Rediscovery (37 page)

exhaustion; she pulled the covers over herself, and with it pulled together such tattered remnants of dignity and discipline as she could still summon, and let herself fall into sleep—or unconsciousness.

But even through her sleep, she formed a firm and unshakable conviction.

Never again.

She would not seek out the strange “technologies” of these star folk. She would

advise strongly against others doing so— and when she had the power to enforce her will, she would enforce this edict.

Terran technologies must be left to Terrans. They may have much that is good, but
it is all
—all of it—
too dangerous for us to touch. No one else must dare this.

Life went on, whether they wished it to or not; Ysaye recovered from the surgery and immersed herself in her work, finding little solace there, but enough to keep her mind busy. At night, when she was unable to sleep, she put on the corticator to learn the languages of Darkover. It gave her a headache, but it kept her from having to think. And for as long as she wore the corticator, dreams did not trouble her either.

She avoided Elizabeth; her friend glowed with happiness over her pregnancy, her

new home, and her work, and Ysaye could not bear to be the skeleton at the feast. She lost weight, and Aurora scolded her, finally ordering her on a special diet that had her shipmates staring with envy at her meal trays, laden as they were with fresh fruit, choice cuts of meat, and calorie-crammed, rich deserts.

No one made any reference to her terminated pregnancy; the only time anyone

ever spoke of her surgery was to commiserate on the hysterectomy, then say lightly,

“But then, you never were the sort to settle down and have children.” One or two of the women even said they were envious of her—no longer subject to the tyranny of

hormones.

The first time it happened, she was shocked speechless at their callous lack of

tact. But then someone else made a similar remark, one that would have been

thoughtless at best and cruel at worst if they had known of the lost child. And at first, Ysaye thought they were all simply avoiding the subject of her pregnancy to the point of pretending it had never happened, but gradually she came to realize that they simply didn’t know about what had really happened to her. So far as they were concerned, she’d had a life-threatening allergy attack, one that had somehow caused problems that required the hysterectomy. If anyone knew how unlikely that was, they weren’t talking.

And the few people who did know about the child were either native Darkovans, or friends who wouldn’t mention it unless she brought it up—or the medical staff, who would never mention it at all and had locked it in sealed records.

When she figured it all out, she was nearly as angered as relieved. In a way, she felt cheated; she ought to be able to mourn and have people understand why she was in mourning; now they would simply think her behavior was some kind of silly female reaction to the loss of an organ she could perfectly well do without.

Surgery, even major surgery, no longer required the long recovery periods it had in eras long gone. Within a week, she was on her feet in her daily routine and there was very little pain; within two, there was nothing but a narrow red scar to remind her that anything had ever happened.

That made her feel cheated, too—something had been taken from her, something

vital, and there was nothing to show it had ever happened. There should have been pain, as a kind of penance. Yet she did have her work, and that work often required mobility, and it was her duty to heal as quickly as she could. Just as it was the medical staff’s duty to see that she healed quickly.

Leonie contacted her only to say that she was tired, and hoped Ysaye was all right.

She said she was very busy with something—at first, Ysaye had thought that the girl was staying away from her because she was still angry about losing the child. Then she thought it might be because she had been so terrified by the incident with the computer.

But when Leonie finally appeared one night and indicated she was ready to talk again, it was with no sign of fear—and if anything, the bond between Ysaye and the girl was stronger than ever.

Where have you been keeping yourself?
Ysaye asked, adding lightly,
besides
behind this “Veil of Arilinn,” that is.

Oh, Ysaye, that is truer than you know,
the girl said, as weary as Ysaye had ever heard her.
I
have been taking special training only a Keeper receives. Now that I have it

—well, no man will ever be able to force me to give up my virginity.

That’s a trick a lot of women could use,
Ysaye commented.

Leonie sighed.
It is not that easy. And I doubt that most women would want it,
when they knew what the training required. But Keepers must be able to guard
themselves, for there are so few of us.

Sounds like the old tale that a witch had to be a virgin to work magic.

She sensed Leonie nodding.
Very like. There is a long tradition behind it, but it is

—
is very hard on a person. It means that energy must be transmitted through the
physical body, and everything must be in perfect balance. That is why Keepers are
virgin, always. And why we must be able to defend that virginity. I could not meet with
you until that defense had become reflex.

Ysaye couldn’t see the connection between transmitting energy through the body

and being virgin, but she didn’t say anything.
Sounds like more than I’d care to do.

I have also been learning how to channel my family’s particular Gift. The Hasturs
are like living matrixes
—
we can do without a matrix what most people can only do with
one. I did not know I had that Gift until last week.
Ysaye caught the background of the thought and realized that this “matrix” was some sort of amplifier of psi powers. If she could work without one, Leonie must be powerful indeed. No wonder she was being

trained so strictly!

Leonie seemed much older than she had a mere few weeks ago, as if all this

training had aged her and given her the experience of a much older woman.

Sounds to me as if you could use some music.
That was all Ysaye could give her, though she would dearly have liked to offer the girl better sympathy than that. Why, the poor thing was having her childhood stolen from her! Matrixes, energons—none of this meant much of anything to Ysaye, except that it seemed that the more responsibility was laid on the girl, the less girl-like she became. She was—what? Fifteen? And she was taking on tasks at which an adult would quail, making sacrifices about which even an adult would have serious second thoughts. It hardly seemed fair.

I
should like some music,
Leonie agreed.
Are you still dreaming badly?

Ysaye cued up music—Ralph Vaughan Williams—and took a moment before

replying. She had thought that when the child was gone, she would no longer have dreams about it—but now, if anything, they were worse. Ysaye slept, often only to find herself in a kind of vague, dreamlike landscape covered with mist. And the baby was there. No longer a child, but an infant, a little girl barely old enough to walk, who cried and cried in the dim distance—but when Ysaye tried to approach her, she receded and moved out of sight, leaving only the heartbreaking weeping. And Ysaye would wake up to find herself also weeping as if her heart would break.

Yes,
she said, finally.
Unless I wear the corticator.
She showed Leonie some of what the dreams had been like, and added, wryly,
I
am likely to be very good at a
number of languages before this is over.

Leonie was silent for a moment, and Ysaye sensed that she was thinking.
I
can
only guess at this,
she said, after a long moment,
But I think there is a reason why you
have these dreams. You wanted her, you wanted to bear her into life, and so she is still
bound to you.

Mystical nonsense?
Ysaye didn’t think so. Too many things dismissed as

“mystical nonsense” turned out to be very real on this world.
If I
—
if I let her go,
emotionally, will she stop haunting me?

Leonie’s answer was hesitant.
I
don’t know, Ysaye. You may be so bound that she
will not leave you until you join her.

Not an encouraging thought, but—in its own way—a comforting one. Ysaye had

wanted the child, and in a way that made no rational sense at all and was hard for her to understand, she still did.

Her mother would have blamed her for what had happened—her mother would

doubtless disinherit her if she ever found out; Ysaye was still baffled by why she had acted the way she had. It made no sense. It was as if something had turned off

everything except her lowest instincts, and that same something had inflamed those instincts.

And there was still something missing about this whole situation; the unresolved question of why she had become so intoxicated—and why Elizabeth had been just as intoxicated, although there had been no nightmare ending to her intoxication. Ryan Evans had played a part in it, and not a small one.

Ysaye was certain he had somehow drugged Elizabeth, and might have drugged

her as well. If she could prove that, she might have a
reason
for all this. A reason that did not include totally taking leave of her senses. She wished there were some way to make Evans pay for all the pain he had caused—preferably out of his own hide.

Perhaps when she had a reason, had a cause, and someone to charge with that

cause, she would be able to sleep at night.

Perhaps then her daughter would stop crying.

A few days later, she was on her way down to one of the lower levels of the ship, when she saw a very familiar back.

“Kadarin!” she called in surprise, as she recognized the lanky figure. “Whatever are you doing on the ship?” She was glad to be able to speak to him in
casta;
in this much, at least, the hours under the corticator were bearing fruit. Being able to speak to him so that her mind did not have to touch his made it possible for her to feel a bit more friendly toward him.

Kadarin stopped, turned, and smiled when he saw who had addressed him in his

own tongue. Then his smile faded, as quickly as it had come. He inclined his head to her.

“S’dia shaya, domna,
” he said, and paused. “I was sorry to hear about your baby,” he continued, softly. “Children are very precious to us. Very precious.”

“Thank you,” Ysaye murmured automatically, then added, startled, “but where did

you hear about my child?”

Kadarin looked embarrassed, but Ysaye guessed it before he could speak. The

only people who had known besides the medics and the Lornes were the natives. And one native in particular. “Don’t tell me; Lorill spread the news all over Caer Donn.” She sighed. “There goes my reputation.”

“Not at all,
domna”
Kadarin protested. “He only told Kermiac and Felicia because they were concerned that you were ill, and none of the
Terranan
would tell us of what. Felicia told me, and further said to send her sympathies. That is all.” He shook his head. “And you must know, it is not shameful to us to bear any child whose

parentage is known. The only disgrace is for a woman not to be able to say who fathered her child—or to have the father deny that he did.”

Ysaye bit her tongue to keep from saying something bitter, but that did not

prevent a waspish comment from escaping. “And I’m sure that Lorill thinks any woman would be honored to bear him a child, so telling people what happened should make me happy.”

“Any woman on Darkover,” Kadarin pointed out quietly, “would be honored to

bear a Hastur child. And both of them would be cared for and given privileges for the rest of their lives. You could have demanded anything of Lorill that he was empowered to give. You still could; you risked your life.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. But it was their custom, not hers, and he

obviously didn’t understand why being talked about made her feel badly. “Where I come from,” Ysaye said sadly, hoping she could explain, “A woman is not supposed to—

what’s the word?—
accandir
with any man except her husband.”

Kadarin blinked in surprise. “Does your language have no word for the lying

down of man with woman, that you use ours? Do you have matings with machines,

then?”

Ysaye shook her head. “The words I know for it are either vague euphemisms that

wouldn’t translate properly, or are terms not usable in polite company,” she admitted,

“which probably shows you how we regard someone who engages in that kind of

behavior.” She shrugged helplessly. “Even I feel that way, Kadarin. I feel like—like a woman who could not tell who fathered her child. Or one who took a child into her bed, since Lorill is just a child by the standards of our Empire.”

He looked at her attentively, and suddenly she realized that she had been feeling the lack of having someone
adult
that she could talk to about it all. Aurora encouraged her to “put it behind her,” Elizabeth didn’t understand, and Leonie was another child, Lorill’s twin.

“I don’t even remember
why
I did it,” she admitted. “It was crazy behavior; I just don’t fling myself at men years my junior as if I were some kind of—female animal in season. But my mind goes all fuzzy when I try to remember why it happened, and what I was thinking.” She shivered. “Sometimes I think there may be something wrong with my mind, and that— incident—with Lorill is only one symptom.”

“I doubt that there’s anything wrong with your mind,” Kadarin said reassuringly.

“I was caught in a Ghost Wind once, and my memories of that time are quite hazy