Zandru's Forge

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  It was not modesty which held her back, nor any ingrained belief that she as a woman could not do what she had done.

  It was fear.

  There will be opposition, of course, he said reassuringly. People will believe only what they want to. But there are enough open-minded Keepers and matrix workers, people willing to defy the structures of tradition. And if the world could change enough for a woman could become a Keeper, then Carolin’s pact might also come into reality. In the end, the Towers will stand with you.

  She waved him silent. Her voice came thick, as if each word were torn from her heart. “But at what cost? Varzil, I have spent my whole life hiding who I am. The only reason I have a life is that I have succeeded. I am Felicia of Arilinn—only that. But if I become Felicia the Keeper, Felicia the Freak, if every scheming busybody in the entire Comyn focuses on me because of this, how long will I be able to live as myself? How long before I become Taniquel’s daughter? Coryn’s daughter? A thing of legend instead of flesh?” She broke off, smearing tears from her eyes with the back of one hand.

  “I think you cannot be any less than you are,” he answered. “Neither falsehood nor silence can change what has already happened.”

  Felicia gazed out the window, rocking with her silent tears.

  Even if he lied for her, which he would not do, it would be no use. Everyone in the circle knew what she had done. Despite attempts to keep it secret, word would leak out. It wouldn’t be the first time such rumors had been passed along the relays. If she herself denied what she had done, the matter might well go no further. But at what price to her integrity? To women in Towers everywhere? To Darkover?

  She must decide for herself. If he tried to tell her what to do, he would become her adversary instead of her ally. She would make the right choice, in her own way and time. He had no doubt of her courage or her ability to face the truth.

  He went to her, put the quilt around her shoulders, and kissed her brow.

  “It is for you alone to decide.” He closed the door softly and headed for his own chamber.

  Varzil did not have another occasion to speak privately with Felicia for almost a tenday. Barak’s circle took over the completion of the clingfire processing, and Varzil and the others from Auster’s circle assumed their less dangerous tasks. It was not the first time Varzil had worked as Keeper. Always before, Auster had been there, sometimes actively advising, sometimes only lending his silent encouragement. Although the projects were not exacting, Varzil executed each one with meticulous care. Sometimes he was so drained afterward, he barely had the energy to haul himself upstairs to his chamber.

  Felicia did her share as soon as Fidelis released her back to work. “I’m no more tired than anyone else in the circle,” she told Varzil as they sat before the fire in the common room, each with a mug of Lunilla’s steaming herbal tonic. “Fidelis had to satisfy Barak I’d taken no harm from what I did. If I were a man, the question wouldn’t have arisen. If I go on with this, every busybody from here to Temora will be watching over my shoulder, probing my channels, probably clucking like old hens over my laundry.”

  “Have I told you what happened the first time I tried to get into Arilinn?” Varzil said with a smile. “They wouldn’t have me.”

  “You? I can’t believe it!”

  “Oh, indeed. It didn’t help that my father was dead set against it. I think their real fear is that I’d die on them—I was that sickly-looking—and start a war.”

  Felicia lowered her mug. “You’re not exactly a farmer—strong as an ox and half as smart—but, Varzil, you have such a powerful Gift. How could they miss it?”

  “Auster didn‘t, but my father had to be convinced first. To do that, I had to rescue my brother Harald from, catmen. You’ve probably heard the story. The point is that there are always obstacles, whether they seem insurmountable or merely bothersome. The question is not how difficult the path, but whether in your heart, you wish to undertake the journey.”

  I do ... and yet I do not ...

  She looked away, biting her lower lip. He’d rarely seen her this troubled.

  “What troubles you? It cannot be these petty annoyances. You are not a person to shrink from doing what is right for mere personal convenience, even risking the loss of your anonymity. What truly holds you back?”

  She was silent for a long moment. “I—I am not sure. I have been trying to reason things out. I tell myself how difficult it is to go against tradition and everything I have been taught to expect from myself. A certain amount of anxiety is to be expected whenever anything new is attempted. I think what it was like for my mother. She rode with the army to take back Acosta, you know, and that was unheard of. I have this feeling—I don’t know—that once I start upon this road, there will be no turning back. I cannot see the end. I do not have the prescient talent of Allart Hastur. All I can see is darkness, darkness and fire.”

  Varzil had dropped into rapport with her, so that her dread shivered through them both. He saw that he had been right. Felicia would not let fear stop her.

  He set aside his own mug, now grown cold, and took her hands in his. “I have said that it is your choice, and I stand by that. I believe your ‘darkness and fire’ is no more than what we all worry about in these times. War and its companions, famine and plague, haunt all our dreams. Were we not engaged in making clingfire, surely one of the most terrible weapons imaginable, when Auster suffered his stroke? If we allow ourselves to be paralyzed by all the disasters which could happen, if we turn away from the chance to make a real change, then we are as guilty of those horrors as if we had committed them ourselves.”

  Felicia’s chin lifted. “Do you lay that responsibility on me? I did not ask for this, only to live a private life.”

  “Is that possible for any of us?” he countered.

  Her shoulders sagged. “You are right. Had I been born a head-blind fool, I,would never have known the difference. But I am as the gods made me, even as my mother was, and I have seen the path which has been set before me.”

  For a moment, Felicia looked so desolate, so fragile and vulnerable that Varzil wished he could take back his harsh words. She would never give in for the sake of peace, but would consider her decision carefully, weighing what she would lose against what she—and Darkover—would gain.

  Later that day, Felicia presented herself to the remaining Keeper of Arilinn and requested to be trained as one of them.

  “It is impossible for a woman to become a Keeper,” Barak repeated. He swept the air with his hands to emphasize his point.

  The entire population of Arilinn, down to the lowliest novice, had gathered in the common room. Auster sat in front of the empty fireplace, facing the assembly. A month had passed since the fateful incident, and his voice still carried a faint slur. A tiny bubble of spittle had formed at the right corner of his mouth.

  The events of the last month—Auster’s stroke, the immediate intervention by Cerriana and Varzil, and most of all, Felicia’s astonishing feat of maintaining the circle and stabilizing the clingfire had been told and retold, with the same question, Was it true? Had a woman functioned as a Keeper?

  “Barak,” Lunilla said with the respect due his rank. “We accept that there has never been a woman Keeper at Arilinn, or one acknowledged at any other Tower within recorded history. But the fact is that something did happen on that night, something which demands an explanation. If not for our community here, then for our fellow circles at the other Towers.”

  Gavin Elhalyn stood up. “As a member of that circle, I believe Varzil’s testimony that when he had finished the immediate care necessary to save Auster’s life, Felicia had already stabilized the circle under her own control. For myself, I am not sure. Things happened so quickly—we were all in deep rapport. If Varzil says this is what happened, then it must be so. When I could perceive things clearly once more, it was Felicia alone who held us in a circle.”

  Varzil had not expected such a strong statement from G
avin, who had served loyally under Auster for many years. Such was the man’s integrity that he would not retreat from the truth. He had been there, had felt Felicia’s silken touch spin them into a single unity. He would not deny it.

  Felicia kept to herself, chin lifted, back straight. She reminded Varzil of steel, bright in the sun. He wished he could take her hand. That would be an unforgivable breach of Tower etiquette, but more than that, it would compromise the poise, the pride that she wore as a mantle.

  “That is as it may be,” one of the other men said. “People—including women—can do extraordinary things in an emergency. This is not at all the same thing as a reliable talent. This is why we insist upon discipline and tradition. From the newest novice to the most revered Keeper, we are all bound by the same standards. We do not make promises we cannot fulfill. No one may work in a circle, with the minds of others dependent upon his skill and competence, unless he is fully trained and fit.”

  “A single incident does not make a Keeper,” Gavin conceded.

  Heads nodded in agreement.

  Varzil got to his feet and the murmurs died. All eyes shifted to him. He was, after all, Auster’s chosen successor, under-Keeper of Arilinn.

  “We live in extraordinary times,” he reminded them, “times of both disaster and promise, hope and trial. Our fathers saw the destruction of two great Towers. They lived their lives in a world gone mad, teetering on the brink of conflagration. We have the chance to make a new world, to envision new possibilities. Who is to say that a woman Keeper is not one of them?

  “What is really at stake here?” he demanded, pacing now, for the energy coursing through him would not allow him to stand still. “If we are right, if Felicia’s actions in maintaining the circle are an indication of her true talent—why, then, we will be hailed as pioneers, as visionaries. The Towers are too few and too distant as it is. Rebuilding Tramontana stretched our resources even thinner. Can you imagine what a difference it would make if we could draw upon our laran-Gifted women as well as men for Keeper training?”

  They were far fewer than when Varzil had first come to Arilinn. Barak’s circle was at a bare minimum. Others, including an extremely promising lad from Marenji, had left for the usual reasons, marriage, war, shifts in power in the small kingdoms. It was the same everywhere. Hali’s Second Keeper had gone to the new Tower at Tramontana, taking some of the most experienced workers with him.

  Several of the older folk, Lunilla and Richardo, drew back with horrified expressions. Only Auster listened impassively. Varzil feared he had pushed them too far and in doing so, lost his own argument.

  He lifted his hands in conciliation. “All I am saying is that we have nothing to lose by giving Felicia a chance. If you are right and what happened was an aberration, a short-lived bridge until I could take over the circle, then we are no worse off than we were before.”

  “Let the others break with tradition at their peril,” Barak said. “Arilinn will hold to the ancient truths, the time-honored principles that have made us great. There has never been a woman trained as Keeper here. There never will be.”

  The fools! Varzil thought with a burst of anger. Here was a treasure at their feet and they chose to retreat behind tradition.

  Tradition be damned! Half the room flinched visibly.

  Felicia rose to her feet. She regarded Barak, Arilinn’s sole remaining functional Keeper, with calm eyes. “Vai dom, do not trouble yourself on my account. I would not be a source of dissension in this Tower. I am, as always, at the service of Arilinn. As long as I remain here, I will do my best in whatever capacity my Keeper deems suitable.”

  Liriel Hastur could not have spoken more graciously. Felicia sat down amid a ripple of approval. Auster smiled and nodded to her.

  Varzil could find no fault with Felicia’s words. He envied her ability to say what was so clearly expected, to appear less than she was. Perhaps this was because it was a skill he had practiced himself for so many years.

  Carlo, me, and now Felicia ... all of us lying quiet, waiting, Waiting for what?

  28

  A tapping at the door startled Varzil awake. He’d fallen asleep with Felicia in his arms, the covers thrown over both of them.

  The meeting had left everyone overwrought. Felicia had gone with Varzil to his chambers after a brief evening meal, for neither of them were to work that night, not even in the relays. He’d touched her lightly on the back of the wrist, in the manner of telepaths. She’d surprised him with a smile.

  “It is no more than what I—you and I—expected,” she had said. “But I think you were right all along, Varzil. We of the Towers are not so many that we can afford to throw away half of those with the talent to become Keepers. Certainly not just because superstition and tradition say women aren’t capable of the work. I know what I did—I was a Keeper.” Her eyes met his, luminous even in the muted light of the laran-charged glow-globe. “I am a Keeper. And if Arilinn will not give me the training I need to use my talents, I must find another Tower that will.”

  He had drawn her close to him, torn between pride and the heart-tearing knowledge that to do so, she would have to leave him. He thought of the brief romance between Dyannis, his sister, and Eduin. In the end, the distance and the demands upon them in their separate lives had worn away their hope, or so it had seemed to Dyannis. He did not want that to happen to him and Felicia. He thought of going with her wherever she went; surely someone with his training could find a place at another Tower.

  “Caryo mio,” she had whispered into the curve of his shoulder. “What we have can only be enriched by time. Distance is no consideration.” Once again, they had slept in each other’s arms, too drained of laran energy to have any sexual desire. They bathed in the intimacy of each other’s body heat and breath, the rhythms of each other’s minds.

  Now he sat bolt upright at the tapping at the door. Felicia stirred at his side. “Come in.”

  Gavin’s head appeared in the opening. “Come quickly, Varzil. And you, too, Felicia. Auster’s had another stroke.”

  Varzil reached for his fleece-lined indoor boots. Felicia was already pulling on a shawl over her night dress. “Shouldn’t Fidelis—Cerriana—”

  “They have already been summoned,” Gavin replied, holding the door open for them. “This is more than a matter of healing. He’s asking for you by name, Varzil.”

  Despite the quiet of the hour, few others were asleep. Varzil quested outward with his mind. The matrix laboratories sat vacant, their telepathic dampers idle. Even the relays had fallen silent. Cerriana stood at the door of the infirmary, explaining to Valentina that her presence would serve no purpose, but only interfere with the work at hand.

  “Good, you’re here.” She stepped back for Varzil to enter. He took Felicia’s hand and drew her inside with him.

  Auster’s face was almost as pale as the sheets of unbleached linex. The lines of his face, once deeply incised, had faded into a webwork of tiny wrinkles. His eyebrows and lashes were likewise colorless, shades of white upon white. But for the hesitant rise and fall of his chest and the faint irregular pulse at his throat, he might have already passed from the living.

  Fidelis sat to one side of the bed. He held two fingertips against the inside of Auster’s wrist, eyes downcast, all his concentration inward.

  Varzil lowered himself to an empty stool. He knew better than to speak. Auster must have sensed his presence, however. Pale lashes fluttered open. At first, his gaze was unfocused, his once-keen thoughts now hesitant.

  I am here, Auster.

  “What’s that? Don’t mumble, young man. I can’t hear you.” Auster’s lips twisted around the words, for the left side of his body was clearly paralyzed.

  Varzil probed deeper, something he would have never dared to do in the days of Auster’s strength. Any monitor could have assessed the neurological damage. The hurt done to the laran centers of Auster’s brain was far more profound. The old man might live on if his body were tough en
ough, the lungs taking in air, the heart continuing its relentless rhythm. A stroke patient might, with patience and skillful healers, learn to speak or walk again. For this deeper loss, there was no cure. What made the man, what made the Keeper, was already gone.

  Varzil swept one hand across his eyes, praying he would not weep. When he had come to Arilinn so many years ago, a rebellious, terrified adolescent, Auster had seemed as a god, Keeper and laranzu, surely one of the most powerful men on Darkover. His mental abilities had been legendary.

  “Varzil? Varzil lad, is it you?” Auster asked in a voice that was even more potent for its weakness. Every syllable expressed his determination to complete this one last task.

  Gently, Varzil brushed his fingertips against the papery skin on Auster’s wrist. “I am here, beloved teacher.”

  Auster’s hand fumbled free to catch Varzil’s. The fingers with their bony joints felt like the bars of a decrepit cage, barely able to contain a feather.

  “Varzil ...” Slow and thin, the voice continued. “I want ... there must be no question ... as to who ... will take my place.”

  Fidelis met Varzil’s eyes. Neither of them spoke of false hope. “Auster, you have trained Varzil yourself for all these years,” Fidelis said. “Surely everyone at Arilinn knows you intended him to be Keeper after you.”

  One hand waved. The thin chest shook with the effort of yet another breath. “Everyone here ... yes. But those arrogant—” Auster broke off into coughing, soothed only when Fidelis brought his monitor’s skills to clear his breathing passages. The stroke clearly had compromised his body’s ability to keep his lungs clear. Already Varzil sensed the first intimations of the pneumonia that would surely end his life.

  “—those arrogant nine-fathered banshees ... think you’re either too dangerous ... or of no consequence ... want the Towers biddable ... Promise me, you will serve no king’s private ... purposes ... only Arilinn ... only the highest good ...”