He wanted me—us—to fail. But why?
* * *
Chapter Eleven: Shadows on the Sun
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The depression lingered even after Kerwin had slept away the fatigue. As he dressed himself to join the others, near sunset, he told himself that he should not let Auster’s malice spoil this for him. He had come through the acid test of full rapport within the Tower Circle, and it was his triumph. Auster had never liked him; it might even be that he was jealous of the fuss they were making over Kerwin. Probably there was no more to it than that.
And now, he knew, there would be a free interval, and he looked forward to spending some of it with Taniquel. Despite Kennard’s warning, he felt fresh and rested, eager to join her. He wondered if she would consent, as she had done often, to spend the night with him, and there was a pleasant anticipation in his thoughts as he went downstairs. But there was no hurry; if not tonight, then later.
The others had all wakened before him and were gathered in the hall. The very casualness of their greetings warmed him; he belonged, he was family. He accepted a glass of wine and sank down in his accustomed seat. Neyrissa came over to him, trailing an armful of some kind of needlework, and settled down near him. He felt a little impatient, but there was time. He looked around for Taniquel, but she was near the fireplace, talking to Auster, her back to him, and he could not catch her eye.
“What are you making, Neyrissa?”
“A coverlet for my bed,” she said. “You do not know how cold it is here in the winter; and besides, it keeps my hands busy.” She turned it to show him. It was a white quilt, with cherries in three shades of red stitched on in clusters, with green leaves, and bands of the same three shades of red at the edges; and the whole now being quilted with delicate stitches in a pattern of loops and curls. He was astonished at the amount of work and thought that must have gone into the design; it had never occurred to him that Neyrissa, monitor of Arilinn and a Comyn lady, would occupy herself with such tedious stitchery.
She shrugged. “As I say, it keeps my hands busy when there is nothing else to do,” she said. “And I am proud of my handiwork.”
“It is certainly very beautiful,” he said. “A piece of handiwork like this would be priceless on most of the planets I have visited, for most people now have their bedding made easily and quickly by machine.”
She chuckled. “I do not think I would care to sleep under anything that had been made by machinery,” she said. “It would be like lying down with a mechanical man. I understand they have such things on other worlds, too, but I do not suppose women are very pleased with them. I prefer genuine handiwork on my bed as well as in it.”
It took Jeff a moment to understand the double entendre—which was somewhat more suggestive in casta than in the language he spoke—but no one with a scrap of telepathic force could misunderstand her meaning, and he chuckled, a little embarrassed. But she met his eyes so forthrightly that he could not retain his embarrassment and laughed heartily. “I suppose you’re right, some things are better when they’re the work of nature,” he agreed with her.
“Tell me something about your work for the Empire, Jeff. If I had been a man, I sometimes think, I would like to have gone offworld. There is not a great deal of adventure in the Kilghard Hills, and certainly not for a woman. Have you lived on many worlds?”
“Two or three,” he conceded, “but in the Civil Service you don’t see much of them; it’s mostly working with communications equipment.”
“And you do the same thing with your communications machinery that we can do with the relay-nets?” she said, curiously. “Tell me a little of how they work, if you can. I have been working in the relays since I was fourteen years old; it would seem strange to do this with machinery. Are there truly no telepaths in the Terran Empire?”
“If there are,” Kerwin said, “they’re not telling anyone.”
He told Neyrissa about the CommTerra communications network that linked planet with planet by interstellar relay systems, explaining the difference between radio, wireless, and interstellar hypercomm. He found that she had a quick mechanical intelligence and swiftly picked up the theory involved, although she found the thought of communicating by machinery somewhat distasteful.
“I would like to experiment with some of them,” she said. “But only as a toy. I think the Tower relays are more reliable and swifter, and they do not get out of order so easily, I suppose.”
“And you have been doing this all your life?” Kerwin asked, wondering again how old she was. “What made you want to go into a Tower, Neyrissa? Have you never married?”
She shook her head. “I never had any wish to marry,” she said, “and for a woman in the Domains, it is marriage or the Tower—unless,” she laughed— “I wished to crop my hair and take up the sword and the oath of a Renunciate! And I had seen my sisters marry, and spend their lives catering to the whims of some man and bearing babe after babe till at twenty-nine they were thick and ugly, their bodies worn with childbearing, and their minds worn as narrowly into the track of nursery and laundry and hen-yard! Such a life, I thought, would not suit me; so when I was tested for laran, I came here as a monitor; and the work suits me, and the life.”
It occurred to Kerwin that when she was a young woman she must have been a beauty; the materials of beauty were there still, the aristocratic bones of her face, the rich color of her hair, only a little tinged with grey, and her body was as slim and erect as Elorie’s own. He said, gallantly, “I am sure there were many to protest that decision.”
Her eyes met his, just a flicker. She said, “You are not naive enough to think I took Keeper’s vows as well? I bore Rannirl a child ten years ago, hoping it would inherit my laran; my sister has fostered her, but I had no wish to drag a babe round at my heels. I would have given Kennard one as well, for he had no heirs and the Council was wroth with him, but he chose instead to marry. They did not like the woman he married, but she bore him two sons, and they have accepted the oldest son as his Heir—though it was hard enough to get them to do it. And I am well-enough pleased, for I am very much needed here, though not quite so much, now that Taniquel has been discovered to have enough laran for a monitor. Still, Tani is young. It is likely that she may decide to leave the Tower and marry; many of the younger women do so. I was surprised when Elorie came here; but she is the daughter of old Kyril Ardais, and he has spread the tale of his lecheries from Dalereuth to the Hellers; after seeing what her own mother suffered, I am sure Elorie had no wish to marry, and began with a fear and dread of all men. She is my half-sister, you know; I am one of old Dom Kyril’s bastards.” She spoke with dispassionate calm. “I was responsible for bringing her here, you know. The old man would have had her to sing and entertain his drinking companions, and once, when she was still very small, one of them laid rough hands on her—our brother came near to killing him. And after that, he complained to the Council, and Elorie was brought to Arilinn, and Dyan petitioned them to set Father aside and name him Regent of the Domain, so when Father’s wits are not with him, the Domain will not be brought into disrepute because of his indecencies and debaucheries. It cost Dyan something to do this; he is a gifted musician, and a healer; he wished to study all the healing arts at Nevarsin, and now he has the weight of the Domain on his shoulders. But I am gossiping,” she added with a faint smile. “At my age, I think I can be excused for it. I brought Lori here, as I say, and I had hoped she would make a monitor, perhaps even a technician; she has a good mind. Instead, they chose to try and teach her the Keeper’s way, and so we are the only Tower on Darkover with a Keeper qualified in the old way. I suppose we should be proud of it; but I am sorry for Elorie. It is a hard life; and since she is the only Keeper we have—although there is a little girl at Neskaya who is being taught—she will not feel free to leave the Tower, as most Keepers in past ages have felt free to do when the weight of their work grows too heavy. It is a dreadful burden,” she added, meeting his eyes, “and
despite the fact that the Lady of Arilinn stands higher than the queen, I would not want it for myself; nor for any child of mine.”
Her glass was empty; she leaned forward and asked him to refill it. Rising, Kerwin went to the table where the drinks were kept. Corus and Elorie were playing some sort of game with cut-crystal dice. Rannirl had a scrap of leather in his hands and was stitching it into a falcon’s hood.
Taniquel was near the fireplace, deep in conversation with Auster; Kerwin tried to catch her eye, to make an unobtrusive signal that she should join him; a signal she knew well. He fully expected her to make some light-hearted excuse to Auster and join him.
But she only gave him a little eye-blink of a smile, and lightly shook her head. Startled, rebuffed, he looked at her hand lying in Auster’s, their heads close together. They seemed quite absorbed. Kerwin filled Neyrissa’s glass and took it to her, his puzzlement growing. The girl had never seemed half so desirable as now, when her laughter, her impish smile were all for Auster. He went back and sat down by Neyrissa, giving her the glass, but from irritation he proceeded to bewilderment, and then to resentment. How could she do this to him? Was she nothing, then, but a heartless tease?
As the evening passed, he sank deeper and deeper into depression. He listened to Neyrissa’s gossip with half an ear, the attempts of Kennard and Rannirl to engage him in conversation fell flat; after a time they assumed he was still weary and left him to himself.
Corus and Elorie finished their game and started another; Neyrissa went to show Mesyr her needlework and ask for advice, the two women sorting a lapful of threads and comparing the colors of dyes. It was a perfectly comfortable domestic scene except for Kerwin’s knifelike awareness of Taniquel, her head resting on Auster’s shoulder. A dozen times Kerwin told himself that he was a fool to sit and watch it, but bewilderment and resentful anger strove in him. Why was she doing this, why?
Later Auster rose to refill their glasses, and Kerwin rose abruptly; Kennard looked up, troubled, as Kerwin crossed the room and bent to touch Taniquel on the arm.
“Come with me,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”
She looked up, startled and not pleased, but with a quick glance around—he could almost feel her exasperation, mingled with her resolve not to make a scene—she said, “Let’s go out on the terrace.”
The last remnants of the sunset had long vanished; the mist was condensing into heavy splatters of rain that would, before long, be a downpour. Taniquel shivered, dragging her yellow knitted shawl close around her shoulders. She said, “It’s too cold to stand out here very long. What’s the matter, Jeff? Why have you been staring at me like that, all evening?”
“You don’t know?” he flung at her. “Haven’t you any heart? We’ve had to wait—
“Are you jealous?” she asked, goodnaturedly. Jeff drew her into his arms and kissed her violently, crushing her mouth under his; she sighed, smiled and returned the kiss, but with tolerance rather than passion. He seized her by the elbows, saying hoarsely, “I should have known you were just deviling me, but I couldn’t stand it—watching you with Auster, right under my very eyes—”
She held herself away from him, puzzled and, he sensed, angry.
“Jeff, don’t be so dense! Can’t you see that Auster needs me now? Can’t you understand that? Have you no feelings, no kindness at all? This is your triumph—and his defeat, can’t you see?”
“Are you trying to say you’ve turned against me?”
“Jeff, I simply don’t understand you,” she said, frowning in the half-light from the window behind them. “Why should I have turned against you? All I’m saying is that Auster needs me—now, tonight— more than you do.” She raised herself on tiptoe, kissing him coaxingly, but he held her roughly at arm’s length, some hint of her meaning beginning to reach him.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“What is the matter with you, Jeff? I can’t seem to get through to you at all tonight!”
He said, his throat tight, “I love you. I—I want you; is that so hard to understand?”
“I love you, Jeff,” she said, with a faint undertone of impatience in her words. “But what has that to do with it? I think you’re overtired, or you wouldn’t talk this way. What is it to do with you, if for this one night Auster needs me more than you do, and I choose to comfort him in the way he needs most?”
He asked flatly, “Are you trying to tell me you’re going to sleep with him tonight?”
“Why, yes, certainly!”
His mouth felt dry. “You little bitch!”
Taniquel stepped back as if he had struck her. Her face, in the dim light, was dead white, the freckles standing out like dark blotches.
“And you are a selfish brute,” she retorted. “Barbarian as Elorie called you, and worse! You— you Terrans think women are property! I love you, yes; but not when you act like this!”
He felt his mouth twitch, painfully. “That kind of love I can buy in the spaceport bars!”
Taniquel’s hand went up, hard and stinging, fiat across his cheekbones. “You—” she stammered, speechless. “I belong to myself, do you hear? You take what I give and think it right; but if I give it to another, you are ready to name me whore? Damn you, you filthy-minded Terranan! Auster was right about you all along!”
She moved swiftly past him, and he heard her steps receding, swift and final; somewhere a door slammed inside the Tower.
His face burning, Kerwin did not follow. The rain was heavy now, blowing around the cornice of the Tower, and there were traces of ice in the heavy drops; he brushed it from his smarting cheek. What had he done now? On a numb, shamed impulse to hide himself—they must all have seen Taniquel’s rejection of him, the way she had turned to Auster, they must all have known what it meant—he went swiftly along the passageway and up the stairs to his own room; but before he reached it, he heard an uneven footfall and Kennard stood behind him in the doorway.
“Jeff, what’s the matter?”
He did not want to face the older man’s craggy, knowing face just now. He went on into his room, muttering, “Still tired—guess I’ll go to bed, get some more sleep.”
Kennard came behind him, put his hands on the younger man’s shoulders and, with surprising strength, physically turned him around to face him. He said, “Look, Jeff, you can’t keep it from us like that. If you’ll talk about it—”
“Damn it,” Jeff said, his voice cracking, “is there no privacy in this place at all?”
Kennard slumped and sighed. He said, “My leg’s giving me hell; can I sit down?”
Kerwin could not refuse; Kennard dropped into an armchair. He said, “Look, son, among us, things have to be—well, they have to be faced; they can’t be hidden away to fester. For better or for worse, you’re a member of our circle—”
Jeff tightened his mouth again. He said, “Keep out of this. It’s between me and Taniquel, and none of your business.”
“But it’s not between you and Taniquel at all,” Kennard said. “It’s between you and Auster. Look, everything that happens in Arilinn affects us all. Tani is an empath; can’t you understand how she feels when she senses—when she has to share—that kind of need, and hunger, and loneliness? You were broadcasting it everywhere; we all picked it up. But Tani is an empath, and vulnerable. And she answered that need, because she’s a woman, and kind, and an empath, and she couldn’t endure your unhappiness. She gave you what you needed most, and what it was natural for her to give.”
Kerwin muttered, “She said she loved me. And I believed her.”
Kennard put out his hand, and Kerwin sensed the sympathy in him. He said, “Zandru’s hells, Jeff— words, words, words! And the way people use them, and what they mean by them!” It was almost like an imprecation. He touched Jeff lightly on the wrist, the accepting, telepath’s touch, which somehow meant more than a handclasp or an embrace. He said gently, “She loves you, Jeff. We all do, every one of us. You are one of us.
But Tani—is what she is. Can’t you understand what that means? And Auster—try and imagine what it means to be a woman, and an empath, and feel the kind of despair and need that was in Auster tonight? How can she feel that, and not—not respond to it? Damn it,” he said, despairingly, “if you and Auster understood each other, if you had empathy with him, you’d feel his pain, too, and you’d understand what Taniquel was feeling!”
Against his will, Jeff began to grasp the concept; in a close-knit circle of telepaths, emotions, needs, hungers, did not affect only the one who felt them, but everyone who was near him. He had been disrupting them all with his loneliness and his hunger for acceptance, and Taniquel had responded to it, as naturally as a mother quiets a crying child. But now, when Jeff was happy and triumphant, and Auster apparently defeated, it was Auster’s pain she desired to soothe…
Human flesh and blood couldn’t endure it, he thought savagely. Taniquel, whom he loved, Taniquel, the first woman who had ever meant anything to him, Taniquel in the arms of a man he hated… He closed his eyes, trying to barricade away the thought, the pain of it.
Kennard looked at him, and Kerwin, uncomfortably, recognized his expression as pity.
“It must be very difficult for you. You spent so much time among the Terrans, you’ve taken their neurotic codes to yourself. The laws of the Tower are not the same as the laws of the Domains; among telepaths they can’t be. Marriage is a fairly recent development on Darkover; what you call monogamy is more recent yet. And it’s never been really accepted. I’m not blaming you, Jeff. You are what you are, just as Tani is what she is. I only wish you weren’t so unhappy about it.” He hauled himself wearily out of his chair and went away, and Kerwin caught the trail and overflow of his thought. Kennard, too, had married a Terran, known the pain of a man caught between two worlds and belonging to neither, seen his two sons rejected because he could not father a son on the suitable wife the Council had given him, but whom, too sensitive to unspoken emotions, he could not love…
The Bloody Sun Page 22
