The Shadow Matrix (8 page)

learn your music,
chiya.
It sounds much more interesting than I ever imagined. I feel

that I have missed so much of your life. I was not there when you had your first love,

or ..."

"But, you were, Father! Mikhail is my first love. And there will never be another, no

matter what happens." She blushed. "Did I say that I was glad to see you?"

"No, but I knew it from the way your face lit up when you realized I was here. It is

very heartening to see that look in your eyes. I5 cannot imagine why I didn't mind

missing it for so many years."

"Well, if I had seen you-before, after I went to University, my eyes would not have

sparkled, but glared. And there are still a few times when I remember how impossible

you were on Thetis, when you refused to tell me my history and were hoping I would

grow out of my mental block, the overshadowing that
she
did to me, that I still want to

box your ears and call you names!"

"And quite rightly. I am sure I deserve any number of ear boxings, and I am pleased

that you have chosen to forgo the experience."

"Have you come to see Dio?"

"Of course. But when I arrived, I found out that young

Domenic had just died and decided that seeing you was mare immediate. I confess I

hardly expected to find you playing your harp by the fire."

"Well, I was crying earlier, and feeling as if everything were my fault. But I

remembered something Aunt Javanne told me about you, about how you always

assumed you were the author of anything that went wrong, and how I was very much

like you—too much sensibility for my own good, or something like that. So it was as

natural as breathing to turn to music."

Thyra was like that, about music. I never thought I would have anything to remember

about her that was good.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"Because music is something that I have always been able to trust. It never gets angry

at you, or runs away, or dies. It only is. Maybe if you are a composer, it is different.

Now that I think about it, there was something about Jheffy that seemed a little

desperate at times, as if he were afraid he would wake up one morning and discover

the music had left for Aldebaran with another composer. But if you are mostly a

performer, it is very dependable and trustworthy. Not to mention comforting. I can say

things by playing music that I never can say in words."

"I see. There is a great deal more to this music business than I ever imagined." He

nodded,, then smiled slightly. "How are you?"

"Sad, of course, but a little angry, too."

"Angry?"

"Well, Domenic did not have to die, did he? I mean, if he could have received the

services of a Terran medical facility, he wouldn't have choked to death. I have a lot of

respect for matrix science now, but I still think that putting total dependence on it is

just as stupid as believing that technology is the answer to everything. There needs to

be some compromise, some middle ground, and it seems to me that no one is even

trying to work it out."

"If you study human history, I think you will find that people are so emotionally

invested in doing things in their customary manner that they prefer to resist change,

even when it is in their own interest."

"I know that, but I still don't like it!"

"Of course you don't, daughter. And, yes, Domenic

might have lived. But the healers were unable to mend the injury, so he would have

been entirely helpless for the rest of his years. Even Terran nanotechnology might not

have been able to reverse things. I don't know, and the matter is out of our hands now."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any easier to accept. And I am concerned about Ariel,

too, even though I do not like her. She is still a few months away from birthing, and I

have learned enough here in Arilinn to realize that the impact of her distress on the

mind of her daughter is likely to be terrible."
"Is this why the glimpse I saw of Alanna

Alar in my vision is of such an angry woman? Maybe it is my fault, because I foresaw

that Domenic would never reach adulthood, and then he got hurt when the carriage

overturned and
—

"Marguerida—you cannot change the past, and you cannot prevent the future."

"No, but that won't stop me wanting to!" She set the harp aside and began to pleat the

bottom of her tunic with nervous fingers. After a minute of silence, she said hoarsely,

"I hate it here."

"You mean Arilinn? Or Darkover?"

"Arilinn. I love Darkover, although I find some of its customs pointless. I went riding

earlier, and because I am a woman, one of the grooms insisted on coming with me,

which meant that I could not gallop across the fields like a fiend, which was what I

wanted to do. But I am not at ease here, despite all the efforts of Jeff and Liriel and

some of the others to make me comfortable. I cannot sit in a Tower circle because

being in a room with lots of matrices is still impossible for me. And several of the

students seem to regard me as some sort of monster. They stare at this," she said,

holding up her left hand, "and try to see through the silk. They do not like to work with

me, and one of the older healers, Berana, has outright refused to have anything to do

with me. The word 'abomination' floats across her mind like an oil slick. Ugh! She

makes me feel as if I were dirty or something." ' "I see. Why haven't you said anything

sooner?"

"Well, as long as Mikhail was here learning how to test for
laran,
it was not so bad. It

wasn't good, but I could look forward to taking rides with him, to talking to him

about . . . well, anything. And I didn't want to whine and complain. I kept thinking it

would get easier when I learned more, but instead it has become harder every day. My

sensitivity to the crystals has, if anything, increased. I have to spend a great deal of

energy just keeping myself together, because my impulse is to blast the damn things to

flinders."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Lew answered calmly. At the same time, he shifted in

his chair as if uneasy.

"Oh, wouldn't you?" she snarled. "I do, because I have some idea of what I am able to

do. This thing," Margaret went on, shaking her fist at her father, "is not like any matrix

that has ever existed before, because it is not from anything in the material world. I've

spent a lot of sleepless nights talking with Jeff, and with Hiram d'Asturien, who knows

more about the history of matrix science than anyone else alive, trying to figure out

what is going on. What I have, Father, is a portion of the overworld engraved on my

flesh. Not only that, it was once the keystone of the Keep of Ashara Alton, who was

the most powerful
leronis
who ever lived, even taking into account the natural

exaggeration that is bound to accrue to historical figures. I suspect that if I lost my

temper, I could blast Arilinn off the face of the world. I wouldn't be surprised, even, if

that is not what might have happened at Hali centuries ago."

"I see you have given this a great deal of consideration,
chiya.
And I must say you

have shown a great deal of patience and endurance. Much more than I was capable of

at your age." He sighed.

"Maybe," she said hesitantly. Then she took a deep breath and plunged ahead,

determined to tell him what she must while she still had the courage. "Father, I just

don't know if I can stay here much longer. Javanne is going to show up, looking

daggers at me for just existing, and Ariel is likely going to get hysterical if she even

catches a glimpse of me, since she still blames me for Domenic's accident. And it is

just killing me. I feel as if I have a chest full of broken glass most of the time. I

thought, a few months ago, that I had come home, but now I am starting to doubt it. I

feel as estranged at Arilinn as I did before I came back to Darkover."

"You should have been an actress, Marguerida, because I never suspected how

unhappy you were here."

"Well, there is no help for it, since I don't really want to be a wild telepath. I don't want

to be any sort of telepath at all, frankly. I'd give anything to undo the past. Well, maybe

not anything. I would not give up Mikhail, or you. But it is not enough. I need some

peace, some quiet!"

"You wanted to go to Neskaya, and study with Istvana Ridenow, before you were

persuaded to come to Arilinn. Do you still wish that?"

"If I must be in a Tower, I would rather be with Istvana than anyone. She never makes

me feel as if I have two heads and a tail!"

"Good. I think I can manage that much, daughter. It is the least I can do for you."

Margaret stared at Lew, too astonished to speak for a second. Her heart gave a leap of

delight, of release. Then she steeled herself, afraid that she would be disappointed. It

could not be this easy! "Can you, really?"

Lew looked at her solemnly, but with just the hint of a twinkle in his eyes. "I am not

without influence, you know."

Margaret laughed and then found herself crying again. The sobs rose in her chest,

swelled up into her throat, and broke out of her mouth in spite of her efforts to silence

them. She bent over, holding herself, hugging her arms around her, wailing her grief

and loss. It was a dreadful noise, and she was ashamed of it, but she could not stop,

and Lew made no effort to halt it. Instead, he just sat and waited, as if he understood

how needful it was.

It was completely dark by the time she finally managed to stop weeping, and her face

felt sore. She mopped her cheeks for the hundredth time, blew her nose, and sank back

against the chair, exhausted. And, to her disgust and surprise, hungry. The smell of

dinner wafted through the room, and Katrin appeared in the doorway, a white dab of

flour on her short nose. She looked at Lew, grinned a little, and only said, "I had better

set another place."

Margaret chuckled softly". "One good thing about Dark-over—meals always seem to

appear on time, and frequently."

"Yes, they do. Now go wash your face." He grinned suddenly. "I used to tell you that

on Thetis, didn't I? Your face always seemed to be dirty."

"Yes, Father, you did, and it was. Thank you very much."

"For what?"

"Just thank you." And then she retreated quickly, for the tears were threatening to begin

again. She could not speak all the words that were brimming in her heart, her love for

this man, this father she had so lately discovered. There would, she hoped, be time to

say them, but not with a dirty face and an empty stomach. It would have to keep.

3

Halyn House was so well concealed within a grove of tall trees that Mikhail and his

Guardsmen almost rode by without realizing they had reached their goal. Only a thin

stream of smoke above the trees indicated human habitation, and Daryll's keen eyes

spotted it. At twenty-three, he was the younger of Mikhail's two companions, and by

far the more lively minded, always ready with a jest and not in the least intimidated by

Mikhail's position. Mathias, the other Guardsman, was nearly forty, and of a slow and

sober disposition. Mikhail had known him since he was a child, for he was from the

Alton Domain. He knew he could trust them both completely, and was reassured by

their presence, since the feeling of unease he had had along the road seemed to be

getting stronger the closer they came to their journey's end.

They found their way through the trees with difficulty, for there were many fallen

branches on the little path, wood that should have been collected and set to dry for the

coming winter. As they finally emerged into the stableyard, Mikhail frowned, filled

with quiet despair. Duncan, the old man Mikhail remembered from his previous visit,

crept from the shadows of a rather dilapidated building, alerted by the sound of their

steeds. The sour smell of rotting hay was everywhere. Shakes were missing from the

roof, so the stables must be leaking, and other evidence of disrepair was apparent. One

trough was tilted on its side, and the other had a green and scummy look, as if the

water had been standing in it for several days.

Mikhail could now see the roof and upper story of Halyn House itself, though a large

hedge prevented him from seeing the rest, and he was more than a little shocked. The

upper windows were empty of glass, boarded over in some

places, but left open in others. Tiles were missing from the peaked roof, and one

chimney sagged and looked as if it might fall over at any moment.

Duncan simply stared at the three, as if they were some type of apparition. The man

had aged a great deal in four years, and looked as if he had lost weight as well. His

clothing was worn, his boots so thin at the toes that one stocking was visible. The old

man's hair was filthy, matted against his skull, and his teeth were rotting.

Before Mikhail could speak, the wind shifted, and a smell of sulfur blew into his

nostrils. It was a hot, acrid scent, and it came from somewhere beyond the house itself.