Zandru's Forge

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  As he opened the door to let in the world with all its cares and bustle, Carolin thought Alianora’s departing spirit smiled upon him.

  30

  Storms swept the Plains of Arilinn, burying the city in a blizzard. Winds howled and hail battered stone. Behind the Tower walls, the community of Arilinn gathered to celebrate. Warmth and light filled the common room, not only from the immense fire but also the banks of laran-charged lights and heaters. Once, the entire city had glowed with the blue-white illumination produced by the circles. Now, there was only enough for special occasions in the Hidden City and the Tower itself.

  “Perhaps a time will come when all of Darkover can enjoy such luxury,” Varzil said, sipping the rich Acosta wine Carolin sent as a holiday gift. The vintage was dark and heady, filled with subtle, complex flavors.

  The news of Alianora’s death and of her lost child lent a sad poignancy to the gift. Carolin was generous, even in sorrow. Yet wine itself was like life—ordinary grapes transformed into a potion to ease old wounds or open them, a bearer of joy as well as despair.

  Felicia, at Varzil’s side, lifted her goblet. “To the new days ahead. To seeing dreams become reality.”

  “Let us hope they are dreams of peace and prosperity,” Cerriana said, “and not other dreams.”

  Across the table, Fidelis said, “Do not all men wish for an end to strife and want?”

  “Of course they do,” she replied. “It’s just that—well, this is a time for hope, for renewal, is it not? Then let us not speak otherwise, least we give power to our own fears.”

  Varzil’s mood, which had been effervescent with Felicia’s nearness, the coming Year’s End ritual, and the fellowship of the evening, darkened. Recent relay messages had hinted of unrest in the city of Hali, a proliferation of outlawed weapons, dissension among the Hasturs, and rumors of escalating conflict through the Kilghard Hills.

  Despite his personal grief Carolin’s letters had been hopeful, full of confidence in the ability of honorable men to work together. Varzil prayed his friend was not mistaken in his trust.

  He put the thought from him. There would be time enough to deal with such worries. For tonight, all who dwelt within the Tower would celebrate the turning of the seasons.

  The meal ended, and the table was moved to clear a space for dancing. Barak and Lunilla, as senior members of the community, took up the symbols of the ancient rite. He lifted a sword, not the true Sword of Aldones, but a lightweight imitation, its edges carefully dulled so as not to wound through accident. The metal had been shaped to collect and reflect light, and a starstone chip glittered in its hilt. The effect was a dramatic halo of blue light around the blade and whoever wielded it.

  Lunilla had set aside her usual brown and gray for a robe of shimmering white. Though she was old enough to be a grandmother, when she took up the garland of kireseth flowers, an aura hung about her, of youth and sweetness and springtime.

  Valentina began singing in her clear, light voice. The melody was simple, the words ones they all knew by heart. Together, Barak and Lunilla moved through the dance-like reenactment.

  “The stars were mirrored on the shore,

  dark was the vast enchanted moor ...

  Robardin’s daughter walked alone ...

  when Hastur left the Sphere of Light ...”

  Varzil took Felicia’s hand, even as Barak took Lunilla’s and couples formed throughout the room. The air turned golden and thick, like honeyed wine. His head swam with it, and with her nearness. He felt her warmth even through the layers of their festival clothing.

  “Then singing like a hidden bird,

  Cassilda cast a secret word,

  beside the waters clear and cold;

  he heard her as he downward spun

  and through the fields of stars he came”

  The men moved apart from the women and came together again. Apart ... together ... Each time, the lines drew nearer.

  “Cassilda left her shining loom;

  a starflower in his hand she laid... ”

  Apart... together...

  Lunilla went down the line of women, giving each a blue kireseth blossom. Golden particles glittered on the stamens. Normally, the flowers were forbidden in the Towers and only careful distillations of the active components used. Kirian, invaluable in the treatment of threshold sickness, was one of these. Anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in a Ghost Wind, when winds blew the raw pollen down from the mountain heights, might suffer hallucinations, the breakdown of all normal mental barriers, even madness.

  “They wandered in the shiring wood

  and in the mortal sun they stood...

  a glory mirrored in each face ... ”

  The circles of men and women had come around so that Varzil now faced Felicia. It seemed to him that glory was indeed mirrored in her face. He saw her with his heart as well as his eyes, saw the shining light within her, the beauty of her features and the silken touch of her laran.

  Even as the Cassilda of legend had offered kireseth the starflower, to Hastur, so now Felicia, along with every other woman in the room, offered it to her partner. Many of the couples would complete only a ritual acceptance. They might remain together for a time, then leave for their own chambers. Every other time at Year’s End, this was what Varzil had done. He’d had no need of anything more.

  Varzil bent over the five-petaled blossom. The distinctive scent of the pollen rushed through him. He ran one finger along the waxy petal, then held it for Felicia to inhale. The gold-dusted stamen cast a gentle radiance on her face. When she raised her eyes to his, he could see the Blessed Cassilda smile through her.

  The song continued, carried by its own momentum, the force behind the ritual growing even more insistent. Voices blended so that sometimes he heard each distinct word and the next moment, only the rise and fall of the melody. At one point, he became aware of the first effects of the kireseth; the singing had stopped and yet the sense of being caught up in something wildly joyous, dangerous and inexorable carried him along. He had been exposed to small amounts of the pollen as part of his training and so, he thought, he knew what to expect. Kireseth lowered mental boundaries and acted as a psychic catalyst.

  Nothing, he realized, could have prepared him. One moment, he was drowning in the lights reflected in Felicia’s eyes, filled with a growing excitement he could not name. The next, he was the lights, the fire, the translucent blue stone walls, the softness of her lips. He did not know where he was, because he was everywhere at once—in the common room at Arilinn Tower, at the bottom of Hali Lake, soaring above the Twin Peaks, howling with the Ya-men in the hills beyond Sweetwater.

  Liquid fire rushed through his body, energy surging through his laran channels. Dimly, the thought came to him that the purpose of this ancient rite was just this, to clear out the blockage and stagnation of the year’s work.

  The same channels carried sexual energy and laran, which was why threshold sickness often came about with the awakening of adolescence. Both men and women became sexually unresponsive while actively working in a circle. Even with the careful attention of the monitors, there were times when the body could not handle the energy flows. Laran nodes shut down; energy accumulated.

  He bent to Felicia. Her arms went around him, pulling him closer. Her lips on his were at once yielding and demanding.

  Varzil was no longer in the common room; he felt Felicia’s hand in his, saw the walls of the corridor to her chambers kaleidoscoping by. The edges of his body were dissolving into particles of brilliance. Each tiny piece vibrated, expanding and overlapping until his entire body became a vessel of light. The light coalesced into a node of heat, centered deep within his belly and reaching—exploding—out through his genitals. His skin flamed with it.

  Desire engulfed him, sweeping through every fiber, every cell of organ and nerve and skin, not only his own arousal but Felicia‘s, each catalyzing and feeding upon the other. He felt her passion as his own and it excited him e
ven more.

  As he stretched his body on top of hers, she softened and opened herself to him. He felt himself surrender along with her, both of them yielding to something greater. She cried out in pleasure as their bodies began to rock in primal rhythm. His own climax built slowly, in wave upon growing wave of intensity.

  All sense of his separate self fell away. Neither body nor mind retained any boundaries. He was man and woman, sun and stars, night and day. Joy swept through him and the world reeled with it. Gradually, he slipped back into himself and darkness took him.

  He felt the dawn approach. The kireseth had worn off some hours ago, but he had not slept. Neither had Felicia, lying naked in his arms under layers of quilts. The psychedelic-fueled sense of oneness had faded, but the contentment and joy remained. How warm she was, how delicious her scent, her velvety skin, her unbound curls. She stirred, shifting her hips, and traced a spiral pattern on his chest with a fingertip.

  How can we be parted, after this night?

  “It wouldn’t always be like this,” she murmured aloud. Her breath teased the hairs on his chest. “Even if one of us sacrificed our training so that we could be together, we would be working most of the time. And we would in time come to resent the price we paid.”

  I know that, beloved. It was a wish, nothing more. This time together is a gift. I would not lessen it by ungratefully demanding what cannot be.

  A flicker of presence in the corridor brought him alert. Gathering the Tree-of-Life quilt around his shoulders, he tip-toed to the door and opened it. A tray with covered dishes and a pitcher of steaming jaco sat on the floor. He caught a hint of Lunilla’s touch.

  Felicia wrapped herself in a warm robe and sparked the embers in the fireplace to life. They sat cross-legged on the square of hearth carpet, knees touching, and ate in companionable silence. They had remained in light rapport, each responsive to the other’s shifting emotions. Echoes of their deeper connection remained.

  And, Varzil thought as he reached out to stroke her cheek, would always remain. He felt the impulse to make a pledge of some kind, a statement of the bond between them.

  You have already given me something of infinitely more value than words, she thought.

  He understood. Without his belief in her, she would have faded into obscurity. Now she had a chance to become the first woman Keeper in recorded history. He had no doubt that she would.

  Quicksilver, her mood sobered. He often forgot how small she was, silk and steel. She shivered and her eyes lost their focus, as if she looked upon some private desolation. Her mind turned opaque, barriered.

  Another touch of apprehension? Was it the natural anxiety of embarking upon such a mission, a glimpse into a dire future, or sadness at their parting? Respecting her silence, Varzil made no attempt to reach past her laran shields.

  “It is not lily days which shape our souls,” she said, as much to herself as to him, “but the frozen winter nights, when we find ourselves in the pit of Zandru’s Forge and there discover who we truly are.”

  “I would not have you walk such a path, beloved,” he said, touching her cheek.

  “Nor I, you. But the world goes as it will, not as you or I would have it.”

  Felicia went to the free-standing cupboard that held her personal belongings. She took out a wooden box, its fine carvings smoothed with age, and set it on the carpet between them. From a wrapping of white silk, she drew out a ring, a curve of silver set with a faceted stone.

  At first, Varzil thought it a starstone by its brilliance, the way it sparkled with inner light. But the color was white, not blue. She held it out and he looked into it. No, not a starstone. When he touched it with his mind, it hummed, clearly sensitive to his laran. He probed deeper into the crystalline structure. No single person had keyed into the stone, yet it bore the imprint of layers of personalities, just as the stones at the rhu fead had been worn away by generations of Comyn.

  “Where did this come from?” Varzil asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It belonged to my great-uncle, I think, although my mother never said for sure. She gave it to me with a whole boxful of trinkets, everything from a huge Temora pearl to a string of beads of atrociously badly carved chervine horn. She had only a little laran and was never trained in its use. I suppose that to her, it was nothing more than a pretty crystal.”

  “It’s not a matrix. More like second cousin to one.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

  She took the ring back again and cupped it in her hand. Eyes closed, she focused her mind upon it. When she handed it back to Varzil, it sang with her presence. “That’s to remember me by.”

  He tried the ring on several fingers before settling on one. The ring had probably been made for a woman, but his hands had always been small. It no longer looked ostentatious, even for his modest tastes.

  Soon they would follow their separate destinies, she to Hestral, he remaining here at Arilinn, and Carolin soon to be King at Hali. If they succeeded, they would change the world. What would Darkover be like, with women Keepers and a pact of honor between kings, without the terrible laran weapons and constant welfare? He could not picture it clearly, and perhaps that was just as well. For the moment, with Felicia by his side, he was content.

  Half a continent away, in Hali Tower, Eduin looked up from the archives as Dyannis entered. She had welcomed him to Hali, at first joyfully, then with growing puzzlement at his refusal to reciprocate. His post here as archivist was temporary. Once he’d found what he was looking for, he would have no reason to linger. He could not afford any entanglements.

  Eduin had thought to make another attempt at Carolin, now that the interfering Varzil Ridenow was out of the way. But Carolin was not at Hali; he’d taken his sons to study at Nevarsin, among the monks. Eduin’s efforts to seek an audience with his cousins, Rakhal and Lyondri, had been soundly rebuffed, and the old king was dying anyway, not worth the risk. His turn with Carolin would come again, of that he was sure.

  There was work enough at Hali, particularly in the archives. He was not particularly interested in history, but access to the library offered the only hope of tracking down the daughter of Taniquel Hastur-Acosta.

  At the approach of Dyannis, he set aside the scroll he had been indexing. She wore an ordinary gown, a pale soft green to set off her eyes and her tartan of Ridenow colors. Her perfume, subtly spicy, caressed him.

  The years of study and mastery here at Hali had given her a poise beyond her years. Yet some core of her remained untamed. Once he had relished that rebellious, impertinent manner, but now he pulled away. She was unpredictable, answerable only to herself, and therefore dangerous.

  “You’ve been cooped up here for the better part of a tenday,” she said, but without any hint of a pout. “I’ve hardly seen you since your arrival.”

  He 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 anyone knows and is not about to sprout legs and go anywhere. But you must please yourself.” 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.”

  “Oh. Whose?”

  “Obscure branches of the Hasturs. There are still traces of the breeding programs from the Ages of Chaos, including some lethal recessives. We need to know who carries them today, if only to prevent their reemergence.”

  “Bless Aldones, we don’t do that any longer,” she said. “I think we are living in a great age of progress. You should hear my brother talk, he’s so full of new ideas. An end to laran warfare, new ways of treating disease, even training commoners who have talent—and, would you believe?—someday we may accept women as Keepers!”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “No, it’s true. Do you remember the rumor about Arilinn last autumn—Felicia, it wa
s—she’s a technician, but when Auster had his first stroke, she took over as Keeper. They say she saved the whole circle from a clingfire explosion.”

  Eduin shrugged, feeling only the icy chill in the pit of his stomach. He had done his best to forget the incident. Arilinn had refused to promote him to under-Keeper, when he clearly merited it. Instead, the head-blind fools had chosen that sandal-wearer, Varzil, and now perhaps a woman! The insult still rankled him. He had not felt sorrow at Auster’s death.

  By her expression, Dyannis expected a response, some show of interest. “Yes, I remember hearing something like that,” he said. “I pay such gossip little heed. People who have nothing better to do are always spreading fantastical tales.”

  “Well!” She clapped her hands together like a child. “This is a whole lot more than idle talk. Felicia is actually going to be trained as an under-Keeper at Hestral Tower.”

  “Another rumor.”

  “No, it’s true. Marelie was working the relays and had word directly from Hestral.”

  “That’s fitting.” He snorted, barely masking his contempt. “An insignificant Tower for a nobody pretender.”

  “Eduin! What’s gotten into you? Don’t you think this is exciting—for a woman to be even considered for such a post? And of course it would have to be a place like Hestral. You wouldn’t expect Arilinn or Hali to take such a chance, would you? Barak’s as hidebound as a Nest of Dry Towners. Besides, Felicia’s not exactly a nobody. She may be nedestra, but she’s of the royal Hastur line. She might even be in those records you’re studying.”

  Something came alert inside Eduin. “What do you mean?”

  “Promise you won’t tell, but she’s the daughter of the famous Queen Taniquel. I know it’s supposed to be a secret, but it’s so exciting that I just had to tell someone!”