Recognition (6 page)

I looked out the window toward the Eclipsian
Sector of the city and its fortress, caught between two extremes,
wishing for middle ground. “I must shower, get dressed, have
breakfast,” I said, preparing him for the delay. It was my own form
of declaration. I would go directly to the Assembly and take their
test, not as Terran, nor as ‘Graven, but as myself.

Dominic’s idea of escorting was very
different from that of the young Terran who had met my transport. I
had expected Dominic to walk beside me, making conversation or at
least answering some of my questions. Instead he led from the front
as the squad of eight men formed a hexagon around me. Dominic must
have chosen the men for height; it was like walking in a dense
forest where the trees moved with me.

One of these men was also gifted. I was
beginning to accept the idea of the existence of other telepaths,
of ‘Graven, the shielding eyelid in the sunlight an easy clue in
identifying my peers. This man gave me a brief smile in
acknowledgement of our shared status. Sensing my disorientation at
the surrounding escort, he permitted a kind thought to flow between
us:
You’ll get used to it, ‘Gravina
.

Dominic, without breaking step, let loose a
stream of expletives, the harsh, foul-mouthed speech of the
drillmaster, reprimanding his man with silent fury, mind to mind. I
listened in fascination to the range of expressions available in
the Eclipsian language compared with the meager, unimaginative
selection of Terran profanity. The man reddened in
embarrassment.

Sorry to be the unwitting cause of trouble, I
thought of intervening, saw Dominic’s fierce profile—a hawk
stooping for the kill, the eye of opaque silver—and suppressed my
charitable impulses. His anger stemmed less from the professed
reasons of insubordination and dereliction of duty than from a
personal jealousy. Dominic was guarding our special communion, and
saw any telepathic exchange with me, no matter how innocuous, as an
invasion of his territory.

Our group made slow progress at first. The
wide sidewalks of the Terran Sector swarmed with pedestrians.
People gawked and commented, trying to peer in between my
protectors’ bodies to see what unfortunate soul was being taken
away, wondering with prurient interest what primitive punishment
awaited me. Most of them recognized the distinctive uniforms of the
Royal Guards but knew that Dominic and his men posed little threat
to Terran citizens in their own sector of the city. Dominic had
constantly to shout to people to make way. He walked with his sword
held in front of him, like the man who had announced the ‘Graven
participants at the meeting, yet had to rely on his height, the
sinister look of his face, and his obvious willingness to use the
weapon, to forge a path.

We approached the broad avenue that leads to
the Terran Protectorate complex. The center lanes were choked with
traffic, the personal vehicles Terrans cannot live without. Despite
the fact that the cars are restricted to the Terran Sector where
everything is within walking distance, all attempts to prevent
their importation had ultimately proved futile.

The flow of vehicles is controlled by a
signal of alternating red and green lights. Our group reached the
curb just as the traffic was resuming after a long pedestrian
interval. Dominic swore and pulled a dagger from his belt, holding
its jeweled handle, with what looked like a large prism as the
finial, to face the sun. The light turned green again for us; the
vehicles, taken by surprise, were caught in the crosswalk. As we
wove our way around and through the honking cars, Dominic slammed
his hand down hard on the hood of one with a terrific bang. The
driver almost abandoned his vehicle in fright. “Pedestrians have
the right of way!” Dominic yelled at the closed window, an inch or
two from the man’s cowering face.

How he hates it!
I felt a frisson of
excitement, as when he had kissed me. Everything of the Terran
world, the vehicles and the noise, the heated buildings with their
elevators, was a reminder to Dominic of the encroachment that
threatened him as Eclipsian and ‘Graven. My own alienation from the
world I had been born into found vicarious expression through the
anger of this man who was in some way my partner. I remembered the
thought in my head when I arrived, the fierce exultation that the
Terrans were not allowed to enclose their part of the
city—Dominic’s thought undoubtedly, the first telepathic
communication from my “lover.”

Once we passed through the checkpoint
dividing the two sectors of the city, the mood shifted
dramatically. There was little of the curiosity about the situation
or my identity that I had picked up from the Terran crowds. The
Eclipsians were used to seeing Royal Guards, knew the ‘Graven
prefer to shield their women from view and had no desire to risk
staying within reach of Dominic’s long arms and weapon to find out
anything more.

Although the streets were narrow, with no
real sidewalk separating pedestrians from the carts and carriages
pulled by animals, we had a smooth passage. People melted away
magically at the sound of the soldiers’ heavy footsteps, turning
down a cross street or into a doorway, or simply flattening
themselves against the buildings. The wagons managed to pull to one
side well before we had to pass them; two curtained litters,
carried by men wearing livery, also stood aside, the bearers
welcoming the opportunity to put down their burden.

‘Graven Fortress, close up, was much bigger
than I had supposed from my view of it across town. It loomed over
us like a mountain, its wide, dark entrance like the mouth of a
cave or a mineshaft. Guards at the avenue leading to it and outside
the doors saluted Dominic smartly as we passed. We followed
twisting corridors, tramped up and down stairs, crossed interior
courtyards. I was hopelessly lost after the first few turns; after
the second set of stairs I couldn’t even say if we were above or
below ground. Our footsteps set off loud, echoing reverberations in
some of the passageways. There were places with drafty damp breezes
whistling through, others that were hot and close.

We emerged at last outside a capacious
high-ceilinged room with tiers of stone seats, an indoor
amphitheater, the Sanctum of ‘Graven Assembly. Dominic thanked his
guards gracefully and dismissed them at the door, all except the
gifted one, who was entitled to take his own seat inside. We let
him enter, then Dominic bowed and motioned to me to precede
him.

I felt it before I heard or saw—an oppressive
telepathic presence like a heavy fog. After a few seconds my ears
and eyes began to function again, noting the hum of numerous
voices, the crowded seats. There were many more people present than
the small contingent of the ‘Graven I had met with yesterday. It
seemed that every Margrave, Landgrave and ‘Gravina, and every
member of their extended family who could walk, crawl or be carried
wanted to see the Terran woman with
crypta
. Narrow windows
set high on the walls let in a few weak rays of sunlight, adding to
my feeling of constraint, my fate about to be decided by people I
did not know and could barely see.

The seats were arranged in wedge-shaped
groupings, like slices of pie, representing the twelve ‘Graven
Realms, including a section of unoccupied seats that Dominic said
belonged to an absent, renegade family. The head of each clan sat
in a place in the front row marked by a pennant with a heraldic
device, the direct family members fanning out above and behind in a
rough triangle. I recognized ‘Gravina Ndoko, head of her
matrilineal realm, in a seat midway along the front. Other women,
relations of the patrilineal families, occupied a tier of closed
boxes at the back. Although I could not see them, the presence of
the women’s minds, with their own thought patterns, was
unmistakable.

Viceroy Zichmni presided from a dais in
front, sitting on a sort of throne facing the tiers of seats.
Dominic showed me where to stand, at a low railing to one side of
the dais, before taking his own seat at the head of the Aranyi
section. We were the last arrivals; as soon as Dominic was settled
Lord Zichmni, apologizing for the early hour, explained that since
these things had been known to take all day he wished to get
started.

I had assumed Lady Ndoko would do the
testing, but an imposing middle-aged woman came forward instead.
“Edwige, ‘Gravina Ertegun,
Sibyl
of La Sapienza Seminary.”
The herald gave the introduction in an awed voice. Built on solid,
heavy lines, Lady Ertegun had a maternal look belied by her brusque
manner. Unlike Lady Ndoko, she was not veiled. Her bright
strawberry-blonde hair, streaked with gray, was woven into an
elegant French braid, held in place with a diamond-studded clasp.
Smaller diamonds winked at me from matching combs on either side.
Narrow blue-gray eyes assessed me shrewdly; thin lips set in a
neutral line, neither smiling nor frowning, reserved judgment.

Lady Ertegun began without formalities.
Reaching for my hands, she made contact with my mind and we slipped
smoothly into communion. I could tell she was surprised at the
effortless transition. The communion deepened; with the resulting
intimacy I sensed her dominant personality, how accustomed she was
to command. She made me slightly uneasy.

The sibyl snorted with laughter. “That’s
fine,” she said, breaking the communion with the breathtaking
sharpness of a cold scalpel slicing into warm flesh. “Now try to
join with some of the others, one at a time.” She indicated the
occupants of the front row of seats.

The first man was older, and visibly unwell.
Deep lines had aged his handsome, broad face, and his hair was a
dull iron gray. Karl-Philip, Margrave Almirante—even weakened by
sickness his identity blazed out from his forceful
character—extended his hands to me reluctantly, his fingertips
quivering with a physical tremor. As soon as we entered communion I
was overcome with pain, every nerve-end protesting. The communion
forced me to suffer, for a few seconds, the terrible affliction
Lord Almirante endured constantly. Questions spewed from my
besieged brain:
How do you bear it? What is it? Aren’t there
medications?
before coherent thought became impossible and I
could only cry aloud.

I am strong. Arthritis. There are drugs,
but they dull the communion along with the pain
. Lord
Almirante answered all my questions in the instant before he
reacted protectively, breaking the connection. “There’s no need for
this, ‘Gravina,” he said.

“Yes, Margrave, it is necessary,” the sibyl
said. “Now we know she’s an empath, not just a telepath.”

Shaky from the unforeseen and extreme agony,
I stood hunched, clutching the railing for support. This was why I
had always hated being touched, but on Terra the effects had been
relatively mild, limited by the one-way reception and the good
health of my acquaintances. With two gifted individuals, and the
resulting communion—
I wished I never had to touch anyone again,
or be touched, except
...

Dominic leapt up at my unfinished thought and
bounded over to the dais in two long steps. His slender arms with
their ropes of muscle supported me like a hammock as he
half-carried me to his own seat. The contrast between his strength
and my weakness alarmed him, like my reaction to communion with
Lord Almirante, as these revelations must. Young meeting old,
healthy meeting sick, vigorous meeting weary—all create in the
newcomer the anxiety that comes from entering foreign and hostile
territory. Dominic shook his head clear, responding with generosity
once he saw what the trouble was.
Beloved
, he thought,
offering himself to me,
here is my strength. Take what you
need
.

I helped myself greedily. My total immersion
this morning into communion and the ways of
crypta
made
this concept seem entirely natural, the transfer of energy from one
person to another, an osmosis through mind and skin. Dominic’s
great vitality surged into me, bringing with it returning
consciousness and determination.

Once assured I was recovering, Dominic
confronted the sibyl, making a point of using my Terran name. “Ms.
Herzog was unprepared for that, ‘Gravina Ertegun.” His voice
deepened in complaint. “What are you trying to do—test her or kill
her?”

Lady Ertegun stared up at Dominic’s stormy
face—she is not much taller than me—and raised one eyebrow in a
practiced gesture. “If Ms. Herzog were
prepared
, there
would be little point in testing, Margrave. To my knowledge,” she
added, in what was meant to be a conciliatory judgment, “no one has
ever died from a few seconds of empathetic communion.” She let a
long theatrical pause go by before turning her attention back to
me. “Anytime you’re ready,” she said, clearly expecting immediate
compliance. I sincerely doubted she was an empath.

There was the sound of laughter in my head,
sensed, not through the ears, but directly in my mind—the silent
amusement of the audience, who apparently found Dominic’s
solicitous care of me immensely entertaining. “I’m ready now,” I
said, standing up and hoping to spare Dominic from the audience’s
ridicule, although he appeared unperturbed.

Only Lady Ertegun hadn’t cracked a smile.
“Thank you,” she said drily. “Please continue to form
communion.”

Dominic had resumed his seat as I vacated it;
he was next in the front row. He held his hands out to me, his hard
face softening with the anticipated pleasure.

The audience’s scorn continued to cascade
into my brain, a current of disparagement of my lover that flowed
too rapidly to assimilate. In contrast to yesterday’s civility,
people made no attempt to conceal their thinking, from me, from
Dominic or from each other. Everything I had learned of Dominic in
my short time on Eclipsis—his past, his preferences, his very
nature—was familiar to his peers, and they found a malicious
delight in today’s contrast. People recalled his pursuit of young
cadets, abuse of his command at the ‘Graven Military Academy. To
see Dominic openly attracted to a woman was a novelty; that I was
closer to his age by twenty years than his usual choices added an
element of wonder.