The Shadow Matrix (17 page)

"I can see that you care a great deal about
Mestra
Davidson."

"I do."

"Then I will do everything in my power to bring her to Darkover." He sighed softly. "I

know it is hard for you,
chiya.
And I think you are doing a fine job of bending as much

as you are able. I found the demands of our world burdensome, and railed against

them. And I suppose I have forgotten how difficult it is to be a woman here—how

restricted you are. I would change the world for you, if I could."

"Would you, really?"

He grinned. "In a flash! But since I cannot, we must just

do the best we can together. Perhaps between us we can

make a difference."

•

"Well, it is nice to know that you would upset the social order to make me happy—

even if you can't do it!"

"I think I have been trying to do just that for my entire life—not very successfully, I

admit. That is why I am not trusted, and why you are not as well."

"Like father, like daughter?"

"Precisely!"

"I never thought of myself as any sort of rebel, Father."

"Neither did I, but it seems we are fated to be revolutionaries, whether we wish to or

not. You are the future,
chiya,
and I think that it will be a very good one, if we can

just manage to get through the present—which, as always, is difficult."

You are the future.
Margaret let herself sink into that thought, and felt a sense of calm

descend over her. Perhaps she was not as much of a pawn as she imagined. She smiled

at Lew, and he smiled back, as if he knew her thoughts without any words.

The next morning there was a light dusting of snow on the streets* of Thendara as

Margaret, carrying her small harp, set out from Comyn Castle. She had sneaked out,

knowing that custom demanded she take a Guardsman with her, or at least her maid.

She needed to be alone; so she ignored her position, slipped down the stablecourt

stairs, and darted out a back door of the castle without being seen. It gave her-a

delicious sense of pleasure, to escape, and she was ready to revel in the freedom of it.

Margaret drew in a long breath of the brisk air. There was not much wind, and her

cloak was warm around her. Thendara smelled completely different in the first snow:

fresher, somehow. She listened to the crunch of it under her boots, the calls of street

merchants, or mothers scolding children, and ignored the occasional looks she got as

she entered the fringe of the Terran Sector. She knew she should not really be out

alone, but after her conversation with Lew the previous night, she felt rebellious and

downright contrary.

She reached the gate of the little graveyard where Terrans were interred and picked her

way among the headstones until she found Ivor's. She had ordered it when he died, and

it had been put into place while she was at Arilinn. The stonemason had done a fine

job. Ivor's name was carved in Terran characters, without any errors.

The other graves were covered with leaves or pine needles, untended and a little

forlorn. But Ivor's had been raked clear of debris. She saw a bunch of autumn flowers

resting against the headstone, gathered into a bundle, their petals now blighted with

frost and wondered if Master Everard or someone else from the Musicians Guild had

put them there.

For several minutes she just stood and looked at the stone, thinking about Ivor and all

the things which had

happened to her since he died. Then she removed the cloth cover from the harp, tuned

the strings in the cold, dry air, and began to play. Her mitted fingers warmed up, and

her voice as well.

Margaret plucked the strings, and after several pieces she started into the work she had

composed for Domenic. She had refined it a little, but it was essentially as it had come

from her fingers days before. When she was done, she stopped and looked down at the

stone. It wanted words, but she had not found any yet. Perhaps she would, someday, if

she was fortunate. She let the silence of the graveyard fill her up for a minute, then

asked, "Well, what do you think, Ivor?"

Only the breeze answered her, but she felt that her teacher would have approved.

6

Margaret Alton and Rafaella n'ha Liriel set out for Neskaya six days later, in the

company of several other Renunciates and a Dry Town merchant. There were horses

and mules, bundles of baggage, cookpots, blankets, tents and enough grain, it seemed

to her, to feed an entire herd of animals. It was utterly chaotic, or appeared to be. No

one cared very much that she had
laran,
was the heiress to a Domain or a Fellow of the

University. These things were of no importance on the road, and after enduring the

funeral of little Domenic, and the tensions of Comyn Castle, she felt a great sense of

relief.

After Margaret had demonstrated that she could be trusted to saddle her own horse, to

follow the steed ahead of her on a narrow trail, to keep her head if something went

wrong, she found herself accepted. Doing simple tasks, like setting up a tent or laying

the wood for a fire, were wonderfully restorative to her battered spirit. Daniella n'ha

Yllana, the trail boss, stopped treating her-like a soft city girl after the second day, and

actually praised her on the third. She warmed to that, as always.

The first day they passed by the ruins of Mali Tower, and Margaret did not have any

visions of the place as it had looked before its destruction, as she had when she had

seen it before Midsummer. It was just a tumble of blackened blocks of stone. Still, it

brought back memories of the journey from Armida to Thendara, when she and

Mikhail had ridden together and talked about so many things. It made her miss him

poignantly, but not to the point of misery. She was just glad to be going to Neskaya.

By the fourth day, they had left the plains and climbed into the Kilghards, with the

Hellers looming up behind. It was much colder now, and the wind blew off the

mountains,

snaking into the folds of her cloak and making her shiver. Snow fell, adding to what

was already on the ground, and the track became slippery and treacherous. If this is

autumn, she thought, it must be hell in full winter. By the end of the day she was

exhausted and chilled to the bone, very glad to dismount from Dorilys, and start setting

up the camp.

Daniella observed the sky with an astute weather-eye and conferred with Rafaella and

some of the other Renunciates, clearly worried. Margaret was almost too tired to care,

but the little ripples of unease from the minds of the Renunciates penetrated her

weariness, adding anxiety to her exhaustion.

While she and Rafaella wrestled with setting up the tent, she asked, "Is there a

problem?"

Rafaella shrugged. Her short, curly hair was tucked under a knitted cap of green wool,

and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. "We could get a storm tonight. Can't you smell

it?"

Margaret tugged the floor cloth into place and staked down one corner, then sniffed the

air. "No, I don't notice any difference. All I know is that it is cold as mischief, and my

fingers are stiff."

Rafaella gave her a fond look. "I keep forgetting that you are still new to Darkover.

This is nothing, really. By Midwinter, the trail will be nearly buried."

At the word Midwinter, Margaret felt a sharp jab, as if someone had pricked her skull.

She straightened abruptly, and her back muscles spasmed. The alarm she felt was

terrible. "Buried? But, I must return to Thendara then. My mentor's wife is coming to

Darkover, and I really need to see her!" That was something which had been settled,

with great expense in telefaxes and guarantees for passage by the Alton Domain, to

Margaret's relief. She wanted to see Ida again, to make that link with her former life,

with a kind of sorry desperation that made her feel both shamed and pleased.

The Renunciate nodded and smiled grimly. "Don't worry, Marguerida. It is not an

impossible thing, merely a difficult one. It will be a hard journey, but I am sure you

will be able to go back to Thendara when you must."

"Do you know, I sincerely wish that the occasional flyer was permitted."

"Humph. A flyer—only the Aldarans have those, and one or two of the Towers, and

they are not likely to give you the loan of theirs. And you would miss all this

wonderful scenery!" Rafaella gestured broadly at the jagged mountains, her eyes

twinkling merrily. "Not to mention the good company."

"Well, I am glad of the company, certainly. But I confess I would prefer to arrive more

than to travel." She made a face. "I will stop complaining as soon as we get some

supper. I am ravenous." She smiled at her friend, and they finished setting their tent up

in record time. Margaret dragged the bedrolls into the tent and got them arranged.

By the time she was finished, she was a little warmer and in better spirits. A large bowl

of trail stew—dried meats and vegetables to which hot water only needed to be added

—and a slab of bread purchased in the last village they had passed completed the job

of restoring her. She dunked the bread into the rich mixture and chewed it, feeling her

body warm and the tension in her jaw vanish.

For the first time since they left Thendara, a guard was posted. Rafaella and one of the

other Renunciates took the first watch, and Margaret lay awake in her bedding, in spite

of her exhaustion, until her friend came into the tent. She could sense the anxiety in the

camp, and knew it was something more than just the weather. Weather did not demand

a guard.

"What is worrying Daniella?" she asked Rafaella as the other woman crawled under

her covers.

"There is a chance of catamounts, Marguerida. Our horses and mules would make a

fine meal. We noticed some droppings, back down the trail a mile or two. Don't

worry!"

"Oh. Why did I ever leave University!" Margaret felt herself shiver all over, not with

cold, but with fear. She was sure there was something more bothering Rafaella, and

almost wished she were not so ethical. Her training had progressed enough that she

could have snatched the information from the mind of her friend without any effort at

all. Only her own strong sense of honor prevented her.

Slightly chagrined, she remembered how she had worried

about having her own privacy invaded the previous summer when she had finally

realized that she was a telepath in a world where telepathy was a feature of the culture.

She had been afraid that people would just poke about in her mind whenever they

wished, not realizing that the opposite was a greater danger, and a more likely event.

Of the several sorts of
laran
common on Darkover—the empathy of the Ridenows, the

future seeing of the Aldarans, the catalyst telepathy of the Ardais—none held a greater

peril than the forced rapport of the Altons. In the wrong mind, it was capable of

ruthlessly crushing all but the strongest barriers, extracting information, or

overwhelming another person. She understood now why the Altons were looked upon

with some suspicion, and treated warily.

Rafaella chuckled in the darkness between them. "I don't know, but I am glad you did.

Life with you has been very interesting, and I have missed you while you were at

Arilinn. Did you like it?" Margaret had been too tired the previous evening for more

than a sleepy good night. She had not even asked Rafaella about Rafe Scott, although

she was very curious as to the progress of this odd love match. She had never been

very interested in such things before, but now she discovered that she was. It must be

because she wanted to be with Mikhail—silly of her.

"No, not really. I mean, I enjoyed mucking about in the old records in the scriptorium,

and it was a relief to learn ways to focus my
laran.
But the building itself gave me a

constant headache, and some of the other people there were not very glad of my

presence. I hope the folk at Neskaya will be less hostile to me."

"I think they will be. Arilinn, being the principal Tower of Darkover, is very . . . self-

important. Neskaya is cozy by comparison. At least, when I visited my sister during the

time she was there, it seemed very nice. I think it is Istvana Ridenow's influence,

because she is a woman who likes peace and quiet and wishes everyone around her to

be at ease."

"I hope so, for another month or three of having people look at me as if I were a bug,

and an ugly one at that, would be very unpleasant." She flexed her left hand, feeling

the presence of the lines of energy over her skin. "I had to struggle to keep my temper

a lot of- the time."

Rafaella was snuggling into her bedding. "I have seen you get angry a few times, but I

never thought of you as having a hot temper. Do you?"

"Oh, yes. It is pretty fierce, when I let it go, so I try not to. And the last place I wanted

to get furious was at Arilinn. I felt as if I had been permitted to stay there on approval,