle's wisdom in suggesting that the Aldarans should return to Darkovan society. It was obvious that the old fellow had some ideas that would infuriate his father and other conservatives, that he was ambitious for power, and frustrated by the long exile of his family. Unlike his son Robert, who had not yet arrived in Thendara, he seemed to lack" patience.

  It was clear, as well, that Dom Damon assumed that there would be a marriage between Mikhail and Gisela in the near future. Since his meeting with Regis, Mikhail had felt constrained to hold his tongue. He did not say that he would refuse such an alliance, since he knew that his uncle wanted to keep Damon happy. And there was no polite way he could tell Gisela to abandon any hopes she might hold. It was hard enough to endure her attentions as it was.

  One evening, in his cups, Dom Damon had expressed his feelings about Regis, and they were not particularly respectful. Mikhail wondered if Regis knew how Lord Aldaran felt about him. Since very little that went on in Comyn Castle escaped his uncle's notice, he thought he must. He could only hope Regis was not bothered by it.

  Gisela had brought both of her children with her on the trip to Thendara, and while the older boy languished in the Terran Medical Center, the younger one was at Comyn Castle. For several days, Mikhail had not seen the boy, but when he did, one afternoon, he found that little Rakhal was at the sticky stage of his development. How little Rakhal managed this fresh from his bath was a complete mystery to Mikhail. But with his new interest in parenting, Mikhail allowed the child to sit on his lap, pat his face, and discourse on such matters as appealed to his young mind.

  He found that Gisela shrank away from Rakhal, and was impatient with him. It was obvious to him that she did not not like the child, or perhaps that she did not like children in general. Mikhail tried to be charitable, but his recent memories of Priscilla Elhalyn's neglect of her children, had made him acutely sensitive on this subject. He put Gisela's behavior down to an aversion for her dead husband, and bit his tongue when she pulled away from the grubby but sweet little boy.

  For his own part, Mikhail spent as much time as he could

  with the youngest Elhalyns, who were now healthier and less anxious. One afternoon he took Emun and his sisters on a tour of Comyn Castle—they did not cover half of it before they were exhausted—and he was surprised at the questions they asked him. Some he could not answer, such as who had built the great, White pile. Others he could, and did. Emun remained nervous and strained, jumping at shadows and loud noises. Mikhail swallowed the despair that rose in his throat whenever he looked at the lad.

  It was with great relief that he awoke to see just a hint of sun breaking through the clouds one morning. Mikhail pushed aside his blankets, dressed hastily, and headed for the stables without bothering with breakfast. A good ride would blow the cobwebs out of his mind, stretch his legs, and get him away from all the intrigues of the Castle.

  As he strode out onto the snowy steps leading to the Stable Court, Mikhail drew a deep breath of clean air, and felt its crispness on his cheeks. Then he walked down the stairs and started across the cobbles.

  Mikhail saw a figure, dressed for riding, standing on the cobblestones, and his heart sank. Gisela had clearly had the same thought as he, or perhaps anticipated his decision. She had her back to him, and he almost turned around and went back inside, to hide in the entry until she left. Instead, he bit back his irritation. It was too beautiful a morning to waste indoors. He sighed as a groom led a horse out of the stables for her, a little dun mare with white fetlocks. There was a side-saddle perched on the horse's back, and as he approached, the groom helped her up into it.

  Gisela settled herself into place, saw him, and gave him one of her sparkling glances. He had been pursued by women most of his life, but none, he decided, was more determined than this one. Mikhail's heart sank into his sturdy boots; there was no way to avoid accompanying her now.

  He paused and studied her for a moment, trying to delay the inevitable. Gisela was wearing a heavy woolen garment of darkest green, and a small and impractical hat with a hawk's feather in it, rose kid gloves so thin they were almost a second skin, and riding boots in the blue favored in the Hellers and the Dry Towns: She made a very fetching picture, he admitted, but the blue boots clashed with the

  green of her riding clothes. And the -gloves on her hands reminded him of Marguerida's, always clad in silken mitts, even when they caressed the strings of her harp. It made his blood run hot to think about those hands, and he forced himself to shut away the extremely erotic images.

  "I see I am not the only one ready for a ride," she said, smiling at him. "Another day of listening to Rakhal prattle and I should have gone mad."

  Mikhail quell
ed his rising annoyance, and only said, "Good morning, Gisela."

  . At that moment the morning sun touched her, gilding her form with radiance. She looked every inch a lady, commanding and sure of her place. She really was a most attractive woman, and he liked her, but she did not move his heart at all. That belonged to a pair of golden eyes, not green ones. Mikhail signaled the groom, and the man vanished into the darkness of the stables to saddle his big bay.

  "Yes, it is a good morning! Just smell the air! There isn't a hint of snow in it for the moment!" She seemed very happy, more carefree than she had been recently. There was a confidence in her posture that had not been present, before, and he had a mild frisson of unease.

  "Then you will be able to go to the Medical Center and" see how your son is faring, won't you?"

  Gisela gazed down at him with utter incomprehension, as if he had just suggested that she ride naked through the streets of the city. Then she recovered herself slightly. "Uh, yes, of course. Not today, though. Tomorrow perhaps. We might go together?"

  Before Mikhail could reply, there was a flutter of wings and the now familiar caw of his avian friend. The sea crow alighted on Mikhail's shoulder, and began to offer the noises that he thought of as birdly gossip. Mikhail had taken to keeping a window in his bedroom open a bit, and the crow had visited him there several times, always announcing himself with similar sounds. It made his room chilly, but Mikhail found he was actually fond of the crow, and flattered by its attention and devotion.