by Dale Olausen
At last Dian left the window and threw herself on the bed. She had better get some rest; Lina alone knew what Marlyss’ next move would be in the struggle to re-unite the Terran girl’s mind and body. Dian, as the youngest of the Circle, must not feel poorly when the Circle of Witches gathered again. The others expected her to be the weakest link and she vowed not to give them the pleasure of being correct. She might be young, but she knew she was more gifted than most.
*****
Coryn insisted on seeing personally that Sarah was being well looked after, before he took advantage of the Witches’ hospitality. He waited patiently while the servant girls bathed her, dressed her in Kordean clothes and settled her in a comfortable bed in a cheerful room. The greencat, also well cared-for was already curled up on a rug in front of the fireplace. How quaint the Witches’ Stronghold was! Finally he was allowed to verify that the sadly vacant face had been scrubbed clean, and the dark, straight hair had been washed and brushed. Only then did he take himself away to the bath that had been prepared for him.
How different this visit to Ferhil Stones was from the previous time! Then, he had felt like an intruder; now he was an honoured guest. He knew that wasn’t due to any intrinsic virtue of his – the compliment was solely due to his bringing the Stones. Sarah, Steph and he had succeeded in doing what the Witches could not; they had travelled across space and retrieved the Stones. The Witches had to respect that. On that other occasion he had been blocked by the Witch Alta, who functioned as a cross and arrogant receptionist. On this occasion he had been welcomed by a stern old lady who was certainly one of the Circle Witches. Perhaps she was even the legendary Eldest of the Twelve, the most powerful woman on Kordea.
After the bath he had a meal in the communal dining hall. The food was as excellent as the reports on Kordean cuisine had led him to expect. Except for the ubiquitous servants, the dining room was empty when he entered, but shortly afterwards a group of giggling, white-gowned Witch-Apprentices seated themselves at the far end of the room. They paid him the compliment of being curious; they took turns to surreptitiously watch him. Curious in his turn, he noted that most of them hid their gazing eyes beneath the long, luxurious, black hair which seemed to be the birthright of every Kordean female that he had observed. One or two of the bolder girls stared at him openly. Studying their pale faces, he wondered why fair-haired, golden-tanned beauty was so highly prized by his own society. In a few years, these graceful girls would become women beautiful enough to shame the blonde, buxom favourites of the inner planets.
Perhaps he was maturing, and his taste in women was changing? What had Fiana once said to him when she had lectured him on his living habits? “Coryn, you are such a boy,” she had groaned, shaking her lovely head. “Your likes and dislikes, especially when it comes to women, are so stereotypical. Consider yourself grown up when you can see the beauty that the plainest face can’t conceal.” Was he, finally, growing up in Fiana’s terms? Was he responding to something other than physical attraction when he admired these Kordean girls?
He yawned and gulped down the dregs of the delicious hot drink which ended the meal. A servant came by to collect his dishes and he nodded thanks, rose from the table and left. The bed in his guestroom looked inviting. He realized that he was utterly exhausted – his last sleep had been on space station RES. That had been half a galaxy away, and so long ago.
*****
He was awakened by a knock on the door. Shirtless, he opened it to find not the man-servant that he had expected, but a green-robed Witch. She looked young – for some reason he had expected all of the greenhoods to be mature. To his embarrassment her slate-grey eyes coolly appraised his upper body before meeting his inquiring look. She was tall; those eyes were level with his own.
“Marlyss sent me to fetch you to the dining hall,” she said in perfect Standard. For people who looked down on the Terrans, the Kordeans he had met demonstrated great fluency in the inferiors’ tongue. Everyone in Ferhil Stones, including the servants, seemed to speak flawlessly the language of the galactic trade routes.
“Fine.” He retreated into the room to pull on a shirt. “Is something happening?”
“We will be trying to bring the girl back immediately after we have had the morning meal,” the young Witch replied. “Marlyss thinks that it might help if you are in the room when she awakens – one of her own people to welcome her back.”
They walked in the direction of the dining hall.
“Oh, my name is Dian,” the greenhood introduced herself, her tone suddenly a bit girlish. She did not sound at all like a Kordean Witch.
“Pleased to meet you Dian.” The Agent smiled gravely at her. “My name is Coryn.”
He had researched Kordea and its Witches before his first trip to Ferhil Stones. He knew these women were almost never introduced to outsiders with their given names alone – the respectful title “the Witch” should precede the offered name. Dian’s openness surprised and delighted him – the jewels that he had helped bring back to Kordea were having an amazing effect.
“I know who you are,” the young Witch said, a pleased smile lighting up her face. “I saw you when you were here the time before.”
Coryn’s eyebrows shot up. This was unexpected. He wrinkled his forehead in an effort to remember.
“I don’t recall seeing anyone in green but the Witch Alta, to whom I spoke,” he had to confess.
“Oh, I was an Apprentice then,” she answered. “I have worn the green robe only for a short time.”
He studied her more carefully. He was good with faces – one had to be in his line of work. There had been a white-gowned Apprentice in the room in which he had spoken with Alta. He had paid scant attention to her and now could only recall that her head had been bent over a tangled mess of metal chains in her lap. She had seemed to have been busy sorting the chains. She was the only Apprentice he had seen; she must have been Dian.
“The truth is that I didn’t pay any attention to you at the time,” he admitted.
“I know. But I thought that you looked interesting. It must be fascinating to travel around the galaxy at will.”
“I hadn’t realized,” he said slowly, “that an attitude such as yours existed at all on Kordea.”
“It doesn’t, much. Among the Witches it’s not supposed to exist at all.” She glanced at him and he saw fear in her grey eyes. “Please don’t mention this to Marlyss. If she knew, she would send me back to my parents’ home in Trahea and that would not do at all.”
“I have no reason to tell her – or anyone else,” Coryn replied reassuringly. “Unless,” he glanced at her questioningly, “she can read my mind.”
“That’s not as simple as everyone thinks it is.” Dian tossed her long black hair impatiently. “Besides, you’re a guest and we must all honour your privacy. Furthermore, you’re an alien and nobody bothers with their minds.”
They had reached the dining hall door. Dian stopped to alter the expression on her face to one more becoming a Witch of Ferhil Stones. Then, before Coryn could offer the courtesy, she pulled the door open and proudly walked in without so much as a backward glance at him. Coryn followed slowly, feeling slightly confused.
The Witch Marlyss greeted him with a slight nod and motioned him to join them at breakfast. Coryn did so, staring curiously at the women – so this was the legendary Circle of the Twelve! No wonder Dian didn’t want her interest in Terrans revealed. To lose a place in this Circle would be a misfortune and a disgrace. However, he thought, Dian needn’t worry about her secret being safe with him; she was much too useful to the developing Kordean-Terran relationship to risk losing by an unguarded word.
At any rate, there was no table-talk during the excellent meal. Once the servants had cleared away the empty plates, the Witch Marlyss loosened her tongue.
“I trust that our talkative little Dian has already told you my reason for sending for you,” she said briskly while “little Dian” sat quietly, her eyes modestly
scanning the table-top in front of her. “We have decided to leave Sarah’s body where it is, in the Infirmary. One of the servants will take you there. All I want of you, is to stay there and wait until she wakes up. If she wakes up.”
Coryn gave the pale, lined face a sharp glance.
“You think there’s a risk of failure?” he asked.
“In everything we do, we always run the risk of failure,” the Witch answered. “This time the risk is greater than usual because we seem to be dealing with a person who, in spite of being highly gifted, is as stubborn and self-willed as a half-witted servant girl. Having had no training in the use of her talent, she cannot direct her power; yet she balks at being led anywhere.”
Coryn suppressed a smile. Among people of Terran stock such independence of spirit was admired.
“This is a disturbing development,” was all he said.
“Oh, we want her back, don’t you doubt that.” The sharp, steel grey eyes bore into his blue eyes, which returned their gaze in equal measure. “If she can be brought back we will do it. We have her body, as well as a Stone that she has used. They will be of great benefit to us.”
She beckoned to a manservant.
“Khasta will take you to the Infirmary, and into her room.”
It was a dismissal, and Coryn rose obediently to follow the servant. In the corridor, a group of white-gowned Apprentices filed by in a long, orderly line.
The Infirmary was unlike any such that he had ever seen elsewhere in his travels. It was a series of cheerful lounges and bright, homey rooms, tastefully decorated. There were no monitors, computers or other electronic equipment, standard in any Confederation medical facility, nor did the smell of disinfectants and medicines linger in the air. Nobody resembling a doctor or nurse was in evidence. Only the inevitable servants flitted about, tidying up and carrying trays of who knew what. They seemed to outnumber the patients, by at least two to one.
The greencat continued to keep vigil on the hearth-rug of Sarah’s room. Coryn thought he sensed a sort of pleased greeting in those intelligent eyes, as he walked in. The animal looked sleek and healthy – apparently its needs had been well looked after. When it rose from the rug to join the Agent at Sarah’s bedside, it moved with the controlled exuberance of a well-rested creature.
The vacant look on Sarah’s face had begun to disturb Coryn. Was the face emptier now than when they had first hauled Sarah into the Camin? He was certain that this was so. During the eventful spaceflight he had been too preoccupied with the dangers that had threatened them, to notice any subtle changes in the girl’s expression. But now he suspected that the stamp of personality had been slowly slipping away from those features during that whole time. If the strange coma persisted, would Sarah’s face eventually go entirely blank, like a 3-D recording that had been erased?
Unwilling to look upon the face any longer, he threw himself into a chair. The greencat too, left the bedside and returned to its spot on the hearth-rug. There was nothing that either of them could do, except hope that the Witches would succeed in their undertaking. They settled into the uneasy vigil.
*****
Waiting in the void was a torment to Sarah. She had nothing to grasp, no proof that anything was real, that anything ever had been real. Perhaps she had hallucinated the voice and the shattered image that she had been instructed to put back together. The black emptiness was the only reality that she could be sure of – was it possible that she had no past, no identity? Perhaps she was doomed to hang in the void forever; perhaps she had always hung there. Perhaps she was dead.
At intervals she forced herself to emphatically repeat words whose meaning she had begun to doubt: “I am Sarah Mackenzie of Earth and I have a body somewhere. Soon I will return to my body, and really be me again.” They comforted her a little, and for a short time they helped push away the awareness of the abyss which surrounded her. But they wove only a weak spell; the horror of being nowhere always returned.
“I’ll go mad if this goes on much longer,” she muttered to herself and the thought echoed hollowly in the emptiness. “I’ll be the Madwoman of Nowhere,” she added, but the black humour fell flat and did nothing to cheer her.
*****
“Sarah.”
It was the voice! So she had not imagined it after all! There was hope! The voice was much stronger this time. It sounded as if someone was speaking right beside her, though she knew that there could be nobody there.
“Sarah. Can you hear us, Sarah?”
“Yes,” she mindspoke in its direction. “I hear you very clearly.”
“Good.” She heard satisfaction in the tone. “Now, we want you to relax, and try to see the image that we project to you. Do you think that you can do that?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, remembering that shattered image that had refused to come together earlier. “I’ll try.”
“It’s very important that you be able to see the image, Sarah. The image is what will bring you back.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Good.”
“Now the image is going to be of yourself, lying as if asleep on a bed, inside a room. The room has a window, a fireplace, stone walls, a wooden floor, and a door across from the fireplace. Got that? Your friend, the greencat, lies on a rug in front of the fireplace, and in a chair by the window sits a man who is of your own people.”
“Are you ready to try it?”
“I guess so.”
Actually, she was eager. When the images came they were much stronger than they had been the other time. The fragments were not nearly so small. First she saw a stone wall, then a portion of a floor made up of light coloured wood, then – she experienced a surge of joy! – a green paw on a corner of a rug. The greencat! Her helpful friend! She concentrated on it and little by little the rest of the animal came – a leg, a sleek tail, the green-furred body and the head with its wonderful eyes! Her image of it was complete – suddenly the animal raised its head and looked straight at her! It wanted her to return to her body!
“Excellent, Sarah, excellent. You have the cat now. Let’s move on.”
Her image of the animal wavered. She returned her concentration to it and fought down panic. She was afraid that the picture of the cat would slip from her grasp just as the jagged pieces had disappeared that other time, the moment she had turned her full attention away from them.
“Yes, keep hold of the cat, Sarah. But we must move on.”
She had to try.
Oh, yes, there was a trick to it. A part of her attention remained with the image of the cat, while the rest was carried along by the further images.
She put together some more of the floor and the wall, then came to the window. In front of the window was a shadowy figure of a man seated in a chair. At first, all she saw was his outline silhouetted against the light that seeped into the room through a curtain of greenery that grew outside.
“Try to see him clearly, Sarah. You have seen him before; you should recognize him.”
The voice had said that he was one of her own people. Now it was saying that he was someone she knew. One of the Explorers? Curious, now, she concentrated on his head and face, brushing aside the shadows that had first obscured him.
Fair hair, medium complexion, blue eyes, a straight nose, and a strong chin. High cheekbones. Yes, he did look familiar, but he was not one of the Explorers. But who? The face was attractive – she concentrated on filling in the rest of him. A slim, muscular body dressed in casual work-clothes – still attractive. She returned her attention to his face, searched the blue eyes, and examined the fair hair with its faintly violet highlights. Of course! The man was Coryn Leigh, Fiana’s friend from RES! But what was the alyen doing there? She gazed at him – he looked a little older and less sophisticated than he had on RES. Perhaps it was the work-clothes. Perhaps it was the sense of anxiety and impatience that he exuded. Yet he was still strikingly handsome.
“All right Sarah, you have him. Hold onto
his image the way you are holding onto the greencat. We'll move on.”
She built up more of the walls and floor, then came to a door, and beside it, a bed. There was a colourful bedspread, and beneath it, the form of a person. Beginning at the foot of the bed, she worked her way up, meticulously filing in the details of the image. Gingerly, she traced the pattern of the person under the bedspread.
“Come on Sarah. You've got the bedspread. Keep going.”
Square, thin shoulders stuck out from the covers. They were clothed not in a protecto-suit, nor a man's shirt, but in something brightly embroidered. It was not familiar to her, so she left it for a moment. She went on to the hair; shoulder-length, and almost black. Something about the hair troubled her. She returned to the embroidery covering the shoulders, planning to work out the pattern in detail.
“No Sarah, you need the face. Never mind the embroidery; build up the face.”
Reluctantly, she left the bright embroidery, and moved her attention higher up the pillow. She saw pale, lifeless features - and recoiled!
“No, she's dead! I'm dead!”
“Don't be silly, girl! You're not dead! You're in a coma!”
“That face is empty! She's dead!”
“Sarah, you fool! Look into that face! She's you, and you are alive, not dead! Come on!”
But she drew back in horror.
“No! No! I can't! I can't do it!”
“You can! You must! You will!”
The voice was tense with repressed fury. But she could not obey it, and she would not try to placate it. She couldn't, and she wouldn't.
