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Chapter TWENTY

(Lew Alton’s narrative)

Shortly after sunrise I let myself fall into a fitful drowse. Some time later I was awakened by a strange outcry, women screaming—no, wailing, a sound I had heard only once before . . . on my trip into the backwoods, in a house where there was a death.

I threw on some clothes and ran out into the corridor. It was crowded, servants rushing to and fro, no one ready to stop and answer my questions. I met Marjorie at the foot of the little stair from her tower. She was as white as her chamber robe.

“Darling, what is it?”

“I’m not sure. It’s the death-wail!” She put out a hand and forcibly stopped one of the women rushing by. “What is it, what’s that wailing, what’s happened?”

The woman gasped. “It’s the old lord, domna Marguerida, your guardian, he died in the night—”

As soon as I heard the words I knew I had been expecting it. I felt stricken, grieved. Even in such a short time I had come to love my uncle, and beyond my personal grief I was dismayed at what this must mean. Not only for the Domain of Aldaran, but for all Darkover. His reign had been a long one, and a wise one.

“Thyra,” Marjorie whispered, “Evanda pity us, what will she do, how will she live with this?” She clutched my arm.”He’s her father, Lew! Did you know? My father owned to her, but she was none of his, and it was her doing, her mistake, that has killed him!”

“Not hers,” I said gently. “Sharra.” I had begun to believe, now, that we were all helpless before it. Tomorrow—no, today, the sooner the better—it should go back to the forge-folk. Desideria had been right: it had lain safe in their keeping, should never have left them. I quailed, thinking of what Beltran would say. Yet Kadarin had pledged Desideria to abide my judgment.

First I must visit the death chamber, pay a kinsman’s respects. The high wailing of the death-cries went on from inside, fraying my already ragged nerves to shreds. Marjorie clutched desperately at my fingers. As we entered the great chamber I heard Thyra’s voice, bursting out, almost screaming:

“Cease that pagan caterwauling! I’ll have none of it here!” One or two of the women stopped in mid-wail; others, halfhearted, stopped and started again. Beltran’s voice was a harsh shout:

“You who killed him, Thyra, would you deny him proper respect?”

She was standing at the foot of the bed, her head thrown back, defiant. She sounded at the ragged end of endurance. “You superstitious idiot, do you really believe his spirit has stayed here to listen to the yowling over his corpse? Is this your idea of a seemly sound of mourning?”

Beltran said, more gently, “More seemly, perhaps, than this kind of brawling, foster-sister.” He looked as you would expect after a long night of watching, and a death. He gestured to the women. “Go, go, finish, your wailing elsewhere. The days are long gone when anyone must stand and wail to scare away demons from the dead.”

Kermiac had been decently laid out, his hands laid crosswise on his breast, his eyes closed. Marjorie made the cristoforo sign across the old man’s brow, then across her own. She bent and pressed her lips for a moment to the cold brow, whispering, “Rest in peace, my lord. Holy Bearer of Burdens, give us strength to bear our loss . . . ” Then she turned quietly away and bent over the weeping Thyra.

“He is past all forgiveness or blame, darling. Don’t torment yourself this way. It is for us to bear now, for the living. Come away, love, come away.”

Thyra collapsed into terrible sobbing and let Marjorie lead her out of the room. I stood looking down at the calm, composed old face. For a moment it seemed my own father was lying here before me. I bent and kissed the cold brow, as Marjorie had done.

I said to Beltran, “I knew him such a little while. It is my great loss that I did not come here before.” I embraced my kinsman, cheek to cheek, feeling the pain of his grief added to my own. Beltran turned away, pale and composed, as Regis came into the room, Danilo in his wake. Regis spoke a brief formal phrase of condolence, held out his hand. Beltran bowed over it but he did not speak. Had his grief dimmed his awareness of courtesy? He should have bidden Regis welcome as his guest; somehow it made me uneasy that he did not. Danilo made the cristoforo sign over the old man’s brow, as Marjorie had done, whispering, I suppose, one of their prayers, then made a formal bow to Beltran.

I followed them outside. Regis looked as if he’d had the same nightmare-ridden sleep I had, and he was fully barriered against me—a new thing, and a disquieting one. He said, “He was your kinsman, Lew. I’m sorry for your grief. And I know my grandfather respected him. It’s fitting there should be someone here from the Hasturs, to extend our condolences. Things will be different, now, in the mountains.”

I had been thinking that myself. The sight of Regis almost automatically taking his place as the formal representative of Comyn was disquieting. I knew his grandfather would approve, but I was surprised.

“He told me, Regis, shortly before his death, that he hoped for a day when you and Beltran could sit down together and plan a better future for our world.”

Regis smiled bleakly. “That will be for Prince Derik. The Hasturs are not kings now.”

I gave him a skeptical smile. “Yet they stand nearest the throne. I have no doubt Derik will choose you for his nearest counselor, as his kinsmen chose your grandsire.”

“If you love me, Lew, don’t wish a crown on me,” Regis said with a shudder of revulsion. “But enough of politics for now. I will remain for the funeral, of course; I owe Beltran no courtesies, but I’ll not insult his father’s death bed, either.”

If Kermiac’s untimely death had delayed Regis’ immediate departure, it must also, in all decency, delay my ultimatum to Beltran. I anticipated less trouble now that he had had a bitter taste of the dangers inherent in Sharra. Kadarin might be less tractable. Yet I had faith in his good sense and his affection for all of us.

And so, all those days of mourning for the old lord of Aldaran, none of us spoke of Sharra or Beltran’s plans. During the days I could guard myself against the memory and the fear; only in terrifying dreams did it return, claw at me with talons of torment . . . 

The funeral services were over; the mountain lords who had come to pay their respects to the dead, and to give allegiance to Beltran, departed one by one. Beltran made an appearance of grave dignity, solemnly accepting their pledges of amity and support, yet I sensed in all of the mountain men an awareness that an era had irrevocably come to an end. Beltran was aware of it, too, and I knew it hardened his resolve not to run peaceably along the track his father had made—resting on his father’s accomplishments and accepting their homage because of their goodwill to Kermiac—but to carve his own place.

We were so much alike, he and I, I have known twins less like. And yet we were so different. I had not known he was personally ambitious, too. I had lost the last traces of personal ambition at Arilinn, had resented Father’s attempts to rouse it in me, in the Guards. Now I was deeply disturbed. Would he let his plans slip through his fingers without protest? It would take all my persuasion, all my tact, to convince him to a course less dangerous for all our world. Somehow I must make it clear to him that I still shared his dreams, that I would work for his aims and help him to the utmost, even though I had irrevocably renounced the means he and Kadarin had chosen.

When the mountain lords had departed, Beltran courteously asked Regis and Danilo to remain for a few more days. I had not expected either of them to agree and was ready to try to persuade them, but to my surprise, Regis had accepted the invitation. Maybe it was not so surprising. He looked dreadfully ill. I should have talked to him, tried to find out what ailed him. Yet whenever I tried to speak to him alone be rebuffed me, always turning the conversation to indifferent things. I wondered why. As a child he had loved me; did he think me a traitor, or was it something more personal?

Such was my state when we gathered that morning in the small fireside hall where we had met and worked together so often. Beltran bore the marks of stress and grief and he looked older, too, sobered by the new weight of responsibility. Thyra was pale and composed, but I knew how hard-won that composure had been. Kadarin, too, was haggard, grieved. Rafe, though subdued, had suffered the least; his grief was only that of a child who had lost a kindly guardian. He was too young to see the deeper implications of this.

Marjorie had that heartbreaking remoteness I had begun to see in her lately, the isolation of every Keeper. Through it I sensed a deeper disquiet. Beltran was her guardian now. If he and I were to quarrel, the future for us was not bright.

These were my kinsmen. Together we had built a beautiful dream. My heart ached that I must be the one to shatter it.

But when Danilo and Regis were ceremoniously escorted in, I felt again a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, perhaps, if I could persuade them to help us, there was still a way to salvage that dream!

Beltran began with the utmost courtesy, making formal apologies to Danilo for the way his men had exceeded their orders. If the words had more of diplomacy than real regret, I supposed only the strongest of telepaths could feel the difference. He ended by saying, “Let the end I am striving for outweigh personal considerations. A day is coming for Darkover when mountain men and the Domains must forget their ages-old differences and work together for the good of our world. Can we not agree on that at least, Regis Hastur, that you and I speak together for a world, and that our fathers and grandfathers should have wrought together and not separately for its well-being?”

Regis made a formal bow. I noticed he was wearing his own clothes again. “For your sake, Lord Beltran, I wish I were more skilled in the arts of diplomacy, so that I might more fittingly represent the Hasturs here. As it is, I can speak only for myself as a private individual. I hope the long peace between Comyn and Aldaran may endure for our lifetimes and beyond.”

“And that it may not be a peace under the thumbs of the Terrans,” Beltran added. Regis merely bowed again and said nothing.

Kadarin said with a grim smile, “I see that already you are skilled, Lord Regis, in the greatest of the Comyn arts, that of saying nothing in pleasant words. Enough of this fencing-match! Beltran, tell them what it is you hope to do.”

Beltran began to outline, again, his plans to make Darkover independent, self-sufficient and capable of star-travel. I listened again, falling for the last time under the sway of that dream. I wished—all the gods there ever were know how I wished—that his plans might work. And they might. If Danilo could help us uncover enough telepaths, if Beltran’s own latent powers could be wakened. If, if, if! And, above all, if we had some source of power other than the impossible Sharra . . . 

Beltran concluded, and I knew our thoughts ran for the moment at least along the same track: “We have reached a point where we are dependent on your help, Danilo. You are a catalyst telepath; that is the rarest of all psi powers, and if it is in our service, our chances of success are enormously raised. It goes without saying that you will be rewarded beyond your dreams. You will help us, will you not?”

Danilo met the ingratiating smile with a slight frown of puzzlement. “If what you are doing is so just and righteous, Lord Aldaran, why did you resort to violence? Why not seek me out, explain this to me, ask my aid?”

“Come, come,” said Beltran good-naturedly, “can’t you forgive me for that?”

“I forgive you readily, sir. Indeed, I am a little grateful. Otherwise I might have been charmed into doing what you wish without really thinking about it. Now I am not nearly so sure. I’ve had too much experience with people who speak fine words, but will do whatever they think justified to get what they want. If your cause is as good as you say, I should think any telepath would be glad to help you. If I am made sure of that by someone I can trust, and if my lord gives me leave”—he turned and made Regis a formal bow—“then I am at your service. But I must first be wholly assured that your motives and your methods are as good as you say”—he looked Beltran straight in the eyes, and I gasped aloud at his audacity—“and not just fine words to cover a will to power and personal ambition.”

Beltran turned as red as a turkey-cock. He was not used to being crossed, and for this shabby nobody to read him a lesson in ethics was more than be could face. I thought for a moment that he would strike the boy. Probably he remembered that Danilo was the only catalyst telepath known to be adult and fully functioning, for he controlled himself, although I could see the signs of his inward wrath. He said, “Will you trust Lew Alton’s judgment?”

“I have no reason not to trust it, but . . . ” And he turned to Regis. I knew he had reached the end of his own defiance.

I knew Regis was as frightened as Danilo, but just as resolute. He said, “I will trust no man’s judgment until I have heard what he has to say.”

Kadarin said shortly, “Will you two boys, who know nothing of matrix mechanics, presume to sit in judgment upon a trained Arilinn telepath about matters of his own competence?”

Regis gave me a pleading look. After a long pause, during which I could almost feel him searching for the right words, he said, “To judge his competence—no. To judge whether I can conscientiously support his . . . his means and motives—for that I can trust no man’s judgment but my own. I will listen to what he has to say.”

Beltran said, ‘Tell them, then, Lew, that we must do this if Darkover is to survive as an independent world, not a slave colony of the Empire!”

All their eyes were suddenly on me. This was the moment of truth, and a moment of great temptation. I opened my mouth to speak. Darkover’s future was a cause justifying all things, and we needed Dani.

But did I serve Darkover or my own private ends? Before the boy whose career was ruined by a misuse of power, I discovered I could not lie. I could not give Danilo the reassurance it would take to enlist his aid, then frantically try to find some way to make the lie true.

I said, “Beltran, your aims are good and I trust them. But we cannot do it with the matrix we have to work with. Not with Sharra, Beltran. It is impossible, completely impossible.”

Kadarin swung around. I had seen his rage only once before, turned on Beltran. Now it was turned on me, and it struck me like a blow. “What folly is this, Lew? You told me Sharra has all the power we could possibly need!”

I tried to barrier that assault and hold my own wrath firmly under control. The unleashed anger of an Alton can kill, and this man was my dear friend. I said, “Power, yes, all the power we could ever need, for this work or any. But it’s essentially uncontrollable. It’s been used as a weapon and now it’s unfit for anything but a weapon. It is—” I hesitated, trying to formulate my vague impressions. “It’s hungry for power and destruction.”

“Comyn superstition again!” Thyra flung at me. “A matrix is a machine. No more and no less.”

“Most matrices, perhaps,” I said, “though I am beginning to think that even at Arilinn we know far too little of them to use them as recklessly as we do. But this one is more.” I hesitated again, struggling for words for a knowledge, an experience which was basically beyond words. “It brings something into our world which is not of this world at all. It belongs to other dimensions, other places or spaces. It’s a gateway, and once it’s opened, it’s impossible to shut completely.” I looked from face to face. “Can’t you see what it’s doing to us?” I pleaded. “It’s rousing recklessness, a failure of caution, a lust for power—” I had felt it myself, the temptation to lie ruthlessly to Regis and Danilo, just to enlist their aid. “Thyra, you know what you did under its impulse, and your foster-father lies dead. I’ll never believe you would have done that, knowingly, on your own! It’s so much stronger than we are, it’s playing with us like toys!”

Kadarin said, “Desideria used it with none of this fuss.”

“But she used it as a weapon,” I said, “and in a righteous cause. She had no wish for personal power, so that it could not take her and corrupt her, as it has done with us; she gave it over to the forge-folk, to lie unused and harmless on their altars.”

Beltran said harshly, “Are you saying it has corrupted me?

I looked squarely at him and said, “Yes. Even your father’s death has not made you see reason.”

Kadarin said, “You talk like a fool, Lew. I hadn’t expected this sort of whining cant from you. If we have the power to give Darkover its place in the Empire, how can we shrink from anything we must do?”

“My friend,” I pleaded, “listen to me. We cannot use Sharra’s matrix for the kind of controlled power you wish to show the Terrans. It cannot be used to power a spaceship; I would not trust it even to control the helicopter now. It is a weapon, only a weapon, and it is not weapons we need. It is technology.”

Kadarin’s smile was fierce. “But if a weapon is all we have, then we will use that weapon to get what we must from the Terrans! Once we show them what we can do with it—”

My spine iced over with a deadly cold. I saw again the vision: flames rising from Caer Donn, the great form of fire bending down with a finger of destruction . . . 

“No!” I almost shouted. “I’ll have nothing to do with it!”

I rose and looked around the circle, saying desperately, “Can’t you see how this has corrupted us? Was it for war, for murder, for violence, blackmail, ruin, that we forged our link in such love and harmony? Was this your dream, Beltran, when we spoke together of a better world?”

He said savagely, “If we must fight, it will be the fault of the Terrans for denying us our rights! I would rather do it peacefully, but if they force us to fight them—”

Kadarin, coming and laying his hands on my shoulders with real affection said, “Lew, you’re foolishly squeamish. Once they know what we can do, there will certainly be no need to do it. But it places us in a position of equal power with the Terrans for once. Can’t you see? Even if we never use it, we must have the power, simply in order to control the situation and not be forced to submit!”

I knew what he was trying to say, but I could see the fatal flaw. I said, “Bob, we cannot bluff with Sharra. It wants ruin and destruction . . . can’t you feel that?”

“It is like the sword in the fairy tale,” Rafe said. “Remember what it said on the scabbard? ‘Draw me never unless I may drink blood.’ ”

We swung to look at the child and he smiled nervously under all our eyes.

“Rafe’s right,” I said harshly. “We can’t loose Sharra unless we really mean to use it, and no sane human beings would do that.”

Kadarin said, “Marjorie. You’re the Keeper. Do you believe this superstitious drivel?”

Her voice was not steady, but she stretched her hand to me. “I believe Lew knows more about matrices than any of us, or all of us together. You pledged, Bob, you swore to Desideria to be guided by Lew’s judgment. I won’t work against it.”

Beltran said, “You’re both part-Terran! Are you two on their side then, against Darkover?”

I gasped at the old slur. I would never have believed it of Beltran. Marjorie flared. “It was you, yourself, who pointed out not a moment ago that we are all Terran! There is no ‘side,’ only a common good for all! Does the left hand chop off the right?”

I felt Marjorie struggle for control, felt Kadarin, too, fighting to overcome his flaming anger. I had confidence still in his integrity, when he took the time to control that vicious rage which was the one chink in the strong armor of his will.

Kadarin spoke gently at last: “Lew, I know there is some truth in what you say. I trust you, bredu.” The word moved me more that I could express. “But what alternative have we, my friend? Are you trying to say that we should simply give up our plans, our hopes, our dream? It was your dream, too. Must we forget what we all believed in?”

“The Gods forbid,” I said, shaken. “It is not the dream I would see put aside, only Sharra’s part in it.” Then I appealed directly to Beltran. He was the one I must convince.

“Let Sharra go back to the forge-folk’s keeping. They have held it harmless all these years. No, kinsman, hear me out,” I pleaded. “Do this, and I will go to Arilinn; I will speak with telepaths at Hali, at Neskaya and Corandolis and Dalereuth. I will explain to all of them what you are doing for Darkover, plead for you, if need be, before the Comyn Council itself. Do you honestly believe that you are the only man on Darkover who chafes under Terran rule and control? I am as certain as that I stand here, that they will come to your support and work with you freely and wholeheartedly, far better than I alone can do. And they have access to every known, monitored matrix on Darkover, and to the records of what was done with them in old times. We can find one safe for our purpose. Then I will work with you myself, and as long as you like, for your real aims. Not bluff with a terrible weapon, but a total, concerted effort by all of us, every one of us together, to recover the real strengths of Darkover, something positive to give the Terrans and the Empire, in return for what they can give us.”

I met Regis’ eyes, and suddenly time was out of focus again. I saw him in a great hall, crowded with men and women, hundreds and hundreds of them, every telepath on Darkover! It slid away and the eight of us were alone in the little fireside room again. I said to Regis and Danilo, “You would cooperate in such an endeavor, wouldn’t you?”

Regis, his eyes gleaming with excitement, said, “With all my heart, Lord Beltran. I am certain that even Comyn Council would put all the telepaths and towers of Darkover at your service!”

This was a greater dream than the one which had drawn us together! It must be! I had seen it! Beltran must catch fire from it too!

Beltran stared at us all, and before he spoke my heart sank. There was icy contempt in his voice and words.

“You damnable forsworn traitor!” he flung at me. “Get me under the heel of Comyn, would you? That I should get on my knees before the Hali’imyn and take from them as a gift the power which is my right? Better even to do as my doddering old father did, and grovel to the Terrans! But I am lord of Aldaran now, and I will plunge all Darkover into red chaos first! Never! Never, damn you! Never!” His voice rose to a hoarse shriek of rage.

“Beltran, I beg of you—”

“Beg! Beg, you stinking half-caste! As you would make me beg, grovel—”

I clenched my fists, aching with the need to fall on him, beat that sneer off his face . . . no. That was not his true self, either, but Sharra.

“I am sorry, kinsman. You leave me no choice.” Whatever happened after, the closeness of this circle was broken; nothing could ever be the same. “Kadarin, you placed Sharra in my hands and pledged to abide my judgment. Before it is too late, the circle must be broken, the link destroyed, the matrix insulated before it controls us all.”

“No!” Thyra cried. “If you dare not handle it, I do!”

Breda—”

“No,” Marjorie said, her voice shaking, “no, Thyra. It is the only way. Lew’s right, it can destroy us all. Bob.” She faced Kadarin, her golden eyes swimming in tears. “You made me Keeper. By that authority, I have to say it.” Her voice broke in a sob. “The link must be broken.”

“No!” Kadarin said harshly, repulsing her outstretched hands. “I did not want you to be Keeper; I feared just this—that you would be swayed by Lew! Sharra’s circle must be preserved! You know you cannot break it without my consent!” He stared fiercely at her, and I thought of a hawk I had once seen, hovering over its prey.

Beltran stood in front of Danilo, facing him down. “I ask you for the last time. Will you do what I ask?”

Danilo was trembling. I recalled that he had been the youngest and most timid of the cadets. His voice shook as he said, “N-no, my lord Aldaran. I will not.”

Beltran turned his eyes on Regis. His voice was level and grim. “Regis Hastur. You are not now in the Domains, but in Aldaran’s stronghold. You came here of your own free will, and you will not depart from here until you command your minion to use his powers as I shall direct.”

“My paxman is free to follow his own will and conscience. He has refused you; I support his decision. Now, Lord Aldaran, I respectfully request your leave to depart.”

Beltran shouted in the mountain tongue. The doors suddenly burst open and a dozen of his guards burst into the fireside room. I realized, in sudden consternation, that he must have meant this all along. One of them approached Regis, who was unarmed; Danilo quickly drew his dagger and stepped between them, but was swiftly disarmed. Beltran’s men dragged them back out of the way.

Marjorie faced Beltran in angry reproach.

“Beltran, you cannot! This is treachery! He was our father’s guest!”

“But not my guest,” Beltran said, and the words were a snarl, “and I have no patience with barbarian codes under a pretense of honor! Now for you, Lew Alton. Will you honor your pledge to us?”

You speak of honor?” The words seemed to rise from some hidden spring within me, and I spat on the floor at his feet. “I honor my pledge to you as you honor your father’s memory!” I turned my back on him. Within the hour I would be in touch with Arilinn by matrix, and the Comyn would know what Beltran planned . . . 

I had forgotten the link still strong between us all. Kadarin said, “Oh, no, you won’t,” and gestured to the guards. “Take him!”

My hand fell to sword-hilt—and found, of course, nothing. Wear no sword, at kinsman’s board. I had trusted in my safety in my cousin’s own house! Two guards seized me, held me motionless between them. Kadarin came to where I was held and raised his hand to my throat, jerking the laces of my tunic undone. He raised his hand to the leather bag containing my personal matrix.

I began to struggle now in deadly fear. It had never been more than a few inches from my body since I had been keyed into it when I was twelve years old. I had been warned what it meant to have anyone else touch it. Kadarin hauled at the leather bag; I brought my knee up into his groin. He yelled with pain, and I felt the shock of the agony through my own body, doubling me up, but it only strengthened his fury. He beckoned to the rest of the guards. It took four of them to do it, but before long I was spread-eagled on the floor, arms and legs pinioned down, while Kadarin knelt atop me, straddling my helpless body, his fists flailing blows on my face. I felt blood breaking from my nose, my eyes; I gagged on my own blood, streaming down my throat from a broken tooth. I could no longer see Marjorie for the blood in my eyes, but I heard her shrieking, sobbing, begging. Were they hurting her too?

Kadarin drew his dagger. He stared straight down into my eyes, his face flickering with that unholy flame. He said between his teeth, “I should cut your throat now and save us all some trouble.”

With a swift, downward slash, he cut the thong that held the leather bag; seized it between his hands and wrenched it away.

Until the day I die, I shall never forget that agony. I heard Marjorie scream, a long, death-like shriek of pain and terror, felt my whole body arch backward in a convulsive spasm, then fall limp. I heard my own voice screaming hoarsely, felt steel fingers clutch at my heart, felt my breathing falter. Every nerve in my body was in spasm. I had never known I could live through such anguish. Red haze blurring what was left of my sight, I felt myself dying and instinctively I heard my own tortured shriek:

“Father! Father!

Then it all went dark and blind and I thought, This is death.

I don’t know what happened in the next three days. For all I know, I was dead. I know it was three days because I was told so later; it might have been thirty seconds or thirty years later that I came up to foggy awareness that I was alive, and that I would much rather not be.

I was lying on the bed in my quarters in Castle Aldaran. I felt bruised, sick, every separate bone and muscle in my body with a separate ache. I staggered into the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. From the way my face looked, I can only imagine that my body kept on fighting long after I wasn’t in it any more.

There were a couple of broken teeth ragged in my mouth, and they hurt like hell. My eyes were so bruised and swollen I could hardly get them open to see. My face had been cut by something hard, the big rings Kadarin wore, maybe. There were going to be scars.

Worse than the physical pain, which was bad enough, was the terrible sense of emptiness. Drearily, I wondered why I had not died. Some telepaths do die of shock, if they are forcibly severed from their own personal keyed matrices. I was just one of the unlucky ones.

Marjorie. My last memory was hearing her scream. Had they tortured her too?

If Kadarin had harmed her I would kill him . . . 

The thought was wrenching pain. He had been my friend—he could not have pretended—not to a telepath. Sharra had corrupted him . . . 

I wished he had cut my throat instead.

Sharra. I went to look for the matrix, but it was gone. I was glad to be rid of the damnable thing, but I was afraid, too. Would it let us go?

I drank cold water, trying to lessen the dry sickness in me. My hand kept fumbling for the place around my neck where the matrix should have been. I couldn’t think straight or see properly, and there was a constant dull ringing in my ears. I was really surprised I had survived this shock.

Slowly I realized something else. Sore and aching as I was, there was no blood anywhere on my face or garments. Nor had I fouled my clothes. Someone had therefore been here, tended my wounds after a fashion, put clean clothes on me. Kadarin, when he came to take away the Sharra matrix?

I found I very much disliked the thought of Kadarin coming here, handling my unconscious body. I clenched my teeth, found out it hurt too much and made myself relax. Another score to settle with him.

Well, he’d done his worse, and I was still alive.

I tried the door cautiously. As I had suspected, it was bolted on the outside.

I ached so much that the thought of a long hot bath was tempting. The thought of being surprised naked and defenseless in the bathtub, however, removed all temptation from the idea. I soaked a cloth in the hot water and bathed my bruised face.

I ransacked the apartment, but of course my sword was gone, and the dagger, too. When I rummaged in my saddlebags for my heavy traveling boots, even the small skean-dhu in the boot was gone from its sheath.

A grim smile touched my face. Did they think me helpless? I had my Guardsman training still, and Kadarin might—he just might—despise me enough to come back alone.

I dragged up a chair—I still wasn’t steady enough on my feet to stand for what might be hours waiting for him—and sat down facing the bolted door.

Sooner or later someone would come. And I would be ready.

It was a long time before I heard a tiny metallic rasp from the door. Someone was stealthily rumbling to draw the bolt back. Finally the door began, very slowly, to open inward.

I leaped, grabbed the hand that had just begun to steal inward and jerked hard—and felt the delicate wrist too late to arrest the force of the swing. Marjorie skidded inside, gasping, slammed against the door-frame. I dropped her wrist as if it was burned. She staggered and I held her quickly upright.

“Quick,” she whispered, “shut the door!”

“Gods defend us,” I whispered, staring in horror at her. “I could have killed you!”

“I’m glad you’re able—” She drew a quick gasp. “Lew, your face! Oh God . . . ”

“The loving attention of my kinsmen.” I shut the door, shoved the heavy chair up against it.

“I begged them—I begged them—”

I laid my arms around her. “Poor love, I know, I heard you. Did they hurt you?”

“No, even Beltran didn’t hurt me, though I scratched and bit him.” She said, her voice coming in gasps, “I have your matrix for you. Here, quick.” She held the small leather bag out to me. I thrust it inside my tunic, next to my skin. It seemed that my vision cleared at once, the dull ringing inside my head quieted. Even my heart beat more solidly. I was still battered and aching from the terrible beating I had taken, but I felt alive again. “How did you get it?”

“Bob made me take it,” she said. “He said I was Keeper, only I could handle it without hurting you. He said you’d die otherwise. So I took it, Lew, only to save you. I swear it—”

“I know. If anyone but a Keeper had kept it long, I would certainly have died.” Not that I credited Kadarin with that much kindness for my well-being. He probably knew what too much handling of someone else’s keyed matrix would do to him.

“Where is the Sharra matrix?”

“Thyra has it, I think,” she said doubtfully. “I’m not sure.”

“How did you get in here, Marjorie? Are there guards watching me?”

She nodded slowly. “All the guards know me,” she said at last “Most of them were my father’s friends and have known me since they held me on their knees. They trust me . . . and I brought them drugged wine. I’m ashamed of that, Lew, but what else could I do? But we must get away at once, as quickly as we can. When they wake up they will know, and tell Beltran . . . ” Her voice failed.

“He should thank you for saving the small remnant of his honor,” I said grimly. Then I realized she had said “we.”

“You will come with me?”

“I must, I dare not stay after what I have done. Lew, don’t you want me? Do you think I had any part in . . . oh!”

I held her tight. “Can you doubt it? But in these mountains, at this season—”

“I was born in these mountains; I’ve traveled in worse weather than this.”

“We must be gone, then, before the guards wake. What did you give them?”

She told me and I shook my head. “No good. They’ll wake within the hour. But maybe I can do better now.” I touched the matrix. “Let’s go.” Hastily I gathered my things together. She had dressed warmly, I saw, heavy boots, a long riding-skirt. I looked out the windows. It was nightfall, but by some god’s mercy it was not snowing.

In the dim hallway two figures sprawled in sodden, snoring sleep. I bent and listened to their breathing. Marjorie gasped, “Don’t kill them, Lew. They’ve done you no harm!”

I wasn’t so sure. My ribs still ached from the weight of somebody’s boots. “I can do better than killing them,” I said, cradling the matrix between my palms. Swiftly, incisively, I drew into the minds of the drugged men. Sleep, I commanded, sleep long and well, sleep till the rising sun wakes you. Marjorie never came here, you drank no wine, drugged or wholesome.

The poor devils would have to answer to Beltran for sleeping at their post. But I’d done what I could.

I tiptoed down the corridor, Marjorie hugging the wall behind me. Outside the great guest suite were two more drugged guards; Marjorie had been thorough. I stooped over them, sent them, too, more deeply into their dreams.

My hands are strong. I made shorter work of the bolts than Marjorie had done. Briefly I wondered at the kind of hospitality that puts a bolt on the outside of a guest room door for any contingency. As I stepped inside, Danilo quickly stepped between me and Regis. Then he recognized me and fell back.

Regis said, “I thought they’d killed you—” His eyes fell on my face. “It looks as if they’d tried! How did you get out?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Get on your riding-things, unless you love Aldaran’s hospitality too well to leave it!”

Regis said, “They came and took away my sword, and Danilo’s dagger.” For some reason the loss of the dagger seemed to grieve him most. I had no time to wonder why. I went and hauled at the senseless guardsmen’s sword-belts, gave one to Regis, belted the other around my own waist. It was too long for me, but better than nothing. I gave the daggers to Marjorie and Danilo. “I have repaid my kinsman’s theft,” I said, “now let’s get out of here.”

“Where shall we go?”

I had made my decision swiftly, “I’ll take Marjorie to Arilinn,” I said. “You two just get away as fast and far as you can, before all hell breaks loose.”

Regis nodded. “We’ll take the straight road to Thendara, and get the word to Comyn.”

Danilo said, “Shouldn’t we all stay together?”

“No, Dani. One of us may get through if the others are recaptured, and the Comyn must be warned, whatever happens. There is an out-of-control, unmonitored matrix being used here. Tell them that, if I cannot!” Then I hesitated. “Regis, don’t take the straight road! It’s suicide! It’s the first place they’ll look!”

“Then maybe I can draw pursuit away from you,” he said. “Anyway, it’s you and Marjorie they’ll be after. Danilo and I are nothing to them.”

I wasn’t so sure. Then I saw what I could not mistake. I said, “No. We cannot separate while I send you on the route of danger. You are ill.” Threshold sickness, I finally realized. “I cannot send the heir to Hastur into such danger!”

“Lew, we must separate.” He looked straight up into my eyes. “Someone must get through to warn the Comyn.”

What he said was true and I knew it. “Can you endure the journey?” I asked.

Danilo said, “I’ll look after him, and anyway he’s better off on the road than in Beltran’s hands, especially once you’ve escaped.” This was true also and I knew it. Danilo was quickly separating the contents of Regis’ saddlebags, discarding nearly everything. “We’ve got to travel light. There’s food here from Regis’ journey north . . . ” He quickly divided it, rolling meat and fruit, hard bread, into two small parcels. He handed the larger one to me and said, “You’ll be on the back roads, further away from villages.”

I stuffed it into the inside pocket of my riding cloak and looked at Marjorie. “Can we get out unseen?”

“That’s easy enough, word won’t have reached the stables. We’ll get horses, too.”

Marjorie led us out a small side door near the stables. Most of the stablemen were sleeping; she roused one old man who knew her as Kermiac’s ward. It was eccentric, perhaps, for her to set forth at nightfall with some of Beltran’s honored guests, but it wasn’t for an old horse-keeper to question. Most of them had seen me with her and had heard the castle gossip that a marriage was being arranged. If he had heard of the quarrel, this would have accounted for it in his mind, that Marjorie and I had run away to marry against Beltran’s will. I’m sure this accounted for the looks of sympathy the old groom gave us. He found mounts for us all. I thought tardily of the escort from Comyn, who had come here with me.

I could order them to go with Regis and Danilo, protect them. But that would make a stir. Marjorie said softly, “If they don’t know where you’ve gone, they cannot be made to tell,” and that decided me.

If we rode hard till morning, and Beltran’s guards slept as I had insured they would, we might be beyond pursuit. We led our horses toward the gates; the groom let us out. I lifted Marjorie to her saddle, readied myself to mount. She looked back with a faint sadness but, seeing me watching, she smiled bravely and turned her face to the road.

I turned to Regis, holding him for a moment in a kinsman’s embrace. Would I ever see him again? I thought I had turned my back on Comyn, yet the tie was stronger than I knew. I had thought him a child, easily flattered, easily swayed. No. Less so than I was myself. I told myself firmly not to be morbid, and kissed him on the cheek, letting him go. “The Gods ride with you, bredu,” I said, turning away. His hand clung to my arm for a moment, and in a split second I saw, for the last time, the frightened child I had taken into the fire-lines; he remembered, too, but the very memory of conquered fear strengthened us both. Still, I could not forget that he had been placed in my charge. I said hesitantly, “I am not sure . . . I do not like letting you take the road of most danger, Regis.”

He gripped my forearms with both hands and looked straight into my eyes. He said fiercely, “Lew, you too are the heir to your Domain! And I have an heir, you don’t! If it comes to that, better me than you!” I was shocked speechless by the words. Yet they were true. My father was old and ill, Marius, so far as we knew, was without laran.

I was the last male Alton. And it had taken Regis to remind me!

This was a man, a Hastur. I bowed my head in acquiescence, knowing we stood at that moment before something older, more powerful than either of us. Regis drew a long breath, let go of my hands, and said, “We’ll meet in Thendara, if the Gods will it, cousin.”

I knew my voice was shaking. I said, “Take care of him, Dani.”

He answered, “With my life, Dom Lewis,” as they swung into their saddles. Without a backward glance, Regis rode away down the path, Danilo a pace behind him.

I mounted, taking the opposite fork of the road, Marjorie at my side. I thanked all the gods I had ever heard of, and all the rest I hadn’t, for the time I had spent with maps on my northward journey. It was a long way to Arilinn, through some of the worst country on Darkover, and I wondered if Marjorie could endure it.

Overhead two of the moons swung, violet-blue, green-blue, shedding soft light on the snow-clad hills. We rode for hours in that soft night light. I was wholly aware of Marjorie: her grief and regret at leaving her childhood home, the desperation which had driven her to this. She must never regret it! I pledged my own life she should not regret.

The green face of Idriel sank behind the crest of the pass; above us was a bank of cold fog, stained blood color with the coming sunrise. We must begin to look somewhere for shelter; I was sure the hunt would be up soon after daylight. I was enough in contact with Marjorie to know when her weariness became almost unendurable. But when I spoke of it, she said, “Another mile or so. On the slope of the next hill, far back from the roadway, is a summer pasture. The herd-women have probably taken their beasts down into the valleys, so it will be empty.”

The herdwomen’s hut was concealed within a grove of nut trees. As we drew near my heart sank, for I could hear the soft lowing of herd animals, and as we dismounted I saw one of the women, barefoot in the melting snow, her hair long and tangled around her face, clad in a ragged leather skirt. Marjorie, however, seemed pleased.

“We’re in luck, Lew. Her mother was one of my mother’s people.” She called softly, “Mhari!”

The woman turned, her face lighting up. “Domna Marguerida!” She spoke a dialect too ancient for me to follow; Marjorie answered her softly in the same patois. Mhari grinned widely and led us into the hut.

Most of the inside was taken up with a couple of dirty straw pallets on which an older woman lay, entangled with half a dozen small children and a few puppies. The only furniture was a wooden bench. Mhari gestured to us to sit on it, and ladled us out bowls of hot, coarse, nut-porridge. Marjorie almost collapsed on the bench; Mhari came to draw off her riding-boots.

“What did she say to you, Marjorie? What did you tell her?”

“The truth. That Kermiac was dead, that on his deathbed he had promised me to you, and that you and Beltran had quarreled, so we are going into the lowlands to marry. She has promised that neither she nor her friend, nor any of the children, will say a word of our being here.” Marjorie took another spoonful of the porridge. She was almost too weary to lift her spoon to her mouth. I was glad to down my portion, to put aside my sword and haul off my boots and later, when the conglomeration of babies and puppies had vacated the mattress, to lie down there in my clothes beside Marjorie. “They should have gone, days ago,” Marjorie said, “but Caillean’s husband has not come for them. She says they’ll be out all day with the beasts and we can sleep safely here.” And indeed, very shortly the clamoring crew of babies and puppies had been fed on the rest of the porridge and hustled outside. I drew Marjorie into the circle of my arm, then realized that in spite of the noise made by children and dogs she was already deeply asleep. The straw smelled of dogs and dirt, but I was too tired to be critical. Marjorie lying in the curve of my arm, I slept too.

The next thing I knew it was late evening, the room was full of puppies and children again, and we rose and ate big hot bowlfuls of vegetable soup that had been simmering over the fire all day. Then it was time to pull on our boots and go. The women, from their vantage point high on the slopes, had seen no riders, so we were not pursued yet. Marjorie kissed Mhari and the smallest of the babies, and warned me not to offer them money. Mhari and her friend insisted that we take bags of nuts and a loaf or two of the hard-baked bread, telling us they had too much to load on their pack animals on the way down into the valley for winter. I didn’t believe a word of it, but we could not refuse.

The next two or three nights of travel were duplicates of that one. We were blessed with good weather and there was no sign of pursuit. We slept by day, concealed in herd-huts, but these were deserted. We had food enough, although we were almost always cold. Marjorie never complained, but I was desperately concerned about her. I could not imagine any woman I had ever known enduring such a journey. When I said so to Marjorie, she laughed.

“I am no pampered lowland lady, Lew, I am used to hard weather, and I can travel whenever I must, even in dead winter. Thyra would be a better companion, perhaps, she is hardened to long journeys with Bob, in and out of season . . . ” She fell silent, and quickly turned her face away. I kept silent. I knew how close she had been to her sister and how she felt about this parting. It was the first time she spoke of her life at Castle Aldaran. It was also the last.

On the fourth or fifth morning we had to ride far into daylight to find any shelter at all. We were now in the wildest part of the mountains, and the roads had dwindled away to mere trails. Marjorie was dropping with weariness; I had half resolved that for once we must find a sheltered place in the woods and sleep in the open, when suddenly, riding into a small clearing, we came on a deserted farmstead.

I wondered how anyone had ever managed to farm these bleak hills, but there were outbuildings and a small stone house, a yard which had once been fenced, a well with wooden piping still splashing water into a broken stone trough in the yard—all wholly deserted. I feared it had become the haunt of birds or bats, but when I forced the door open it was weathertight and almost clean.

The sun was high and warm. While I unsaddled Marjorie had taken off her cloak and boots and was splashing her hands in the stone trough. She said, “I am past my first sleepiness, and I have not had my clothes off since we set out. I am going to wash; I think it will refresh me better than sleep.” She was suiting action to words, pulling off her riding-skirt and fur-lined tunic, standing before me in her long heavy shift and petticoat. I came and joined her. The water was icy cold, coming straight down from a mountain spring above us, but it was marvelously refreshing. I marveled how Marjorie could stand barefoot in the last melting runnels of the last night’s snowfall, but she seemed not as cold as I was. We sat in the growing warmth of the sun afterward, eating the last of the herdwomen’s coarse bread. I found a tree in the yard where the former owners had farmed mushrooms, an intricate system of small wooden pipes directing water down the trunk. Most of the mushrooms were hard and woody, but I found a few small new ones high up, and we ate them at the end of our meal, savoring their sweet freshness.

She stretched a little, sleepily. “I would like to sleep here in the sun,” she said. “I am beginning to feel like some night-bird, never coming out into the light of day.”

“But I am not hardened to your mountain weather,” I said, “and we may have to sleep in the open, soon enough.”

She made a mock-serious face. “Poor Lew, are you cold? Yes, I suppose we must go inside to sleep.” She gathered up our heavy outer clothes and carried them. She spread them out on an old, abandoned pallet in the farmhouse, wrinkling a fastidious nose at the musty smell. I said, “It is better than dog,” and she giggled and sat down on the heap of clothing.

She had on a thick woolen shift, knee-length and with long sleeves; I had seen her far more lightly clothed at Aldaran, but there was something about being here like this that roused an awareness that fear and weariness had almost smothered. All during this trip she had slept within the circle of my arm, but innocently. Perhaps because I was still recovering from the effects of Kadarin’s brutal beating. Now, all at once, I was aware again of her physical presence. She felt it—we were lightly in rapport all the time now—and turned her face a little away, color rising along her cheekbones. There was a hint of defiance as she said, “Just the same, I am going to take down my hair and comb and braid it properly, before it gets tangled like Mhari’s and I have to cut it off!” She raised her arms, pulled out the butterfly-shaped clasp that held her braids pinned at the nape of her neck, and began to unravel the long plaits.

I felt the hot flush of embarrassment. In the lowlands a sister who was already a woman would not have done this even before a grown brother. I had not seen Linnell’s hair loose like this since we were little children, although when we were small I had sometimes helped her comb it. Did customs really differ so much? I sat and watched her move the ivory comb slowly through her long copper hair; it was perfectly straight, only waved a little from the braiding, and very fine, and the sun, coming in cracks through the heavy wooden shutters, set it all ablaze with the glint of the precious metal. I said at last, hoarsely, “Don’t tease me, Marjorie. I’m not sure I can bear it.”

She did not look up. She only said softly, “Why should you? I am here.”

I reached out and took the comb away from her, turning her face up to meet my eyes. “I cannot take you lightly, beloved. I would give you all honor and all ceremony.”

“You cannot,” she said, with the shadow of a small smile, “because I no longer . . . ” the words were coming slowly now, as if it were painful to speak them. “—no longer acknowledge Beltran’s right to give me in marriage. My foster-father meant to give me to you. That is ceremony enough.” Suddenly she spoke in a rush. “And I am not a Keeper now! I have renounced that, I will not keep myself separate from you, I will not, I will not!”

She was sobbing now. I flung the comb away and drew her into my arms, holding her to me with sudden violence.

“Keeper? No, no, never again,” I whispered against her mouth. “Never, never again—”

What can I say? We were together. And we were in love.

Afterward I braided her hair for her. It seemed almost as intimate as lying down together, my hands trembling as they touched the silken strands, as they had when I first touched her. We did not sleep for a long time.

When we woke it was late and already snowing heavily. When I went to saddle the horses, the wind was whipping the snow in wild stinging needles across the yard. We could not ride in this. When I came inside again, Marjorie looked at me in guilty dismay.

“I delayed us. I’m sorry—”

“I think we are beyond pursuit now, preciosa. But we would only have had to turn back; we cannot ride in this. I’ll put the horses into the outbuilding and give them some fodder.”

“Let me come and help—”

“Don’t go out in the snow, beloved. I’ll attend to the horses.”

When I came in, Marjorie had kindled a fire on the long-dead hearth and, finding an old battered stone kettle discarded in a corner, had washed it, filled it at the well and put some of our dried meat to stew with the mushrooms. When I scolded her for going into the yard—in these snow-squalls men have been lost and frozen between their own barnyard and doorway—she said shyly, “I wanted us to have a fireside. And a . . . a wedding-feast.”

I hugged her close and said, “The minute he sees you my father will be delighted to arrange all that.”

“I know,” she said, “but I’d rather have it here.” The thought warmed me more than the fire. We ate the hot soup before the fire. We had to share one spoon and eat it straight from the old kettle. We had little fuel and the fire burned down quickly, but as it sank into darkness Marjorie whispered, “Our first fireside.”

I knew what she meant. It was not the formal ceremony, di catenas, the elaborate wedding-feast for my kin, her proclamation before Comyn Council, that would make her my wife. Everywhere in the hills, where ceremonies are few and witnesses sparse, the purposeful sharing of “a bed, a meal, a fireside” acknowledges the legal status of a marriage, and I knew why Marjorie had risked losing her way in the snow to kindle a fire and cook us up some soup. By the simple laws of the hills, we were wedded, not in our own eyes alone, but in a ceremony that would stand in the eyes of all men. I was glad she had been sure enough of me to do this without asking. I was glad the weather kept us here for another night. But something was troubling me. I said, “Regis and Danilo are nearer to Thendara now than we are to Arilinn, unless they have been recaptured. But neither of them is a skilled telepath, and I doubt if a message has gone through. I should send a message, either to Arilinn or to my father. I should have done it before.”

She caught my hand as I pulled the matrix from its resting place. “Lew, is it really safe?”

“I must, love, safe or not. I should have done it the moment I had my matrix back. We must face the possibility that they will try again. Beltran won’t abandon his aims so quickly, and I fear Kadarin is unscrupulous.” I backed off from speaking the name of Sharra aloud, but it was there between us and we both knew it.

And if they did try again, without my knowledge or control, without Marjorie for Keeper, what then? Playing with forest fire would be child’s play, next to the risk of waking that thing without a trained Keeper! I had to warn the towers.

She said hesitantly, “We were all in rapport. If you . . . use your matrix . . . can they feel it, trail us that way?”

That was a possibility, but whatever happened to us, Sharra must be controlled and contained, or none of us would ever be safe again. And in all these days I had sensed no touch, no seeking mind.

I drew out the matrix and uncovered it. To my dismay, I felt a faint, twisting tinge of sickness as I gazed into the blue depths. That was a danger signal. Perhaps during the days I had been separated from it, I had become somewhat unkeyed. I focused on it, steadying my mind to the delicate task of establishing rapport again with the starstone; again and again I was forced to turn my eyes away by the pain, the blurring of vision.

“Leave it, Lew, leave it, you’re too tired—”

“I cannot.” If I delayed, I would lose mastery of the matrix, be forced to begin again with another stone. I fought the matrix for nearly an hour, struggling with my inability to focus it. I looked at Marjorie with regret, knowing that I was draining my strength with this telepathic struggle. I cursed the fate that had made me a telepath and a matrix mechanic, but it never occurred to me that I should abandon the struggle unfinished.

If this had—unimaginably—happened in Arilinn, I would have been given kirian or one of the other psi-activator drugs and helped by a psi monitor and my own Keeper. Now I had to master it alone. I myself had made it impossible and dangerous for Marjorie to help me.

At last, my head splitting, I managed to focus the lights in the stone. Quickly, while I still had the strength, I reached out through the gray and formless spaces that we call the underworld, looking for the light-landmark that was the relay-circle at Arilinn.

For a moment I had it. Then, within the stone, there was a wild flaring flame, a rush of savage awareness, a too-familiar surge of fiery violence . . . flames rising, the great form of fire blotting out consciousness . . . a woman, dark and vital, bearing a living flame, a great circle of faces pouring out raw emotion . . . 

I heard Marjorie gasp, fought to break the rapport. Sharra! Sharra! We had been sealed to it, we were caught and drawn to the fires of destruction . . . 

“No! No!” Marjorie cried aloud, and I saw the fires thin out and vanish. They had never been there. They were reflected in the dying coals of our ritual marriage-fire; the eerie edge of light around Marjorie’s face was only the last firelight there. She whispered, trembling, “Lew, what was it?”

“You know,” I hesitated to say the name aloud, “Kadarin. And Thyra. Working directly with the sword. Zandru’s hells, Marjorie, they are trying to use it the old way, not with a Keeper-controlled circle of telepaths in an orderly energon ring—and it’s uncontrollable even that way, as we found out—but with a single telepath, focusing raw emotion from a group of untrained followers.”

“Isn’t that terribly dangerous?”

“Dangerous! The word’s inadequate! Would you kindle a forest fire to cook your supper? Would you chain a dragon-fire to roast your chops or dry your boots? I wish I thought they would only kill themselves!

I strode up and down by the dead fire, restlessly listening to the battering of the storm outside. “And I can’t even warn them at Arilinn!”

“Why not, Lew?”

“So close to—to Sharra—my own matrix won’t work,” I said, and tried to explain how Sharra evidently blanked out smaller matrices.

“How far will that effect reach, Lew?”

“Who knows? Planet-wide, maybe. I’ve never worked with anything that strong. There aren’t any precedents.”

“Then, if it reached all the way to Arilinn, won’t the telepaths there know that something is wrong?”

I brightened. That might be our only hope. I staggered suddenly and she caught at my arm.

“Lew! You’re worn out. Rest here by me, darling.” I flung myself down at her side, dizzy and despairing. I had not even spoken of my other fears, that if I used my personal matrix, I, who had been sealed to Sharra, might be drawn back into that vortex, that savage fire, that corner of hell . . . 

She knew, without my saying it. She whispered, “I can feel it reaching for us. . . . Can it draw us back, back into itself?”

She clung to me in terror; I rolled over and took her to me, holding her with savage strength, fighting an almost uncontrollable desire. And that frightened hell out of me. I should be drained, spent, exhausted, incapable of the slightest sexual impulse. That was frustrating, but it was normal, and I had long since come to terms with it.

But this wild lust—and it was pure lust, a hateful dark animal thing with no hint of love or warmth—set my pulses racing, made me gasp and fight against it. It was too strong; I let it surge up and overwhelm me, feeling the fire burn up in my veins as if some scalding ichor had replaced the blood in my body. I smothered her mouth under mine, felt her weakly struggling to fight me away. Then the fire took us both.

It is the one memory I have of Marjorie which is not all joy. I took her savagely, without tenderness, trying to slake the burning need in me. She met me with equal violence, hating it equally, both of us gripped with that uncontrollable savage desperation. It was fierce and animal—no! Not animal! Animals meet cleanly, driven only by the life-force in them, knowing nothing of this kind of dark lust. There was no innocence in this, no love, only raw violence, insatiable, a bottomless pit of hell. It was hell, all the hell either of us would ever need to know. I heard her sobbing helplessly and knew I was weeping, too, with shame and self-hatred. Afterward we did not sleep.



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