The Bloody Sun

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Marco’s eyes closed for a moment, from pain or weakness. Kindra thought he had lost consciousness, and gestured to the man behind him. “Quick, now, while he is unconscious—” she said swiftly, but the tortured eyes flicked open.

  “Would you betray me, too?” He gestured with the dagger, but so feebly that Kindra was shocked. There was certainly no time to be lost. The best thing was to humor him.

  “Go,” she said, “I’ll reason with him, and if he won’t listen, well, he is old enough to take the consequences of his folly.” Her mouth twisted as the men went away. “I hope what you have to tell me is worth risking your life for, you lackwitted simpleton!”

  But a great and terrifying suspicion was born in her as she knelt on the bloody pallet. “You fool, do you know this is likely to be your deathwound? I have small skill at leechcraft; your comrades could do better for you.”

  “It is sure to be my death unless you help me,” said the hoarse, weakening voice. “None of these men is comrade enough that I could trust him… mestra, help me, I beg you, in the name of the merciful Avarra—I am a woman.”

  Kindra drew a sharp breath. She had begun to suspect—and it was true, then. “And none of Brydar’s men knows—”

  “None. I have dwelt among them for half a year, and I do not think any man of them suspects—and I fear women even more. But you, you I felt I might trust—”

  “I swear it,” Kindra said hastily. “I am oath-bound never to refuse aid to any woman who asks me in the name of the Goddess. But let me help you now, my poor girl, and pray Avarra you have not delayed too long!”

  “Even if it was so— ” the strange girl whispered— I would rather die as a woman, than—disgraced and exposed. I have known so much disgrace—”

  “Hush! Hush, child!” But she fell back against the pallet; she had really fainted, this time, at last; and Kindra cut away the leather breeches, looking at the serious cut that sliced through the top of the thigh and into the pubic mound. It had bled heavily, but was not, Kindra thought, fatal. She picked up one of the clean towels the men had left, pressed heavily against the wound; when it slowed to an ooze, she frowned, thinking it should be stitched. She hesitated to do it—she had little skill at such things, and she was sure the man from Brydar’s band could do it more tidily and sure-handed; but she knew that was exactly what the young woman had feared, to be handled and exposed by men. Kindra thought: If it could be done before she recovers consciousness, she need not know… But she had promised the girl, and she would keep her promise. The girl did not stir as she stepped out into the hall.

  Brydar came halfway up the stairs. “How goes it?”

  “Send young Annelys to me,” Kindra said. “Tell her to bring linen thread and a needle; and linen for bandages, and hot water and soap.” Annelys had courage and strength; what was more, she was sure that if Kindra asked her to keep a secret, Annelys would do so, instead of gossiping about it.

  Brydar said, in a undertone that did not carry a yard past Kindra’s ear, “It’s a woman—isn’t it?”

  Kindra demanded, with a frown. “Were you listening?”

  “Listening, hell! I’ve got the brains I was born with, and I was remembering a couple of other little things. Can you think of any other reason a member of my band wouldn’t let us get his britches off? Whoever she is, she’s got guts enough for two!”

  Kindra shook her head in dismay. Then all the girl’s suffering was useless, scandal and disgrace there would be in any case. “Brydar, you pledged this would be worth my while. Do you owe me, or not?”

  “I owe you,” Brydar said.

  “Then swear by your sword that you will never open your mouth about this, and I am paid. Fair enough?”

  Brydar grinned. “I won’t cheat you out of your pay for that,” he said. “You think I want it to get round these hills that Brydar of Fen Hills can’t tell the men from the ladies? Young Marco rode with my band for half a year and proved himself the man. If his foster-sister or kinswoman or cousin or what you will chooses to nurse him herself, and take him home with her afterward, what’s it to any of my men? Damned if I want my crew thinking some girl killed Scarface right under my nose!” He put his hand to sword-hilt. “Zandru take this hand with the palsy if I say any word about this. I’ll send Annelys to you,” he promised, and went.

  Kindra returned to the girl’s side. She was still unconscious; when Annelys came in, Kindra said curtly, “Hold the lamp there; I want to get this stitched before she recovers consciousness. And try not to get squeamish or faint; I want to get it done quick enough so we don’t have to hold her down while we do it.”

  Annelys gulped at the sight of the girl and the gaping wound, which had begun to bleed again. “A woman! Blessed Evanda! Kindra, is she one of your Sisterhood? Did you know?”

  “No, to both questions. Here, hold the light—”

  “No,” said Annelys. “I have done this many times; I have steady hands for this. Once when my brother cut his thigh chopping wood, I sewed it up, and I have helped the midwife, too. You hold the light.”

  Relieved, Kindra surrendered the needle. Annelys began her work as skillfully as if she were embroidering a cushion; halfway through the business, the girl regained consciousness; she gave a faint cry of fright, but Kindra spoke to her, and she quieted and lay still, her teeth clamped in her lip, clinging to Kindra’s hand. Halfway through, she moistened her lip and whispered, “Is she one of you, mestra?”

  “No. No more than yourself, child. But she is a friend. And she will not gossip about you, I know it,” Kindra said confidently.

  When Annelys had finished, she fetched a glass of wine for the woman, and held her head while she drank it. Some color came back into the pale cheeks, and she was breathing more easily. Annelys brought one of her own nightgowns and said, “You will be more comfortable in this, I think. I wish we could carry you to my bed, but I don’t think you should be moved yet. Kindra, help me to lift her.” With a pillow and a couple of clean sheets she set about making the woman comfortable on the straw pallet.

  The stranger made a faint sound of protest as they began to undress her, but was too weak to protest effectively. Kindra stared in shock as the undertunic came off. She would never have believed that any woman over fourteen could successfully pose as a man among men; yet this woman had done it, and now she saw how. The revealed form was flat, spare, breastless; the shoulders had the hardened musculature of any swordsman. There was more hair on the arms that most women would have tolerated without removing it somehow, with bleach or wax. Annelys stared in amazement, and the woman, seeing that shocked look, hid her face in the pillow. Kindra said sharply, “There is no need to stare. She is emmasca, that is all; haven’t you ever seen one before?” The neutering operation was illegal all over Darkover, and dangerous; and in this woman it must have been done before, or shortly after puberty. She was filled with questions, but courtesy forbade any of them.

  “But—but— ” Annelys whispered. “Was she born so or made so? It is unlawful—who would dare—”

  “Made so,” the girl said, her face still hidden in the pillow. “Had I been born so, I would have had nothing to fear… and I chose this so that I might have nothing more to fear!”

  She tightened her mouth as they lifted and turned her; Annelys gasped aloud at the shocking scars, like the marks of whips, across the woman’s back; but she said nothing, only pulled the merciful concealment of her own nightgown over the frightful revelation of those scars. Gently, she washed the woman’s face and hands with soapy water. The ginger-pale hair was dark with sweat, but at the roots Kindra saw something else; the hair was beginning to grow in fire-red there.

  Comyn. The telepath caste, red-haired… this woman was a noblewoman, born to rule in the Domains of Darkover!

  In the name of all the Gods, Kindra wondered, who can she be, what has come to her? How came she here in this disguise, even her hair bleached so none can guess at her lineage? And who has mishandled her so?
She must have been beaten like an animal…

  And then, shocked, she heard the words forming in her mind, not knowing how.

  Scarface, said the voice in her mind. But now I am avenged. Even if it means my death…

  She was frightened; never had she so clearly perceived; her rudimentary telepath gift had always, before, been a matter of quick intuition, hunch, lucky guess. She whispered aloud, in horror and dismay, “By the Goddess! Child, who are you?”

  The pale face contorted in a grimace which Kindra recognized, in dismay, was intended for a smile. “I am—no one,” she said. “I had thought myself the daughter of Alaric Lindir. Have you heard the tale?”

  Alaric Lindir. The Lindir family were a proud and wealthy family, distantly akin to the Aillard family of the Comyn. Too highly born, in fact, for Kindra to claim acquaintance with any of that kin; they were of the ancient blood of the Hastur-kin.

  “Yes, they are a proud people,” whispered the woman. “My mother’s name was Kyria, and she was a younger sister to Dom Lewis Ardais—not the Ardais Lord, but his younger brother. But still, she was high-born enough that when she proved to be with child by one of the Hastur lords of Thendara, she was hurried away and married in haste to Alaric Lindir. And my father—he that I had always believed my father—he was proud of his red-haired daughter; all during my childhood I heard how proud he was of me, for I would marry into Comyn, or go to one of the Towers and become a great and powerful sorceress or Keeper. And then—then came Scarface and his crew, and they sacked the castle, and carried away some of the women, just as an afterthought, and by the time Scarface discovered who he had as his latest captive—well, the damage was done, but still he sent to my father for ransom. And my father, that selfsame Dom Alaric who had not enough proud words for his red-haired beauty who should further his ambition by a proud marriage into the Comyn, my father—” She choked, then spat the words out. “He sent word that if Scarface could guarantee me—untouched—then he would ransom me at a great price; but if not, then he would pay nothing. For if I was—was spoilt, ravaged—then I was no use to him, and Scarface might hang me or give me to one of his men, as he saw fit.”

  “Holy Bearer of Burdens!” Annelys whispered. “And this man had reared you as his own child?”

  “Yes—and I had thought he loved me,” Camilla said, her face twisting. Kindra closed her eyes in horror, seeing all too clearly the man who had welcomed his wife’s bastard—but only while she could further his ambition!

  Annelys’ eyes were filled with tears. “How dreadful! Oh, how could any man—”

  “I have come to believe any man would do so,” Camilla said, “for Scarface was so angry at my father’s refusal that he gave me to one of his men to be a plaything, and you can see how he used me. That one I killed while he lay sleeping one night, when at last he had come to believe me beaten into submission—and so made my escape, and back to my mother, and she welcomed me with tears and with pity, but I could see in her mind that her greatest fear, now, was that I should shame her by bearing the child of Scarface’s bastard; she feared that my father would say to her, like mother, like daughter, and my disgrace would revive the old story of her own. And I could not forgive my mother—that she should continue to love and to live with that man who had rejected me and given me over to such a fate. And so I made my way to a leronis, who took pity on me—or perhaps she, too, wanted only to be certain I would not disgrace my Comyn blood by becoming a whore or a bandit’s drab—and she made me emmasca, as you see. And I took service with Brydar’s men, and so I won my revenge—”

  Annelys was weeping; but the girl lay with a face like stone. Her very calm was more terrible than hysteria; she had gone beyond tears, into a place where grief and satisfaction were all one, and that one wore the face of death.

  Kindra said softly, “You are safe now; none will harm you. But you must not talk any more; you are weary, and weakened with loss of blood. Come, drink the rest of this wine and sleep, my girl.” She supported the girl’s head while she finished the wine, filled with horror. And yet, through the horror, was admiration. Broken, beaten, ravaged, and then rejected, this girl had won free of her captors by killing one of them; and then she had survived the further rejection of her family, to plot her revenge, and to carry it out, as a noble might do.

  And the proud Comyn rejected this woman? She has the courage of any two of their menfolk! It is this kind of pride and folly that will one day bring the reign of the Comyn crashing down into ruin! And she shuddered with a strange premonitory fear, seeing with her wakening telepathic gift a flashing picture of flames over the Hellers, strange sky-ships, alien men walking the streets of Thendara clad in black leather…

  The woman’s eyes closed, her hands tightening on Kindra’s. “Well, I have had my revenge,” she whispered again, “and so I can die. And with my last breath I will bless you, that I die as a woman, and not in this hated disguise, among men…”

  “But you are not going to die,” Kindra said. “You will live, child.”

  “No.” Her face was set stubbornly in lines of refusal, closed and barriered. “What does life hold for a woman friendless and without kin? I could endure to live alone and secret, among men, disguised, while I nursed the thought of my revenge to strengthen me for the—the daily pretense. But I hate men, I loathe the way they speak of women among themselves, I would rather die than go back to Brydar’s band, or live further among men.”

  Annelys said softly, “But now you are revenged, now you can live as a woman again.”

  Again the nameless woman shook her head. “Live as a woman, subject to men like my father? Go back and beg shelter from my mother, who might give me bread in secret so I would not disgrace them further by dying across her doorstep, and keep me hidden away, to drudge among them hidden, sew or spin, when I have ridden free with a mercenary band? Or shall I live as a lone woman, at the mercy of men? I would rather face the mercy of the blizzard and the banshee!” Her hand closed on Kindra’s. “No,” she said, “I would rather die.”

  Kindra drew the girl into her arms, holding her against her breast. “Hush, my poor girl, hush, you are over-wrought, you must not talk like that. When you have slept you will not feel this way,” she soothed, but she felt the depth of despair in the woman in her arms, and her rage overflowed.

  The laws of her Guild forbade her to speak of the Sisterhood, to tell this girl that she could live free, protected by the Guild Charter, never again to be at the mercy of any man. The laws of the Guild, which she might not break, the oath she must keep. And yet on a deeper level, was it not breaking the oath to withhold from this woman, who had risked so much and who had appealed to her in the name of her Goddess, the knowledge that might give her the will to live?

  Whatever I do, I am forsworn; either I break my oath by refusing this girl my help, or I break it by speaking when I am forbidden by the law to speak.

  The law! The law made by men, which still hemmed her in on every side, though she had cast off the ordinary laws by which men forced women to live! And she was doubly damned if she spoke of the Guild before Annelys, though Annelys had fought at her side. The just law of the Hellers would protect Annelys from this knowledge; it would make trouble for the Sisterhood if Kindra should lure away a daughter of a respectable innkeeper, whose mother needed her, and needed the help her husband would bring to the running of her inn!

  Against her breast, the nameless girl had closed her eyes. Kindra caught the faint thread of her thoughts; she knew that the telepath caste could will themselves to die… as this girl had willed herself to live, despite everything that had happened, until she had had her cherished revenge.

  Let me sleep so… and I can believe myself back in my mother’s arms, in the days when I was still her child and this horror had not touched me… Let me sleep so and never wake…

  Already she was drifting away, and for a moment, in despair, Kindra was tempted to let her die. The law forbids me to speak. And if she should sp
eak, then Annelys, already struck with hero-worship of Kindra, already rebelling against a woman’s lot, having tasted the pride of defending herself, Annelys would follow her, too. Kindra knew it, with a strange, premonitory shiver.

  She let the rage in her have its way and overflow. She shook the nameless woman awake, knowing that already she was willing herself to death.

  “Listen to me! Listen! You must not die,” she said angrily. “Not when you have suffered so much! That is a coward’s way, and you have proven again and again that you are no coward!”

  “Oh, but I am a coward,” the woman said. “I am too much a coward to live in the only way a woman like me can live—through the charity of women such as my mother—or the mercy of men like my father, or like Scarface! I dreamed that when I had my revenge, I could find some other way. But there is no other way.”

  And Kindra’s rage and resolution overflowed. She looked despairing over the nameless woman’s head, into Annelys’s frightened eyes. She swallowed, knowing the seriousness of the step she was about to take.

  “There—there might be another way,” she said, still temporizing. “You—I do not even know your name, what is your name?”

  “I am nameless,” the woman said, her face like stone. “I swore I would never again speak the name given me by the father and the mother who rejected me. If I had lived, I would have taken another name. Call me what pleases you.”

  And with a great surge of wrath, Kindra made up her mind. She drew the girl against her.

  “I will call you Camilla,” she said, “for from this day forth, I swear it, I shall be mother and sister to you, as was the blessed Cassilda to Camilla; this I swear. Camilla, you shall not die,” she said, pulling the girl upright. Then, with a deep resolute breath, clasping Camilla’s hand in one of hers, and stretching the other to Annelys, she began.

  “My little sisters, let me tell you of the Sisterhood of Free Women, which men call Free Amazons. Let me tell you of the ways of the Renunciates, the Oath-bound, the Comhi-Letzii …”