Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Kyril flung himself to his knees and kissed his mother’s hand again. He said, subdued, “I owe you gratitude for caring for Tessa; I was worried about her. Are you sending me away because of that scene this morning—because I made my father look a fool?”

  “No, my dear,” Rohana assured him gently, “It is high time you were sent away to be prepared for your place in life and in the Domain. You should have gone years ago. Now go and say farewell to your father and refrain from quarreling with him if you can; you set out at daybreak.”

  “And Rian is to go to a Tower?” Kyril said. “I am glad; he will make a good laranzu, and he at least will not contend with me for Heirship to the Domain.”

  “Surely you never thought he would, Kyril,” Rohana said, as she put her arms around his neck and hugged him in farewell. “Goodbye, my dear son; learn well, and make the most of every opportunity. When you come back—”

  “When I come back, the Domain will not be in need of woman’s rule,” said Kyril, “and you, Mother, can rest and confine yourself to a woman’s work.”

  “I shall be glad of that,” Rohana said softly, and when Kyril had gone, she sighed and said to Kindra, “And yet he was the dearest and sweetest of little boys. How could I have gone so wrong in his upbringing, that he turned out like this?”

  “You were not the only force in his upbringing,” Kindra said. “The world will go as it will, Rohana, not as you or I will have it. And I fear that is true of our children, too. Yours and mine, my Lady.”

  V

  It was very quiet at Ardais when the young people had departed. Kindra welcomed the quiet for Rohana’s sake; Dom Gabriel was on his feet again, more or less, looking shaky and weak, but with the aid of his stewards even managing to make some show of supervising the replanting of the resin-trees.

  Although no longer confined to bed, Rohana felt unable to be much out of doors or to ride; she allowed the steward to assist Gabriel with the replanting and took such minor exercise as she required, walking in the courtyards. Kindra felt this confining but did not wish to leave Rohana, nor to affront Dom Gabriel by coming into his presence unasked. As for Jaelle, Kindra missed her but felt that the absence of her sharp and critical presence made life easier for everyone, especially Rohana.

  The only remaining young person besides Elorie, the girl Tessa, kept a very low profile in Kyril’s absence, appearing but rarely in the hall. Rohana was just as well pleased that the girl was content to take her meals in her own room and did not grudge the extra service. There was no reason Gabriel should be reminded of his humiliation at his elder son’s hands. Sometimes at Rohana’s invitation the girl joined the women at their sewing in the conservatory; as far as Kindra could judge she was a harmless shallow little thing, with nothing much to say for—or of—herself. She did not seem to miss Kyril and made no effort to regain Dom Gabriel’s interest.

  For the most part of a tenday, life at Ardais went on in this quiet way. One morning Kindra wakened to the sound of a great windstorm which roared and wailed around the corners of the building so as to drown out most human conversation. Looking from a window she saw nothing but acres of tossing leaves, trees bending like live things almost to the ground, snapping off short into broken stakes. In her near-forty years, Kindra had seen no weather even remotely like this; no one ventured out except to tend the animals, for any except the strongest farm workers would be blown off their feet. Kindra stepped out on a balcony and had to hold fast to the railing lest she be slammed back against the stone wall. The very air seemed to crackle with weird energy, although there was no thunder. Rohana looked troubled and refused to approach the balcony.

  “Is it the wind that frightens you?” Kindra asked. “I have never known anything like it; I am a strong woman but I was very nearly blown off my feet. You could have a bad fall—which could be dangerous for you just now.”

  “Do you think I would care?” Rohana asked. “I am so sick of being inactive, of doing nothing! I don’t care what happens—” Then she broke off and looked guilty. “But this far along in pregnancy, my child is strong enough that I can feel his struggle to live; I cannot endanger that life.” Kindra was appalled; she had had no idea that any such thoughts had been crossing Rohana’s mind. She felt deeply troubled for her.

  “Not the wind,” Rohana went on, “but the energy in the air; it can ignite fires when the resin-trees are so dry. We had too little snow last winter. Unless it begins to rain before the wind dies, we must send out a fire-watch at first light.

  Kindra had never heard of such a thing; though she knew lightning was the major cause of forest fire, this strange storm without visible lightning or thunder was new to her.

  The sun was not visible; in the swirling wind, clouds of leaves, snow from the crags, and loose gravel occluded and hid the sun; a mysterious yellow twilight gradually took over the sky, which toward nightfall turned an eerie greenish color. There was no visible sunset; the light simply faded toward darkness until it was gone. In the darkness the wind went on howling like some chorus of demented demons. Whatever torches, or candles were lighted were blown out almost at once by the drafts in the corridors; it was difficult to light fires in the main fireplaces, for the suction of the high winds in the chimneys blew back and tried to extinguish them.

  Elorie wrapped Valentine in blankets and brought him down from his nursery to join the others in the great hall before the fitful and smoking fire which seemed perpetually on the very edge of going out. He was fretful until Dom Gabriel, to Kindra’s astonishment, took the child on his lap before the smoky hearth and croaked old military ballads in a quavering voice to distract the child.

  Elorie said “It must be terrible to be out in this, Papa, do you think Rian and Kyril are safe by now in Nevarsin or wherever they have gone?”

  “Oh, yes, for sure they will be in Nevarsin by now,” Gabriel said, counting on his fingers. “What the devil ails the fire, Rohana?”

  “The wind in the chimney keeps putting it out,” Rohana said. “I will do my best to spell it to burn.” She reached into the bosom of her dress and drew out her matrix, unwrapping the stone and gazing into it.

  Slowly the fire on the hearth flared up with a stronger blue light, and for a little time it burned with an almost steady light. Rohana had enclosed a candle in a windproof glass so that it, too, burned strong and clean; against the unholy clamor of the wind the burning hearth fire gave a curious illusion that all was normal. But after a time the suction of the wind pulled the fire raggedly back toward the chimney, and it began to beat uneasily in long ragged flames; behind them the tapestries on the walls bellied out like great sails with flapping sounds. It was, Rohana thought, as if every one of the hundreds of people who had lived and died here were flowing outside in the great screaming winds, howling and shrieking like a chorus of banshees. Yet it was only wind. The servants began to bring in the dinner; Rohana directed that it should be brought to the fire and set up on small tables and benches there.

  “You have done well.” she said to the cook. “Are the fires in the kitchen burning properly?”

  “We have an enclosed stove,” said the main cook. “And so we managed to roast a little meat for you and the master, Lady; but there is no bread, for the oven will not draw. Your fire here is the only good fire in the house; we can boil a kettle here for tea, perhaps.”

  Dom Gabriel said in his rusty voice, “Shall we have some hot mulled wine?”

  “Yes, tonight I think so,” said Rohana. In this weather, whatever would content him was good. He drank, and fed a few sips to the child in his lap. Valentine coughed and spluttered but enjoyed the attention, and when Elorie protested, Rohana shook her head. “It will make him sleepy, and he will sleep the better,” she said. “Let him be for this once.” She carved up the fowl and they ate before the fire, balancing the plates on their laps.

  But in spite of Rohana’s best efforts, the fire was beginning to sink and burn with a bewitched light, pale and fitfully. When the sc
ant meal had been eaten, such as it was, Rohana let the fire sink and die; it was simply too much effort to maintain anything like a natural flame.

  “Take Dom Gabriel to his chamber, Hallar,” she ordered the steward. Her voice could hardly be heard over the wild clanging outside and in, the roar of wind, the banging of branches and shutters against the house.

  As the man eased Dom Gabriel to his feet, Valentine clung to Rohana and said, “It sounds like the whole castle will blow down. Do I have to sleep alone in the nursery with the wind howling like this? Can I have a light?”

  “A light will not burn tonight, chiyu,” Elorie said, picking him up. “You shall sleep in my room in the trundle bed.”

  Dom Gabriel said grumpily, “Why not put him in the cradle and be done with it? He’s a big boy now, aren’t you, Val? Not a mollycoddle, are you, boy? You don’t need a light and a nurse, do you, big fellow?”

  “Yes, I do,” Val said shakily, clinging to Elorie’s skirt, and Elorie held him close.

  “It’s better than letting him be frightened to death alone, Papa.”

  “Ah, well—at least he is not my son,” Dom Gabriel growled. “It’s nothing to me if he turns out to be no kind of man.”

  Rohana thought, Better no kind of man at all than a man like you, but she was no longer sure that Gabriel could read the thought; there had been a time when it would have been instantly clear to him. In any case it did not matter. She wished Gabriel a good night aloud, and with her arm through Kindra’s started through the dark and wailing hallways toward her own room.

  Her women were clustered in the corner of her room, moaning in terror, their wails almost drowned out by the shrieking gale; as she came into the chamber, a shutter tore loose and slammed around the room, smashed into sticks of kindling and flailing everywhere. One of the slats struck Kindra, and she could not keep back a cry of pain; the women took up the cries. Kindra said sharply, “It’s only a stick of wood!”

  “But it’s cut your forehead, Kindra,” Rohana said, and dipped a towel into a jar of water that stood on her dresser, sponging away the blood that trickled down Kindra’s forehead. The women struggled to haul the shutter closed again. The banging sounded like some clawed thing trying to fight its way in, but something on the shutter itself had broken, so that the shutter would not fasten, and the wind was raging in the room.

  “You cannot sleep in here like this,” Kindra said, for the room was filled with the choking burden of dust, snow, and dead leaves borne on the howling gale, and the door into the corridor had come loose and was battering to and fro. “I am glad I will not be the one to sweep all these rooms tomorrow.”

  “Jaelle’s room is sheltered,” Rohana said, and led Kindra down the hall toward it, turning into the small room enclosed in a sheltered corner of the building, with relief. It was quieter here, and the women could hear their own voices more easily. As Kindra helped Rohana into her night things, she knew Rohana was still tense, straining to hear the wind, to know the worst.

  “I am as foolish as Valentine,” Rohana said, “afraid to be alone where a candle will not burn, and I cannot be sure the walls will not fall around me.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” Kindra said, and slid into bed beside her. The women clung together in the dark, listening to the banging of shutters, fighting of branches against the walls and shattering of the few glass windows in the building.

  After one such outburst of noise, Rohana, tense in the darkness, muttered “Gabriel will be beside himself with despair; we have so few windows and glass is so expensive and hard to have fitted. For years now he has been trying to make the place weather tight, but a storm like this . . .” and she fell silent.

  “Even a few months ago, I would have gone to him and tried to calm him, but now he would mock me—or there might be someone with him who would mock me—I would even be grateful if that girl Tessa would go to him and comfort him—” her voice drifted into silence.

  “Hush,” Kindra said, “You must sleep.”

  “Yes, I must—after all this there will be work for everyone tomorrow,” Rohana said, closing her eyes and snuggling against Kindra. A faraway battering sound made her wonder what other structure had come loose, fighting wildly against the storm. Then there was a sudden swashing sound, a rushing against the shutters.

  “Rain,” Rohana said. “With this wind it is being thrown against the walls like waves. But at least now we need not fear fire before daylight.”

  The sound was like a river in full flood, but Rohana had relaxed. Kindra held her close, troubled for her, knowing that it was as if the weight of the whole domain rested on this single body, which seemed so frail and was so surprisingly strong. And all the weight is on her; now, when it sounds as if the whole world is breaking down into wind and chaos, she bears it all on her shoulders—or in her body like the weight of her child. Kindra held Rohana close, wishing that she could ease the burden for her friend. It is too much for one woman to carry. I have always thought that the wives of rich men were idle, letting their men determine what they might do, but she is as powerful and self-determined as any Renunciate. The Domain could not be better managed by five strong men! she thought, holding Rohana tenderly in her arms, yet she is not strong. She is a frail woman and not even in good health.

  Gradually the distant sound of the roaring wind seemed merged into a song, a lullaby on which she cradled and rocked the woman in her arms. And at last, knowing Rohana slept, she slept, too, in spite of the great howl of the wind.

  VI

  Rohana woke to silence; sometime before sunrise the wind had died. She was still nestled in Kindra’s arms and for a moment she felt a little self-conscious; I went to sleep clinging to her like a child.

  It reminded her a little of the days when she had still believed that Gabriel was strong and had all things under his control. She had felt so secure then; and she had been sure that whatever was beyond her strength, she could turn to Gabriel for his help. Now, for these many years, not only could Gabriel not help her, he was not even strong enough to carry his own burdens, and she must look after his welfare as if he were one of the children. She thanked the Gods that she had always been strong enough to look after herself and Gabriel, too, but it had been sweet to feel Gabriel’s strength and enjoy his protection—and his love. It had been so long since there had been any strength on which she could lean.

  Love. She had all but forgotten that there had truly been a time when she did love Gabriel—and when, in truth, he had loved her. She had clung to that long after his love for her was gone, even after her own love had died out, starved into death by lack of response; that illusion that if only she could cling to her own love, his might one day return.

  Was love always an illusion, then? She supposed that Gabriel did love her in his own way—a fondness, born of habit, provided she demanded nothing, asked nothing of him. She still cared for him, remembering what once he had been. I love my own memory of the illusion that once was Gabriel’s love, she thought, and began to turn over in bed, knowing she should rouse the servants; there would be much to set to rights after the great storm.

  Then she froze as far above her in the great tower, a bell began to toll with insistent regularity, in groups of three; clang/CLANG/clang, clang/CLANG/clang. She sat upright, her breath coming swiftly. Beside her, Kindra murmured “What is it?”

  “It is the fire-watch bell,” Rohana said, “Somewhere on the estate, a fire has been sighted; probably during the great wind, a fire was ignited and smoldered unseen, too sheltered to be put out by the rain. It is not the danger signal yet.” She put her feet to the floor and sat up, steadying herself with her hands as the room seemed to swing in slow circles round her.

  She managed to get up, thrusting around with her feet for her slippers, her bare toes avoiding the cold stone floor. Kindra got up and found her robe, then followed Rohana toward the hall. The floor lay thick with dust, dead leaves, little knots of foliage, gravel in little piles. What a cleaning pro
ject for someone! The fire-watch bell continued its slow pattern of tolling.

  The great hall was filled with people gathered for the sound of the bell, obligatory gathering, for the purpose of dealing with the single greatest danger in the mountains, or, for that matter, anywhere in the Domains—fire. Little Valentine, like all children made wild by the break in routine, was running about, shouting. Rohana made a step or two to capture him but could not; she sat down and said firmly “Come here, Val.”

  He came to a halt an apprehensive few steps from her; she reached out, grabbed his shirt-tail, and beckoned to Elorie.

  “Find Nurse Morna, and tell her that her only responsibility for this day is to keep Val safely above stairs, out of danger and out from under people’s feet.”

  “I could look after him, Mother.” Elorie offered.

  “I am sure you can; but I have other things for you to do today. You must be my deputy, Lori. First—” Rohana found a seat on a bench and established herself. One of the women brought her a cup of tea while the old nurse was found, and Val, yelling with rage at missing all the excitement, was carried away.

  “Now,” she directed Elorie, trying to recall everything that must be done. “Go to the head cook and tell her that if the ovens can be lighted, we must have at least a dozen loaves and as many nut-cakes. Then if anyone has been butchering, we must have at least three chervine hams roasted for the workmen, and she must kill three fowl and put them over to make soup. And you must go to the west cellar and bring up the barrels there—get two of the stewards to carry them, you cannot even lift one barrel—and a couple of women to help unpack the barrels; they will have a hundred each of clay bowls and mugs. And at least four dozen pairs of blankets and so forth—and three or four sacks of beans and dried mushrooms, and barley and so forth, for the camp, and have Hallert harness up the big cart to take the men up to the ridge.”