No Other Love (21 page)

When she appeared in Dulan’s sitting room
Herne’s reaction to her costume was all that any woman could have
wanted.

“Spectacular. Glorious. Beautiful,” he said,
walking around her slowly, to take it all in. “Best of all, beneath
that glitter is my Merin. I’m almost afraid to touch you for fear
I’ll disarrange something or smear the paint. But later, my dear –“
His glowing eyes completed the sentence he had left unfinished. His
hand was warm when it enclosed her fingers.

Dulan arrived, robed and hooded in severely
plain dark red, and Tula in bright green trimmed with gold
embroidery.

“Most appropriate,” murmured Dulan, regarding
his guests.

“My dear friend, I protest,” said Tula,
laughing. “This is something more than merely appropriate. Merin,
Herne, you both look splendid. I am proud to escort you to our most
important event.”

“You haven’t told us yet what will happen
tonight,” said Herne.

“The Gathering Hall is the place where the
telepaths and the Chon meet to communicate with each other,” Dulan
explained.

“Do you mean the birds will be there?” asked
Merin, glancing toward the windows. “But it is almost evening. I
thought birds went to sleep at sunset.”

“Every thirty-two days, on the single night
when both moons are completely full,” Dulan said, “we mingle with
the Chon in memory of our first meeting. We were newly arrived on
this world then, living in tents or sleeping in the open, still
weary after our long journey and uncertain of our ultimate destiny.
That night, just as the sun set and the full twin moons rose,
changing a dark world back into almost daylight brightness, the
Chon who live in the cliffs north of Tathan came to us. I can still
see the scene in my mind, still recall the brilliant colors
flashing in the last rays of the sun. All that green and blue,
dazzling the eye. Then came the joyous knowledge that these were
creatures with whom we could communicate.

“We built the Gathering Hall,” Dulan told
them, “so we would have a permanent location in which to meet the
Chon, who after that first night have come to us in large numbers
whenever both moons are full. We meet individually or in small
groups at almost any time, but the Gatherings are special
occasions.”

“You still haven’t explained what will happen
this evening,” Herne protested.

“But I have,” said Dulan. “We gather with the
Chon.”

“Is that all? Just gather? Then why do you
need us to be there?”

“Tonight your situation will be discussed,”
Dulan said.

We hope,” Tula added, “to convince certain of
our friends to add their voices to our appeal to Saray, to beg her
to return you to your home.”

“It is time,” Dulan said. “We mustn’t be
late.”

Merin and Herne followed the two telepaths
out of Dulan’s house and along the alley to the small door that led
to the Gathering Hall. Behind the door the garden lay green and
fragrant. Merin had paused to exclaim over a particularly lovely
white blossom when Herne touched her hand, then pointed upward.

The sky was pink and gold with sunset. A few
brilliant streamers of gold-tinged clouds drifted across Merin’s
line of vision. She thought at first that her eyes were reacting to
the combination of bright color and concentrated light, until she
realized the dots she was seeing were not a visual distortion; they
were birds.

The Chon came silently, on gently fluttering
wings, filling the Gathering Hall and garden, their jewel-like blue
and green bodies seeming to shine with an inner light.

The huge double doors to the Gathering Hall
were thrown wide open. From where Merin stood she could see the
interior, where more Chon mingled with brightly robed telepaths.
She was not frightened, for she knew the birds were friendly
creatures. But she was dazzled by color, movement, the rustle of
feathers, the footsteps of many telepaths, and she sensed a
vibration in the air, which she believed was caused by the
telepathic communications now going on between the birds and their
hosts.

“How beautiful,” she murmured as Herne’s hand
clasped hers, drawing her toward the doors. They entered the
Gathering Hall directly behind Dulan and Tula.

“Now we know why it was built so large,” she
said, “and why half of it is open to the sky.”

“I have seen this before,” Herne told her.
“Once, at Home, when a Chon touched me for a second or two, I saw
this scene. And you were the woman who stood beside me.”

“Remarkable.” Tula had heard him. “We know
the birds have long ancestral memories, which are passed from
generation to generation, but you have no telepathic ability.”

“I was unhappy,” Herne said. “Perhaps the
bird wanted to comfort me. Osiyar thought so.”

The crowd separated to make way for their
little group. As they walked toward the center of the Hall, Merin
could see that Dulan, born to be a ruler on another world yet
banished from it because of an involuntary and perhaps unwanted
talent, had become a respected and important person on this planet.
Following in the wake of Dulan and Tula, she noticed polite bows,
heard pleasant greetings exchanged between their escorts and the
other telepaths. She quickly became aware of the intense curiosity
directed toward herself and Herne.

Ordinarily, she would have been frightened to
be the object of so many direct and assessing looks. But Herne’s
fingers curved around hers. With him next to her she felt safe and
she was learning to trust Dulan and Tula. Thus she was able to look
back at telepaths and at birds with as much open interest as they
displayed toward her.

She was amazed at the many Races represented
within the Hall. She turned her head at the sound of a hissing
breath, to meet the triangular, milky eyes of a scaly-skinned
female Styxian, who politely acknowledged her look. Merin bowed
back in wonder. On any other world, a Styxian would have torn out
her throat before asking her name.

After that encounter it came as no surprise
to her to see a pale gray Denebian, or even a stiff, antennaed
Jugarian, who actually smiled at her. A Demarian who looked
remarkably like Tarik, with pale skin, black hair, and
midnight-blue eyes, moved aside to let Dulan’s party pass. It was
then, as those around them changed positions, that Merin saw a
one-armed Cetan.

He had dark brown hair, worn long in the
Cetan style, and an unruly brown beard that could not entirely hide
the terrible scar disfiguring his face. Merin could easily imagine
that a telepathic Cetan would have to fight again and again for his
very life among his fiercely warlike fellows, and he quite possibly
had fled his homeworld in order to save that life. He stood now
with his single hand resting on the bosom of a blue Chon. The two
were obviously in deep communication, for they took no notice of
anyone near them, and the Cetan’s attitude was one of profound
peace.

Merin’s fascinated study of the crowd filling
the Hall was interrupted when Herne tugged at her hand, pulling her
forward to stand beside him at the pedestal of the golden Chon
statue. The Hall grew still, those present turning toward them.

“We welcome to our company tonight,” Tula
began, raising his voice to be better heard, “visitors from a far
world, who have come to us in friendship.”

“There’s no friendship from the Jurisdiction
for telepaths,” called a voice from the crowd. Merin could not see
the speaker.

“Drive them out!” shouted someone else.
“That’s what the Jurisdiction did to us!”

“No, kill them, so they can’t tell anyone
where we’ve settled,” cried another voice. This idea was roundly
cheered by a small group on the far side of the Hall.

“Those are Saray’s friends,” Tula murmured to
Merin. “They are few in number and most of us do not agree with
them.” But when he tried to speak again the angry shouts of those
few drowned his words.

“Stop this at once!” Dulan’s voice, that
peculiar scratchy sound that gave no indication as to gender or
age, carried above the clamor. “This is a peaceful Gathering, not a
place for dispute. How can telepaths, who are victims of a terrible
persecution, who have been forced to find safety in a dangerous and
uncharted part of the galaxy condemn strangers simply because they
are unknown to you?”

“Did you think we wouldn’t recognize them if
you put them into familiar clothing?” demanded a dark-haired young
man who now strode forward out of the crowd. “Any true telepath can
smell Jurisdiction blood from a light-year away. I say, kill them
now, before they bring the Jurisdiction service here to wipe us
out!”

“Your enthusiasm does you credit, Hotan.”
Saray stepped around the corner of the pedestal. “but enthusiasm is
not a sufficient excuse for murder.”

“Saray, Saray.” The crowd began to separate,
leaving a widening space near the statue. The Chon moved with the
telepaths, like them splitting into two groups.

“There before you is the division in our
society,” Tula said to Merin.

It was easy to see what he meant. On the one
side, ranged with Tula, Dulan, Herne and herself, were most of the
telepaths. Some of the older ones had missing limbs or obvious
scars and a few were hooded like Dulan, most bearing mute witness
to the brutality of the old Jurisdiction law prohibiting telepathy.
Apparently the persecution to which they had been subjected and
their long journey to this world had produced some odd
combinations, for the one-armed Cetan, his hand still resting
lightly on the blue Chon’s breast, stood next to the Styxian,
seemingly on good terms with her. A red-faced Jugarian and a pale
Denebian were talking together and nodding in agreement with each
other.

On the other side of the Hall was a small,
unruly faction made up mostly of young people, including several
argumentative Jugarians, their antennae bristling and bright red
with excitement. Within this group was a knot of brawny males of
several Races, all rather dusty looking, whom Merin thought were
probably the quarry workers, and another group in bare feet, who
wore what looked like sailors’ outfits. Merin quickly assessed them
all with a professional eye.

“So it has been throughout history,” she said
to Tula, responding to his remark. “In every dynamic society there
are always divisions between generations and professions. As we see
demonstrated here, frequently they clash.”

“That may be excellent historical theory,”
Tula replied in a nervous voice while pressing himself more firmly
against the stone pedestal at his back, “but it won’t help us if
they become violent. Let us hope Saray can control her
adherents.”

Into the empty space left when the telepaths
drew apart Saray now stepped, and those in the Gathering Hall grew
quiet to hear what she would say. She created a dramatic picture,
gowned in glittery black-and-silver fabric draped upon one shoulder
to leave the other shoulder and both arms bare, her only jewelry
the gold rope bracelets on each wrist. Her straight black hair
streamed down her back. Her face was pale, her dark eyes large.

“These strangers are not to be harmed,” Saray
declared. When an angry muttering began among the younger faction
she raised both arms, silencing them once more. “Only fools resort
to violence before they understand a situation.”

“We are wise enough to rid ourselves of
Jurisdiction agents before they can harm us,” objected the dark
young man who had called for immediate death for Merin and Herne.
He took a menacing step toward Saray. “Who is going to protect us
when the Jurisdiction Service arrives, fully armed? Will those old
men and women on the other side of the Hall help us then, or will
they bow their heads and let themselves be killed, and we, their
children, too?”

“Hotan, my friend, you do not understand,”
Saray said. “It was I who brought Merin and Herne to Tathan.”

This announcement brought gasps of surprise
from both sides of the Hall.

“You have conducted another experiment?”
Hotan regarded Saray with awe. “Is it possible, then? What you have
been promising us is true?”

“You see these two here as proof of my
success,” Saray told him, flinging out an arm toward Merin and
Herne. “No longer need we remain bound to one time or place.
Anywhere in the universe that we desire to visit, any time past,
present, or future, is open to us. All we need to do is strengthen
our powers.”

In the amazed silence the scaly Styxian
female stepped forward to face Saray.

“Thisss isss wrong,” she hissed. “You know
it. Not every telepath hasss your skillsss. Desist, SSSaray, before
you destroy us all by tearing apart the very fabric of time!”

“You may be content to live by the ancient
rules of telepaths,” Saray said. “Younger and braver folk are
not.”

“Imra is right.” The one-armed Cetan moved to
stand beside his Styxian friend. The blue Chon came with him. “We
all know there are limits beyond which even the most skilled
telepath cannot go. Repeated experiments of the kind you have
attempted can only result in madness and death.”

“Does Saray look mad to you, Jidak?” asked
Hotan, who was standing with Saray to confront the Cetan and the
Styxian. “Her experiment has succeeded. That is all the proof we
need.”

“Saray has admitted to Dulan that she
required the help of Ananka,” Jidak replied.

“It seemsss,” put in Imra the Styxian, “that
despite her claimsss, Saray isss incapable of stretching her
skillsss as she would have you believe.”

“One day,” Saray told the assembled crowd,
“you will all believe in what I am doing.”

“I already know what I believe in,” said
Jidak, “and it’s not a ball of light that lives in an underground
cave that no one can find.”

“You will regret those words, Cetan,”
declared Hotan.

“There iss no Cetan here,” hissed Imra, “Nor
Styxian, nor Jugarian, nor any other Race. All are telepaths and we
have no help but each other. In a galaxy ruled by the Jurisdiction,
you would do well to remember that.”