The Saga of the Renunciates (50 page)

She made her way through the crowd toward him, brushing aside greetings. Crowds had never bothered her before this, and certainly this was not as crowded as Midsummer in Thendara, but for some reason she felt strange, taut, and it seemed to her that too many people were looking at her,
there’s that Darkovan girl, the one Haldane married, some sort of Darkovan nobility, no I heard she was a free Amazon, a soldier, a fighter, look at the knife scar on her cheek…

Aleki bowed to her. He was wearing some sort of formal clothing strange to her, dark-red, with gold lace and decorations on his breast; she supposed it was suggestive of his Imperial rank. He was very unlike the informally dressed man she knew from the office.

“I told you to make yourself beautiful for tonight, but I did not realize that you would dazzle us all,” he said, smiling at her, and for a moment it seemed that he was ready to seize her, to grasp at her… no; he was smiling courteously, he had not touched her, why was she so intensely, painfully aware that he desired her, that he had not touched a woman for a long time and that he wanted her? The Amazon in Jaelle cringed, but he had said nothing, his manner was perfectly correct, why was she so open to him just now? She felt as if the room were full of a ringing silence.

His voice seemed to reverberate from very far away. For an instant it seemed that the few sips she had had of her drink were nauseating her and that she would disgrace herself by vomiting here before the whole assembly. She grabbed at vanishing self-control and said as calmly as she could, “I didn’t hear you, sir. It’s a little noisy in here.”

He looked around cheerfully. “We
are
a noisy crowd tonight, aren’t we? I asked if you could hunt up Peter Haldane for me.”

She had had no chance to warn Peter against this man, who was so alert to find out what she had no wish to let him know about Darkover. Her eyes searched the crowd for Peter’s familiar shape, and she braced herself to cross the crowded room through the onslaught of mental voices.

How do the Comyn who have full
laran,
like Lady Rohana, ever manage to appear anywhere in a crowd
? For the first time in her life, she wished she had had some of the training given routinely to the telepaths of the Comyn, to control her
laran
. … but then, it had never seemed to her that she had enough
laran
to be worth training! She moved through the crowd, carefully keeping her face blank, she would not stare about her in panic like a mushroom-farmer in the big city for his first Festival!

She knew Peter would be wearing gray, the steel-gray which was so becoming to his red hair and gray-green eyes. She looked through the crowd and finally saw a red head. She made her way to his side and touched his arm.

“Alessandro Li wishes to speak with you,” she said formally.

“Let’s not keep him waiting, then,” he said, and took her arm. She pulled upright, bracing herself.

“I can walk by myself,” she said stiffly.

“Honey, are you still mad at me? Let’s not fight, not here at a party!”

She drew a long breath. She said, “Piedro, listen to me, please. Li is very curious about the Comyn; he’s determined to find out what lies behind it. For three days he has been after me with his questions; don’t underestimate him. I did. And I don’t know what he wants, but I am not sure it is good for Darkover. I may have told him too much already; be careful what you say to him.”

Peter grimaced He said “I can’t afford to play games with an Imperial bigwig. I’ve got to cooperate. Montray—the Coordinator, not Monty, Monty’s a decent sort—old Montray just threatened me—he wants to send me offworld.”

“Peter!” Suddenly she forgot her quarrel with him, at the shocking thought that she might somehow lose him. “What? Why?”

“They’ve located a planet something like Darkover—feudal setup, low technology, all that—and he says with my experience here, I’d be a good one to send there. Personally, I think he’s afraid I’ll have his job if I stay here, I know twice as much, ten times as much, about Darkover as he does and he’s afraid somebody will find it out. And if I can convince Sandro Li that I’m really needed here to unravel this mystery—do you see?” He swung around and caught her wrist. “Jaelle, I’m fighting for my life, as much as you were when you and Mag met the banshee on the trail. Won’t you back me up? I want to stay on Darkover—with you. Help me, don’t fight me, beloved!”

People slid by, on either side of them. In this crowd, so filled with voices she did not really hear, voices that penetrated her mind brutally, she could not think clearly. She swallowed hard and said “Come along; just—just be careful what you say, or even what you hint, or he’ll get it out of me.”

Li greeted Peter with great cordiality, indicating, as people began to move toward the banquet tables, that Peter and Jaelle were to be seated near him at the head table.

She was aware, at least partly from the subliminal chatter of telepathic sound, that the Terrans here in Thendara Spaceport regarded Li much as the common people of Thendara would have regarded the Heir to Hastur; here to judge them, in authority over them. Peter was talking to Li with all the charm of which he was capable, emphasizing to the Imperial investigator that he knew more about Darkover than any other man working here. She could tell that Aleki was impressed. She also realized what neither Montray nor Peter had bothered to tell her; that on Li’s report depended, not only the future status of Darkover in the Empire, but the future of the Terran installation. He had the power to withdraw the Empire entirely, except for a few officials to tend the spaceport; or to increase the HQ staff until it was a full colony administration; he could open the world to trade, or close it completely.

The fate of Darkover in relation to the Empire is in this man’s hands. Even the Hasturs have little to say about it. This is too much of a responsibility for me! It is too great a responsibility for anyone!

At one point in the dinner, when the main course had been finished and they were lingering over sweets and tiny, delicious glasses of variously-scented and colored cordials, Aleki said, “In your work I have found frequent mention of Miss Lorne’s work. Why is she not on the station? Is she on leave offworld? I found her name on the
inactive
roster.”

Cholayna Ares, tall and elegant in low-cut draperies of fire-red which accented her smooth dark skin and frost-white hair, leaned across to them and said, “She is on detached duty in Thendara, Sandro; she is in the Renunciate Guild House.”

“I am extremely eager to meet her,” Li said. “Do you suppose that I could request her to come in for an interview?”

“I doubt it,” Jaelle said, “she is serving her housebound time among the Amazons; she is not allowed to leave the House for that period—

“But that is barbarous!” Li said. “To imprison an Empire citizen—”

“Hardly imprisonment,” Jaelle said calmly, “since it is voluntary.”

Peter leaned forward. He had, Jaelle suspected, drunk a little too much. He said “I can tell you anything Magda could tell you, Sandro. Most of the places she went, she managed to go while she was under my protection. You don’t realize yet how many doors are closed, here, to any woman. Magda’s a fine agent; If she’d been born a man, she’d be the Legate by now! But here on Darkover, no woman could be accepted that way. And now she’s gone over the wall, gone native. I can fill in most of Magda’s reports for you.”

“Can you really?” Li’s face was sharp, and intent.

“I can and I will.” Peter reached for another drink.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Sandro Li said, and turned to listen to the speaker at the head of the table.

An hour later, Jaelle faced Peter across the small room they shared. She knew he had drunk too much; his face was flushed, his speech incoherent, but he was not so drunk he could disclaim responsibility for what he had done.

“Peter, don’t you realize? That man is out to destroy Darkover— the Darkover we know—to turn it into another Terran colony! And you’re helping him!”

“I think you’re exaggerating. In any case, what does it matter? He’s only here to investigate how well the HQ is doing its job on Darkover. I owe him cooperation; so do you and so does Magda. If it weren’t for men like him, there would be no Empire.”

“Would that be such a misfortune?”

He took her shoulders and turned her toward him. She permitted it, not sure why she didn’t kick him away.

“There’s no reason Darkover can’t accept what’s good about the Empire while keeping what’s good in its own way of life. It’s not wrong to hate ignorance and poverty. Look,
chiya,
I was born on Darkover, it’s my home too, I love it—I want to stay here, be part of it.” He bent to kiss her, burying his face in her scented hair. “I was fighting—I
am
fighting—for the right to stay here, as any man would fight for his land, his home, his wife. I do it with words instead of a sword, that’s all. But I
am
Darkovan. You heard what Cholayna said when she heard about our wedding?”

She had heard; somehow it had nested in her heart, almost with pain. Cholayna had said;
with your red hair and Peter’s, what beautiful children you will have
.

“I want a son,” he whispered, “as much as any man of the Hellers would want a son. A son to live here on Darkover, our world… Jaelle, Jaelle…”

He picked her up and carried her to the bed. She allowed it, even enjoyed his touch; he laid her down, whisked away the filmy green of her dress, flinging it unheeded to the floor. As he drew her into his arms once again he was wholly open to her. She could feel it in him, like an eternal and unhealed wound, Magda’s refusal to give him the child he desired. His body possessed hers but it was she who possessed his mind, he was at her mercy…

…
and suddenly she knew him as Magda had known him, he really believed that he could treat her as valet, comrade-in arms, personal servant, breeding-anima, and somehow repay it all just with the ardor of his lovemaking
… the rage that boiled up in her then cut off thought; she twisted aside, a knee, a shoulder, both arms stabbing up, and he rolled helplessly aside, shocked and vulnerable. She sprang up, crouching into a defensive posture, and he lay stunned, staring at her in absolute disbelief.

“Sweetheart—what’s wrong?”

“Next time,
ask
me if I feel like making love!” The confusion and outrage on his face felt good to her. “Next time I might even agree to bear you a child. But ask. Don’t—don’t take!” She felt she could not endure to look at him. He thought he had only to caress her and she was enslaved to his will!

He was sitting on the bed, drunk and miserable. “Jaelle, what did I do wrong? Tell me!”

She did not know. What did happen to love? Now she only wanted to hurt him, to lash out at him, to jeer at his vulnerability! She said, low and hard-faced, “Don’t ever—
ever
—take me for granted,
Terranan
!” and slammed the door of the bath behind her, turning on the water full force. She stood under the shower and cried, cried till she felt empty and helpless as she had left Peter there. When she came out of the shower he was asleep, a bottle empty on the floor beside him; he reeked of the cheap Darkovan wine from the port. She threw the bottle down the disposal chute, pulled her cloak from the closet and fell asleep on the floor by the bed.

She woke late, and he was gone; she had not even heard him leave. And she was glad.

Someone was calling Magda’s name, in her sleep, from very far away.

“Margali—Margali!”

It was dark in the room; outside it was snowing hard. Camilla, wrapped in a thick furred gown, was standing by her side. Magda sat up and asked, “What is it? I’m not on kitchen duty, Camilla.” There was no particular hour to get up; but for the convenience of women who worked in the city, an early hot breakfast was served, and the women on kitchen duty were roused early to cook and serve it. Anyone sleeping through this breakfast had to rummage in the pantry for cold bread, or go hungry until dinner.

“I’m sorry to wake you at this hour,
breda
, but Byrna is in labor and should not be left alone; will you come and sit with her for a time?”

Magda got out of bed, huddling her thick nightgown round her, her feet cringing at the touch of the stone floor. “Where is the midwife?”

“It always happens this way—babies come in clusters! Marisela has slept in the house these last ten days, but tonight of all nights she was called out to the other end of the city. But it is Byrna’s first child, and there is no great hurry. You will have time to wash your face and dress.”

Magda went down the hall to the community bath and splashed her face with cold water; she flinched at its cold bite, knowing that if she stayed here a hundred years she would never, never get used to this. It had never seemed to occur to anyone that anyone would want a warm bath in the morning, so in the morning there was no hot water—it was as simple as that. Magda supposed that when you were doing hard manual work it made sense to wash off the day’s grime in the evening—she still remembered her tenday in the stables, and how welcome a hot bath had been then. But it was one of those cultural differences that really hurt.

“What time is it?” she asked Camilla, as they went down the corridor.

“Just after midnight. We have taken her upstairs, so she can make as much noise as she likes, and not fear waking anyone who needs sleep. Rafaella is upstairs with her now, but Rafi is pledged to leave at sunrise and she must have a little sleep.”

In the fourth-floor room, a fire had been lighted, and Byma was walking back and forth in front of the fire, wrapped in thick shawls over her chemise. She turned and said “Thank you for coming to stay with me, Margali—I’m sorry to get you up like this—”

“It’s all right,” said Madga, taking her hands awkwardly. “How are you feeling?”

“It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, not yet,” Byrna said, “It’s like a bad case of cramps, and it sort of comes and goes; between times I feel fine.”

“And it won’t even hurt that much, if you remember what Marisela told you, and breathe into it,” Rafaella said, coming to put her arm around Byma’s waist. “I’ve had four, and I know.” She gave Byrna a hug, and went to the door with Magda. She said, “Do you know how to handle this early stage?”

Magda shook her head. Rafaella always made her feel stupid and incompetent. “I’ve never been with a woman in labor before.”

Rafaella raised her eyebrows. “At your age? Where, in Avarra’s name, were you brought up? Well, all you can do at this stage is to keep her cheerful, remind her to relax if she starts to tense up. The most she can do, at this stage, is not to interfere with what’s going on inside. Let her drink as much water as she wants, or tea—” she added, indicating a kettle boiling over the fireplace on its long arm, “and if she feels faint, put a spoonful of honey in it. Don’t worry if she vomits, some women do. The important thing is just to be with her, reassure her.‘’

Magda faltered. “What if the—the baby comes before the midwife gets here?”

Rafaella stared at her in puzzlement. “Well, so what? If it comes all by itself, that’s the best thing that could happen. They do sometimes come like that, no pain, no fuss. If it does, just wrap it in anything handy—don’t cut the cord—just lay it on top of her and go and yell for somebody who knows what to do; any of the Guild Mothers would know.” She added impatiently, “There’s nothing to handling a baby that comes by itself; it’s when they
don’t
that you need help! Camilla will be in and out; if Byrna starts wanting to push, tell Camilla to go and get somebody in a hurry, but I don’t think that will happen for hours yet. And for heaven’s sake, calm down, you’ll frighten Byrna if you’re this nervous! If there were anybody else, I’d never leave her to you, of all people! But how was I to know anyone your age would be so ignorant?” Rafaella went and hugged Byrna again, said, “Have a nice little Amazon for the house, won’t you?” and went away with Camilla, leaving Magda alone with Byrna. They looked at each other rather helplessly; then Byrna said “Oh—it’s starting again,” and grabbed Magda around the waist, leaning heavily on her, breathing hard and panting softly. When it was over she drew a long, gasping breath and said “
That
one really hurt!”

“Well,” said Magda, “maybe that means it won’t be as long as you think.”

“I want to rest for a while.” Byrna dropped down on the mattress which had been laid on the floor, covered with clean, but ragged sheets, She sighed restlessly.

“My oath-mother promised to be here for the birth, but I have heard there are floods in the Kilghard Hills, and she could not travel.” She blinked tears from her eyes. “I’m so lonely here, with no oath-sisters in the House—everyone’s been so kind to me, but it’s not like having my oath-sisters here.”

Those who witness your oath are your family
… . Magda remembered the swift growth of her own bond with Jaelle, and that Camilla had treated her with unusual friendliness. “Byrna, we are all your sisters, bound by the oath—every one of us here.”

“I know. I know.” But Byrna blinked tears away and her hands clenched into fists. She closed her eyes, shifted her weight again and seemed to fall asleep for a moment. Magda rose and mended the fire, tiptoed back and sat beside the apparently sleeping Byrna.

After a long time Byrna stirred and twisted restlessly. “Even when I’m breathing the way Marisela told me, it hurts, it hurts so much, and Marisela promised it wouldn’t…”

Magda tried to remember random things she had read. “Just breathe quietly; try to feel as if you were floating,” she said, and Byrna was quiet again, resting. After a time she hoisted herself up wearily and began to walk, leaning on Magda. “They said it would go faster if I could stay on my feet.”

Later, Camilla came back, carrying a cradle in her arms. “How are you feeling, Byrna? Look, here is a cradle for your little one; I found it in the storeroom, and an embroidered blanket; I made this one myself, fifteen years ago, for Rafaella’s last baby. Doria slept under it. And now she is an Amazon herself!”

“It looks like new,” Byrna said, caressing the woolly fabric, and Camilla laughed. “No baby uses it for very long. How do you feel?”

“Awful,” Byrna said, “and it seems to be taking a long time.”

Camilla felt about her body. “You’re coming along well enough. It may not be as long as we think. Try to walk some more, if you can.”

She disappeared again, and the time seemed to stretch out. Byrna walked and Magda held her upright, holding her when the contractions seized her; later she lay down to rest, or slept a little, moaning. After three or four hours, gray light began to steal through the window.

“Look,” Magda said, “it’s morning. The sun will be up soon.” Byrna did not answer, and Magda thought she had dozed again, but then she heard the woman whimper softly. “What’s the matter? Is it very bad? Lie back and relax, Byrna—”

“Lie back, Byrna, don’t make a fuss, Byrna, relax, Byrna,” the woman mimicked savagely, sitting up on the bed. “Don’t I know it all?” “You don’t really give a damn,” Byrna flung at her, and started to cry, “There’s nobody here who cares, and I’m so miserable—” She sobbed, curling herself up, holding herself, and Magda was dismayed She felt she was breaking all the rules—surely nothing like this would ever have been allowed in Medic HQ in the Terran Zone—but she sat down on the edge of the mattress beside Byrna, laying a tentative hand on the shaking shoulders. “That’s not true, Byrna. I’m really sorry your oath-mother isn’t with you, but I’ll try to help you all I can, really I will. And it will be over sooner than you think.”

Byrna flung her arms around Magda and burst into agonized, passionate crying. Magda patted her, helplessly.

“Is it so bad? Don’t cry, they say the worse it is, the sooner it is to being over.” It was one of the few things she could remember from the midwives’ lecture a few days ago. “If you feel so bad now, then this is the worst, you’ll feel better soon when you start to bear down, But please, lie down again—try to relax—”

“It isn’t the pain,” Byrna said distractedly, “I could stand that, it isn’t that—” she clung to Magda, moaning. Magda held her, letting Byrna clutch at her hands with bone-crushing force.

She could
feel
the deep, racking shudders that passed through Byrna, and it reminded her of that moment under the matrix, when Lady Alida had gone deep into the cell-structure of the wound on Jaelle’s face and Magda had found herself sharing it.
Laran. Must I feel everything she feels
?

But the paroxysm passed and Magda wondered if she had merely imagined it. She persuaded Byrna to lie back on the pillows, sponged the sweat from her face, and persuaded her to sip a little tea with honey. Tears were still rolling down Byrna’s face, and to distract her Magda asked, “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

“A girl, of course—I was there when Felicia had to give up her son, since no male may live in a Renunciate house after he is five. She said he would soon be a stranger to her, yet she did not want to leave the House and her sisters, and hire a nurse to keep him when she was at work, and face all the dangers of a woman living alone in the City—I think if I bear a son I will give him up at once, before it tears my heart to let him go. Felicia wanted a son, she said she did not want to be troubled with fifteen years tied down to rearing a girl, but now that Rael is gone she is moping like a chervine that has lost her calf. I will not be that foolish, I will give him up at once.”

“Who is your child’s father, Byrna? Or would you rather not tell—”

“His name is Errol, and he is a cousin of mine. His wife has no son, and she said she would welcome a child of his to foster—” and then Byrna began to cry harder than ever. Magda, alarmed, asked, “
Breda
, what is it?”

Byrna wept “I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it—”

“The pains? Sister, shall I go and call Camilla, or one of the Guild Mothers? Keitha has had children, too, she might know—”

“No, no, not the pain—” she sobbed till her whole body shook. “Only—only—I am oath-breaker, forsworn—”

“Byrna, don’t—this is no time—”

“It’s true, true! That is why I wanted my oath-mother here, to confess to her, to have her forgiveness—” Her body convulsed again and Magda was sure she was making it worse with her violent crying.

“The oath—” she wrenched out, twisting and writhing, “I am sworn…
bear no child save in my own time and season
. … I have been taught, I know there are ways of preventing the conception of a child I did not want—but it was Midsummer, and I—I wanted to please Errol, so I lay with him even though I was
raiva
, ripe for conception, and not—not protected—but I was lonely, and he wanted me—we have been lovers for many years; at one time we had spoken of marriage, but I was—at that time I wanted to be independent, to do only my own will, so I chose the Guild-House, and went away to Dalereuth, and then, when I came back to Thendara, I found that he was married, and unhappy. And it seemed—oh, I hardly know how to tell you, so
right
somehow, with the music, and the dancing, and a—a starlit night with all the moons above us, and yet—I knew it was wrong, to risk this, to risk it—and so I am forsworn, forsworn—”

Magda was confused, not aware of the particular ethical point involved. She remembered how, at Midwinter Festival at Ardais, she had come near to surrendering herself to Peter, just because the old habit of love for him was so strong, and he had wanted her so much. But she could have done so, thanks to Terran medicine, without this kind of risk.
She
had been properly protected against conception… and she remembered what Mother Lauria had said on her first day in the house, that this training would be beyond price to the Renunciates. It was a sin that they did not have proper contraceptives, so that women need not take this kind of risk, bear unwanted children… and suffer this kind of guilt.

She held Byrna till her sobbing quieted a little, and said gently, “It is too late for regrets of that kind,
breda
. Done is done. Now you must just think of your baby.” What a foolish thing to say, she thought, as she mouthed the phrases; what else had Byrna been thinking about for all these months?

Obediently Byrna lay down; and then a look of surprise came over her face. She began to gasp deeply, to breathe in a new way, gulping in deep breaths and letting them out in a harsh, straining groan. Magda admonished her to relax, but Byrna seemed not to hear, gasping out between the heavy groans “Something’s happening—it doesn’t hurt as much now—”

Oh, God, Magda thought, she’s beginning to bear down, I’ve got to go and call somebody who knows what to do—

Byrna gasped “I need to—to
hold
something—” and grabbed at Magda’s hands, straining, hauling, her face reddening with the effort. Magda tried to brace herself against panic.

“O-o-h,” Byrna groaned, but curiously it was not a sound of pain; only of tremendous effort; Magda could almost feel it in her own body and it was a curiously satisfying sensation—what the hell was happening to her? More to the point, what was happening to Byrna?

Byrna clutched her hands and let out a long howling cry, more a grunt than a scream. “It’s coming,” she yelled, “I can
feel
it, it’s coming, it’s coming
now
—” She gulped air again and gave herself over to the groaning, straining effort. Magda tried to wrest her hands away.

“Let me go and call somebody, Byrna—”

“No, no, don’t leave me—” Byrna grunted the words out and went into a long shriek; Magda could not free herself. Maybe someone would hear Byrna yelling, but she could not get free without hurting her, maybe she should run and call somebody— but Byrna was tugging at her hands, crying out, that hard yell ending in gasping grunts