The Spell-Bound Scholar
were foundlings with no family and certainly no dowry, the girls weren't very likely to marry. It might happen, of course, especially if the young woman were really beautiful, but Finny knew she wasn't. She might be able to bewitch a man into thinking she was, but did she really want a husband who fell in love with the illusion she created, not with the real Finny? Maybe Dory could find a husband, or Orma—they were both beautiful, and certainly they were patient and good-natured, even sweet—but not Finny. She accepted the fact that she would never marry, but she was determined not to become an old maid. Old she would one day be, but not a maid. It was only a matter of time.
Then Orly changed, and she decided that time didn't matter.
She was in the middle of her sixteenth year and a few of the village girls her age had already married and were with child. Orly was a year older. She couldn't say how he had changed. Maybe it was that the last signs of baby fat melted from his face under the sun that summer, or maybe it was only that she had never noticed. Certainly when he came in from the fields and stopped by the well to strip off his shirt and sluice away the dust and sweat of the day, she noticed how huge his muscles had become and wondered why she had never noticed before. It started a peculiar feeling in her, like the special feeling that came from boys' admiring glances but stronger, much stronger. The biggest difference came when they talked. Somehow they managed to be alone even if there were others nearby, alone sitting on a bench in the backyard and talking about the stars or the crops or the newest baby—talking as they always had, about subjects they had always discussed, but somehow the conversations seemed so much deeper, so much more meaningful; it was as though she were hearing undertones and hidden meanings she'd never known before. Both of them had their mental shields up, as they had all learned to do—the constant storm of others' thoughts could drive you crazy, after all, and you didn't want everybody knowing your personal secrets.
They didn't notice Mama and Papa watching them with
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thoughtful faces, then looking at one another and nodding slowly.
It must have been an accident, of course—certainly Mama wouldn't have sent her up to the hayloft if she had known Papa had just sent Orly up there to make sure the hornets hadn't started another nest. He caught Finny kneeling to pet the swollen cat and called, "Why, Finny! Have the kittens come, then?"
"Oh! You startled me!" Finny leaped up, then saw it was Orly and couldn't help letting out some of that special feeling as she gave him a sleepy-eyed smile. "No, they haven't come yet, Orly. But it's late enough that we need to watch her closely."
"We should have been watching her closely two months ago." Orly grinned as he came closer. "It's a little late now."
He was standing a little too close and Finny felt a strange new presence about him, something like her own special feeling, and wondered if Orly were a projective empath, too. She lowered her gaze and looked up from under her lashes. "Puss didn't seem to mind it at the time."
"Yes, but look at her now." Orly frowned, drawing a little away. "There are always consequences."
Finny felt a touch of distress—she had liked him standing close, even liked the hint of danger in it. She let out more of her own special feeling as she said, "There don't have to be. She'd have two litters a year if we let her."
"You mean you stop her from. . . ?" Orly frowned. "Can't be. I've seen her go into heat only a few weeks after one litter's grown."
"Into heat, yes, but we don't let babies start." Finny spared a wink for the cat. "We females have to take care of one another, don't we, Puss?"
Puss purred and stretched, flexing her claws.
"You certainly do!" Orly said in surprise. "I didn't know."
Finny made a face at him. "Boys don't need to know everything."
"Maybe not." Orly grinned and stepped closer again. "We know what really matters, though."
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"Oh?" Finny said archly. "And what is that?"
"Ask Puss," Orly said deep in his throat and stepped a little closer, reached out to almost touch her waist, and his face hovered near, so very near, and his breath smelled sweet and musky. She looked deeply into his eyes and felt her special feeling growing; she clamped her shields tight on the instant, but left an opening for him and felt his mind reaching out. For a moment their thoughts mingled, and she shivered— but she realized he wouldn't close that last inch on his own, so she swayed just a little forward.
He swung toward her as though he were iron and she a magnet and their lips brushed, then brushed again. It was a tickling that called deep within her, and her whole body answered with a wave of sensation that frightened her even as she welcomed it. His lips brushed again, then stayed; hers melted against his, her whole body seemed to melt against his, and he was so hard and strong, his chest pressing from the front, his arms holding her fast, and her lips fluttered open. He gasped, and the tip of his tongue touched her lips. She shuddered and opened her mouth wide. For a moment, tongue caressed tongue, and fire coursed through her—for a moment, then another moment and another.
Finally the feeling ebbed; she realized, with surprise and shame, that she had been pressing her hips against his and stepped away, eyes downcast. "Orly ... we shouldn't—"
"Oh, yes we should," he breathed. "You know it and I know it—but not today."
"Not ever." She spoke sadly, managing to get her hands between them—but that was a mistake, too, because they felt the hardness of his chest and seemed to want to go exploring on their own.
So did his hands, though they didn't stray far from her waist. "Someday, beautiful Finister," he breathed. "Someday."
It was the first time she had ever really liked the sound of her name.
Somehow they met frequently after that, every other day or so, then every day. The first few times, Mama and Papa had
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made mistakes again, Mama sending Finny down to the creek to pull tubers for dinner, Papa sending Orly there to rake the leaves from it. They would start to talk, not meaning to embrace, but it was as though they couldn't keep apart from one another. Kissing led to caressing, and caressing to a desire for more intimate touching. They began to meet in the barn, in the woodshed, in the grove to explore one another's minds and bodies—never going as far as they wanted, of course.
They were so wrapped up in one another that they never stopped to think some of their foster siblings might have noticed, and certainly not that Mama and Papa could be aware of their meetings, for they would have stopped them at once, wouldn't they? They both felt guilty about it, but not very— just enough to add another level of thrill to their secret.
The family always went to the midsummer festival—that expedition was no surprise—and Papa always told them to go in three different wagons by three different routes so that they wouldn't seem so intimidating to the villagers; they didn't usually all come to town at once. This time, though, Finister and Orly exchanged a glance, then quickly looked away. It never occurred to them that their older siblings might have thought of this before them. They were only delighted at how easy it was to slip away.
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Finny and Orly managed to melt into the shadows while Papa and Mama were dividing up the family, letting each of the three groups think they were with the other. They hid until all three wagons had driven out onto the road. Then, secure in the knowledge that they were the only people on the farm that afternoon and evening, they crept out of their hiding places and ran toward the barn.
Finny reached the haymow first. She paced, waiting nervously and fretting, then heard boots on the ladder rungs. She turned and saw Orly stepping off the ladder, silhouetted against the light from the window, big and handsome and muscular and impossibly attractive. He stepped forward, lifting his arms, and the yearning swept from him to engulf her, to sweep her into his arms and wash her up against his chest, his mouth to hers.
&nbs
p; The older foster children were well used to blocking out the amorous feelings of the villagers at the midsummer festival, for as the evening darkened and the bonfire was lit, there was dancing and drinking, and many of the young people disappeared from the firelight two by two. The young psis were even used to blocking out the erotic impulses of their foster siblings, which, coming from telepaths, were far stronger than those of the villagers—so even at that festival, when the musky aura of coupling seemed to permeate the atmosphere, they had rarely been aware of one another's misbehavior.
They were stunned when they did feel the aftershocks of orgasm.
The teenagers looked at one another in surprise, then with
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desire and longing, for the erotic feelings they had sensed aroused their own yearnings.
Mama might not have been a telepath, but she had eyes, and knowledge enough to draw her own conclusions. "Orma—what is it?"
"Someone has just been having a very good time," Orma gasped, "someone telepathic and projective. If they aren't part of our family, they should be."
"I suspect they are," Mama said darkly. "You and Jason round up the children and take special care of the little ones. Papa and I will see what has been going on." Off she went into the merrymaking crowd, searching for her husband.
When she found him, she said, "We seem to have succeeded better than we knew, Papa."
"We, and they," Papa agreed. "I think we had better go back to the farm at once, Mama, before they decide to have too much of a good thing."
"Or decide that it is indeed a good thing," Mama agreed. "It would never do to have two of our brood desert the Cause to start a family of their own."
Papa winced. "What a waste of time and effort that would be! Well, we'll go quickly, but I don't think there's much to worry about. We've done this often enough before, after all."
They left, driving the wagon through a cloud of hormones, for even the nontelepaths, without knowing why, had begun to feel more amorous toward one another than was usual, even at that festival. It was a midsummer that would become a legend in the village.
They drove up as Orly and Finny were coming out of the barn, still starry-eyed and holding hands. They stopped in the moonlight to kiss.
Papa leaped down from the wagon and strode toward them, seeming to swell with anger. "And just what have you two been doing, I wonder?"
"And out in public, or as good as!" Mama scolded, clutching her skirts and hurrying to catch up. "Your brothers and sisters could feel your lust all the way into town! You might
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as well have told them all what you were doing before they left!"
Finny blanched and shrank from Mama's anger. Orly tried to stand his ground but turned pale.
"I've never heard of such a thing!" Mama scolded. "You're as bad as your birth parents! Really!"
"You could have controlled yourself, Orly," Papa snapped. "Now you've dragged Finny down with you! Couldn't you think of anything but your own pleasure?"
"But. . .but we only—"
"No excuses!" Papa thundered. "We've told you how disgusting your parents were! The monks have told you how vile such an act is, in church every Sunday! Don't try to tell me you didn't know it was wrong!"
"Selfish! Depraved! Disgusting!" Mama ranted, and the two of them went on and on, Papa starting in just as Mama had to pause for breath, then Mama again when he ran out of wind. On and on they went for half an hour without pause, denouncing their errant wards for horribly ungrateful children, born of lustful and morally depraved parents and destined by that birth to be promiscuous themselves. Both were gratified to see Orly drop Finny's hand and to see her bury her fingers in her skirt. Finally Finny's sobs became so deep that she nearly fell. Orly reached out to support her, but she flinched away from him. Mama stopped ranting and gathered Finny in to sob against her bosom. "All right, now, it's done, and there's no undoing it. But never again with another telepath, you hear?" She glared at her foster son. "Go away, Orly, and don't make her look at you again for a month!"
Orly finally bowed his head, shoulders slumping in defeat, and turned away. Papa clasped his shoulder and steered him off toward the creek to wash, and Mama comforted Finny, then took her inside and filled the brass tub with hot water for her.
Finny wept into the soapy water.
"Ashamed, and very right to be," Mama told her. Then, generously, "Well, what's done is done, and the spilt milk cannot be poured back into the jug. We'll promise not to tell your brothers and sisters about this, Finny, as long as you
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swear never to do it again with one of your own kind!"
"Oh, I swear, Mama," Finny said fervently, and meant it with every drop of blood in her heart.
On the banks of the creek, Papa handed Orly a towel to dry himself, saying magnanimously, "We'll go on just as we always have, then. There's no reason for anybody to know about this except your mother and myself—and Finny, of course. Come now, back into town, or your siblings will count noses and know who wasn't there."
So back to town they went, Finny and Orly riding in the back of the wagon as far from one another as possible with downcast gazes, feeling so depraved that they couldn't even look at one another.
It was the longest ride of Finny's life.
Orly and Finny saw each other after that, of course, but quickly looked away, sheepish and guilty. They didn't speak much to their siblings, either, feeling accusing stares everywhere they went. Finny didn't stop to think that she was behaving just as Orma had two years before, or Rhea the year before that, and of course she had been too young to notice when Dory had gone through this same ordeal.
Finally they began to come out of it; finally Finny realized, from the comments about them, that their siblings hadn't counted up and compared the roll call of each of the separate parties. The boys exchanged coarse jokes and jibes that made Orly realize they weren't sure which of their number had done what to whom, and Finny began to understand that the other girls weren't even sure the psionic lovers had been of their family. She made up excuses for her bad mood and started laughing off their expressions of concern. Every now and again she would look up to find Orly gazing at her with yearning, but she quickly looked away, blushing with shame.
The worst of it was that she still wanted him, wanted another evening in the hayloft with him. That was how she knew how depraved and disgusting she really was.
She was so ashamed that she never even thought of talking about it with the older girls, or with Dory or any of the other alumnae who came back to visit from time to time. It was hard to talk with them after they had been away, anyway—
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they seemed harder somehow, bitter and weary. It made Finny afraid of leaving home—but she couldn't stop time, and she knew the rule well: When you turned eighteen, you had to go out into the world and earn your own living. Papa and Mama weren't rich, after all, and though the farm was productive, it couldn't support more than twenty children at a time. Besides, they were rare assets by the time they were grown—educated people in a land in which most were illiterate—educated, and espers.
Finny never thought to wonder why, if telepaths were so rare, all the children left on Mama's doorstep were espers.
Orly turned eighteen that winter, and his birthday was a mingling of rejoicing and sadness, for everyone knew that when spring came, Orly must go. It was a tortuous year for Finny, with Orly there but untouchable, with the thought of him being so compelling but still so disgusting. Spring did come, though, and when the mud had dried and the trees were in leaf, they held one more sad party and bade Orly goodbye. Off he trudged down the lane to the road. There he turned back, waving one last time, then went slogging away.
Finny couldn't forgive herself for imagining that he had been waving to her.
She didn't see him again, not at the farm, but Mama heard gossip from the alumnae. When Sukey, one of t
he first foster daughters—she had graduated twelve years before—had come to visit, then gone, Mama took Finny aside and told her, rather severely, what Orly had been doing since he had left. She made it clear that the Chief Agent had ordered him to find a position with the Baronet of Ruddigore's household and to cultivate acquaintance with one of the baroness's maids, but that didn't really excuse his having an affair with her—with several of them, in fact. "I knew he would be just as much of a womanizer as his father must have been," Mama said severely, then turned mournful. "But he was such a sweet little boy!"
For a moment, Finny was afraid that she was going to have to comfort Mama, but the older woman regained her composure and told Finny not to blame Orly too much. After all, once you left the farm, you had to put the past behind you.
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Burning with anger and shame, Finny put the past behind her with a vengeance. When the next midsummer's festival came, she felt weighed down with grief as they rode the wagons into town, remembering what had happened the year before. It kindled desire in her at first, then grief, then shame as she remembered Mama shaking with anger and telling her and Orly that they were both no better than their profligate parents. If Mama had been right about Orly, she must have been right about Finny, too, which meant that profligacy was all she was good for. So Finny locked away any compunction or grief she might have felt and took four separate farm boys aside that night. On the way home, she felt horrible, soiled and filled with self-loathing—but she felt a strange satisfaction, too, because she knew she deserved it. And there hadn't been any great, soaring ecstasy, only some tickling and some evanescent, thrilling building to a climax that was only a release, wasn't even much of a pleasure. She never knew those rolling waves of sensation again, for she only coupled with nontelepaths, just as she had sworn to Mama—and just as the Chief Agent assigned her to do.
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