Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “My lady, the Master asks to see you.”

  At least he had not pushed his way in unannounced.

  Rohana sighed.

  “Drunk, I suppose.”

  “No, Domna; he looks ill, but sober.”

  “Very well, let him come in.” She could not, after all, avoid his presence indefinitely here at Ardais.

  But when this child is born, I shall go to Thendara for Council, or to my sister Sabrina, or home to Valeron . . . .

  Gabriel looked small, almost shrunken inside his untidy old farmerish clothes. His face held the crimson discoloration of the habitual drunkard, but he seemed wholly sober. His hands were shaking; he tried to conceal them within his sleeves, but although he had carefully shaved himself, his face bore many small telltale cuts.

  “My dear,” she said impulsively, “You should have your man shave you when you are not well.”

  “Oh, well, you know, me dear, a fellow don’t like to ask—”

  “Nonsense; it’s the man’s duty,” she said sharply, and heard the harsh note in her voice. “You shouldn’t need to ask; I’ll have a word with him.”

  “No, no, me dear, let it go. I didn’t come for that. I am glad to see you lookin’ so well, now. The little feller in there—he’s quiet still?”

  “I don’t think it will be today, and perhaps not tomorrow,” she said, “but it will be soon. We are fortunate—with the fire—”

  And that terrible scene yesterday—she forbore to say that aloud, but he heard it anyhow and awkwardly put an arm round her waist. He did not for once smell of wine, and she managed not to pull away when he kissed her cheek. All the same she could sense, at the touch, the confusion and fuddlement in him, and it repelled her.

  “I knew I’d need to be sober if you were in labor,” he said and reached in the old way for rapport; instinctively she flinched and he did not press for it but said aloud, “I know yer angry with me. You should be; I was filthy drunk. I shouldn’t a been so rude; no matter what she is, I know you, Rohana. Forgive me?”

  Have I not always forgiven you? she asked, not in words, but she shrank from the thought of the long hours of labor when by custom they must share the birth in full rapport, telepathically entwined. Trapped together in their minds . . . . She could not endure it. He had been so different when Kyril was born, and during Rian’s birth, which had been prolonged and very difficult. She had clung to his strength as to a great rock in a flood that was drowning her; his hands, his voice and touch holding her above the flood, pulling her back from the very borders of death. This would be the fourth time that they had gone down together into the inexorable tides of birth.

  Yet how could she endure it after these intervening years of struggle and humiliation, after his foul accusations? He meant well; she was touched at the dreadful effort it must have taken to present himself here, sober and shaven after a profound drinking bout. His poor shaking hands, his poor cut face, she thought with a wave of habitual tenderness, but she clung fiercely to her pride and anger. If he wished to revive his view of himself as strong supportive father, let him go to Tessa when her child showed signs of being born!

  Then she remembered: he had not fathered Tessa’s child, but he must have had reason to think so. Disgraceful! He should not think that with one day’s sobriety and attentiveness he could wipe out a decade of neglect, abuse, and humiliation.

  Yet there was no alternative; by iron-bound custom, the father endured childbirth with the mother, and she would be given no choice. Somehow she must steel herself to endure the hours of birth in his presence, and thank the gods if he did not present himself drunk.

  Rohana asked deliberately and was shocked at the cruelty in her own voice, “Have you visited Tessa this morning? She would, I am sure, be relieved to see you well and sober.”

  His face twisted, half in anger and half in humiliation.

  “Oh, Kyril’s girl—if you like, me dear, I’ll send her away. We could have her married off to somebody decent—”

  “No,” she said deliberately. “Alida told me there is no doubt it is an Ardais child, and she, too, has a right to her father’s roof. She is not offensive to me.”

  “You’re better than I deserve,” he muttered, “I ought never to ha’ brought her here.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Gabriel, I am very weary; I want to rest; and so should you. Thank you for coming—” And thank you for being sober and gentle; I couldn’t bear another scene . . . .

  He kissed her clumsily on the cheek and murmured a formal prayer for her health, then went quietly away; and Rohana stood staring at the closed door behind him, in something very like horror. At least when he was a drunken beast she could protect herself by despising him, but how could she protect herself against this well-meaning mood and humility?

  Not today and not tomorrow, she had told Gabriel; and as the day and the next day wore on toward sunset, Rohana, dragging around from hall to conservatory, from conservatory to kitchen, telling herself she was making certain all would go well while she was laid up abed, felt weary to the point of sickness. In vain she reminded herself of what she had told other women in her state; the last tenday is longer than all the other months together. She could settle to nothing, not to a book, not to a piece of fancy-work nor to plain sewing, not to her harp or her rryl. She took up one thing after another restlessly and felt as if she had been pregnant forever and would be so for the rest of her life, if not for all eternity.

  As the afternoon of the third day dragged wearily toward sunset Rohana watched the sun sink toward night with distaste; another day over and another night to come, during which once again she would not sleep, but lie restless in the dark, tossing and turning and hearing the clock strike the dark hours . . . She could not remember when she had truly slept.

  She had set all in order with kitchens and estate—she had even brought the stud-book records up to date and made notes of some of the sales agreed upon at the last horse-fair: two of their good breeding mares to be sold into the lowlands, one more to the Kilghard Hills—the Master of MacAran would travel here to fetch them, but the payment had already been received. They needed another saddle horse—Elorie was outgrowing her pony, but there was no saddle horse on the estate which was right for her. She had thought of Rian’s horse—but it was a big, ugly raw-boned gelding, no ride for a girl . . . at least not if the girl was Elorie who was very concerned about beauty and elegance in riding-clothes and mount. Why Elorie should be so concerned with outward appearances Rohana did not know; somehow she had failed to educate her about what was important; but it could not be remedied in the next few days.

  “It is a pity,” she grumbled to Kindra, “that the Guild Houses do not educate girls as the cristoforos at Nevarsin do boys; I am sure that a year in a House of Renunciates would do Elorie all the good in the world.”

  “It might,” said Kindra. “We must consider it. But alas, most of their fathers would fear we were teaching them what they should not know; and I fear much of what we teach would not please their fathers nor even many of their mothers.”

  “Well, there should be some place where girls should be taught—if only in charity, to keep down madness among their mothers—but you would not know,” Rohana said. “You left your daughters, you said, when they were still little children.”

  “And ever since,” said Kindra. “I have been raising other women’s half-grown daughters—which in one way is simpler, since they are not my own, and if they make preposterous she-donkeys out of themselves, it is no blow to my pride or self-respect. And sooner or later they do grow up to be a credit to us. Lori will too, you will see.”

  “That’s not much comfort to me now,” Rohana said. “I look at her and feel I have raised a simpering idiot who cares about nothing but the color of the ribbons on her ball-dress—or whether she should arrange her hair in curls or braids for any particular occasion.”

  Kindra asked gently “Did you never so?”

  “Neve
r. I was a leronis at her age, and too busy for such things.” Rohana said crossly. She went out into the courtyard, her long gown trailing, and toward the stables.

  “Where are you going?” Kindra asked.

  “Nowhere. I don’t know. I’m tired of being in the house. I’ll think of something.” Her voice was absent-minded and irritable. Inside the stable, she offered a lump of sugar to her favorite mare. “Sorry, little one, I cannot ride today,” she muttered, fondling the horse’s nose. She passed down through the line of horses, caressing here, offering a tidbit there, drawing back and closely examining others.

  When Kindra came up inquiringly, she said, “I should make ready for the horse fair; it is only a handful of tendays away . . . this year we should put up a pavilion for anyone for whom the sun is too hot, so that we can talk business out of the sun’s rays.”

  It seemed fantastic to Kindra that at this point Rohana should be thinking about the horse fair, but no doubt it was habit—many years of thinking first and always about the management of the Domain.

  Rohana wandered out to where two men were repairing saddle tack and said, “Hitch the small cart.”

  Kindra demanded, “What now? Surely you cannot go from home—”

  “Only to the top of the Ridge.” Rohana said. “I must know whether the fire damaged too much, and how the replanting is coming along.”

  “You mustn’t really. No, Rohana, it’s impossible. Suppose you went into labor on the way—”

  “Don’t worry so.” Rohana said, “I’m sure I will not. And if I did, at least it would be over!”

  There was really no more Kindra could say. In spite of her extreme courtesy, Kindra was abruptly reminded that her friend was a lady of the Comyn, and the Head of a great Domain; further she was Kindra’s hostess. It was really not for Kindra to say what Rohana could and could not do. She watched, feeling helpless. This really was not wise; in the Guild House they would have forbidden a woman—at this stage of pregnancy and after more than one false alarm of labor—to stir beyond the garden!

  The cart was hitched, and Rohana climbed into it. “Come with me, Kindra; this is our gentlest horse. She could probably take the cart to the Ridge herself. Elorie drove her when she was only seven; she used to carry the children and their nurses everywhere before that.” Kindra, unwilling to let Rohana drive off alone, climbed in and took the reins. Rohana did not protest.

  And it was true that the old mare plodded along very gently. Along the Ridge, the earth was still scorched with the impact of fire; but already, along the rim of the hill where a long line of evergreens sheltered the field a little, a group of men were setting out a wavering line of resin-tree seedlings.

  Along the Ridge, stark against the sky, there was a small stone hut, evidently a shelter for workmen caught by bad weather or for travelers. Rohana alighted from the cart and turned her steps toward the shelter; Kindra followed helplessly.

  “What are you doing, Rohana?”

  “The shelter must be checked, the law requires that it be kept stocked and in good order, and Gabriel would come up here a hundred times and never think to stick his nose inside.” She disappeared into the darkness and Kindra followed.

  “Disgraceful,” Rohana exploded, “the mattresses are rat-eaten, the blankets have been stolen, the pots broken. I will send someone up here tonight to restock the place; if I could lay my hands on the criminal who tore this place up—I would rip him asunder! To do a thing like that—it is not only inconsiderate, but a traveler who destroys a place like that should be hanged! For he condemns anyone who comes here in bad weather to possible death from cold and exposure!” She staggered slightly and sat down unexpectedly on the bench. Kindra had not expected to see her so angry; she had not betrayed anger like this even when Gabriel brought Tessa home. But Rohana was still agitated as she shook her fist at the damaged supplies in the travel-shelter; Kindra came and held her upright, and she could feel Rohana actually trembling, see the beating of the blue pulse in her temples.

  “I beg you, don’t excite yourself; I am sure there is someone, do let me go and call one of the men to go down and give the orders for you,” Kindra said, trying to speak in a soothing tone of voice.

  “And look, someone has dumped a load of fresh hay in here; how annoying! For warmth, I suppose, but the danger of fire at this season seems to me too strong. They should not have done that.” Rohana was walking around agitatedly, scowling; she stopped and sat down unexpectedly on the bench again, with a surprised look on her face.

  “What is it, Rohana?” asked Kindra, but before Rohana could reply, she knew the answer. “Is the baby coming?”

  Rohana blinked and looked startled.

  “Why—yes, I think so; I didn’t really notice, but—yes,” she said, and Kindra groaned.

  “Oh, no! You cannot possibly be jolted all the way back in that cart!”

  “No,” said Rohana, almost smiling, “Here I am and here I must stay, I suppose, till it is over. Don’t look like that, Kindra, I am certainly neither the first nor the last woman to give birth in a barn; you can send the men down for the midwife and one or two of my women—the ones I had chosen to help me.”

  “Shall I ride down myself?”

  “No, please—” Rohana’s voice suddenly wavered. “Don’t leave me, Kindra, stay with me.”

  Annoyed as Kindra was at this sudden development, she was touched and could not draw away from Rohana. “Of course I’ll stay with you,” she said in a soothing tone. “But now let me go out and send the cart down for your women and the midwife.”

  Reluctantly Rohana let go of her hand, and Kindra went out to where the cart waited. She said to one of the men, “You must go down quickly; the Lady is in labor and cannot be moved. Go down and fetch the estate midwife, and her women, and clean blankets, and everything she will need here; and Dom Gabriel and Lady Alida, of course,” she added as an afterthought. She was not sure Rohana wanted either of them, but she could not take the responsibility of keeping them away.

  “I’ll go at once,” said the man. “Truth to tell, mestra, I wondered about that when I saw her come up here. Something about the look on her face—when my own wife is near her time, she gets restless like this.”

  “I wish you’d warned me,” Kindra muttered, but not aloud.

  IX

  Rohana rested on the load of fresh hay, vaguely musing on the lucky coincidence that had brought it here fresh when everything else in the shelter had been damaged or destroyed. With the automatic confidence of a trained leronis who had been a monitor, she ran her trained senses through her body, keeping pace with what was happening. Labor, for having started so recently, was progressing very rapidly; the contractions were already coming at intervals of a couple of minutes apart. All seemed well with the baby, who was already in the deep pre-birth trance of some babies; the alternative was a state of agitation mingling terror and rage at the process, and Rohana was just as grateful she need not—as was often the case and had been the case with Rian at least—spend all her own strength in calming the baby’s terror.

  She had heard a lot of debate among the laranzu’in in Arilinn and elsewhere about which state was better for the child’s ultimate welfare; but Rohana was not sure that any of them knew any more than she did about it, and at the moment she found it easier for her own sake that this baby was one of the tranced ones. She would not have imposed a trance on a wide-awake and angry one, as some of the women who debated the two viewpoints considered to be best, just for her own convenience; but she found herself whispering to the child: just sleep, rest, little one; let me get on with this, and you can wake up when it’s over.

  The intensity of the contractions was by now very painful, but Rohana was so relieved that the waiting was over that she did not care how quickly it went; although she hoped she could hold out until the midwife got here; she did not really want to give birth alone. The unwitnessed birth of a child, no matter how regular the circumstances or how certain the parenta
ge, invariably left, for the child’s whole lifetime, his ancestry open to question except from the most charitable. Rohana lay back and tried to relax, knowing that, even though it was going well and quickly, there was a long way to go.

  It seemed a long time—she lay alone. There was considerably less light in the shelter when she heard the heavy crunching of cart wheels, and Annina, the estate midwife of Ardais, rushed into the shelter, bearing a lantern, an armful of blankets, and what seemed like a cartful of other impedimenta. She immediately took charge.

  “Marga and Yllana, lift her there—careful—spread out those blankets and the sheet on the hay—now ease her down. There ye are, my lady, all comfy, aren’t we?”

  It was a considerable improvement over lying on the prickly hay, and when they slipped her into a warm nightgown, it felt good. The midwife managed to get a fire lighted at the far end in a small enclosed stove, and Rohana smelled the comforting smell of herbs for tea. She hoped the water would boil soon; she wanted a cup.

  Alida knelt beside her.

  “Rohana! Oh, we were all so worried about you, dearest! You should never have gone up to the Ridge, it was unforgivable of that Amazon to take you up there, but you should have had better sense than to listen to her. But now at least you’re safe and warm—it looks like snow tonight—”

  Rohana had reached a stage where she could not focus on Alida’s chatter.

  “Go away, Alida,” she said, trying to get the words out between the careful breaths that were all that allowed her to stay at least mentally on top of the pain. “I have work to do. Don’t blame Kindra. It was my doing entirely. She didn’t want to come—without her I’d have come alone, and she knew it, so she came along.” She stopped and concentrated on her breathing again, reached for Kindra’s hand and held it, squeezing it in a bone-crushing grip. It felt good to focus on Kindra’s strength, which in her heightened, wide-open state was as palpable as the heat from the stove or the swish of the rain outside the shutters.