The Shattered Chain (30 page)

Rohana shifted her hands, drawing her fingertips above the repulsive open gash across Jaelle’s face. Alida brought the blue jewel stone close, and Magda, seeing it without sickness this time, found herself caught up in what was happening. She saw with a curious double vision those nerve currents under the skin, the slashed and broken and infected layers of skin and muscle and escaped, oozing blood, the seeped poison around the eye … she
felt,
with an inner itch and tension inside her mind, what Alida was doing: lowering her consciousness farther and farther,
into
the cells, exerting the tiniest pressures
(How! How?)
on each cell, so that she actually
felt
the blood and poison as pressures against the light-lines of the nerves, sensed the tiny, delicate membranes, the pressures against them …

“Careful,” Rohana said again, a low soft neutral sound, but to Magda, deep inside Alida’s awareness, it was like a shriek of warning; and with infinite caution, Alida eased the carefully intricate pressures, moved her touch away from a small ruptured blood vessel, felt and almost
saw
the tiny tensions of fluids so near the eyeball, the glowing inner mechanism of the eyeball and tear ducts, so near, dangerously near.
Ease up just there …
Something in the back of Magda’s mind said,
Psychokinesis:
the power of the mind to exert delicate cellular changes. Her consciousness seemed wholly sunk inside that light, bending pressure. She looked at Jaelle from a great distance.
As if I were up somewhere near the ceiling and looking down …
Giddy shifts of perspective.

Magda thought, somewhere back in her mind,
I can do that, too,
and found her attention focused on the healing slash in her own arm, sensed the inner pressures, somehow
wrenched
them into consciousness, feeling a faint sting of violent pain, somehow
outside
herself, which vanished without trace …

She shook her head as if to clear it. She was standing firmly on her own feet, and Alida had covered the blue stone. She blinked as if dizzy, and looked down at Jaelle in amazement and shock. There was now no hideous, festering slash crisscrossing Jaelle’s cheek; only a narrow, bright red seam, still jagged and raw, from which one drop of clean blood oozed. The nick in the eyelid was gone, and the closed eye, beneath its fringe of lashes, was no longer swollen.

Alida drew a long sigh of weariness. Mechanically Magda pushed up her sleeve, staring in puzzlement at where the bandit had gashed her arm with his poisoned blade. There was no puckered red line there now; only a firm white scar, which looked long healed.
Did I dream it?

Alida thrust the wrapped stone inside the front of her dress. She looked at Magda, with a questioning frown, but did not speak to her. “Jaelle?”

Rohana touched Jaelle’s forehead lightly. “She is asleep, I think.”

“Good; while she sleeps ‘the healing will be finished,” Alida said, and gestured to Peter. “Leave her.”

He tried gently to withdraw his hand, but the fingers were locked around it. He settled himself into a comfortable position on the floor and said, “I’ll stay.”

Magda tiptoed to Jaelle’s side and drew the nightgown up over the girl’s bare shoulder and breast, covered her with a blanket, then followed Rohana and Alida out of the room. Alida stumbled, almost fell against the door; Rohana caught and steadied her on her feet. She said, “Go and rest, Alida. And I thank you for Jaelle’s sake.”

Magda’s mind was whirling. It was
not
illusion! That terrible, festering wound, like a great open, oozing sore … and now, as she covered Jaelle with her nightgown, it had not even needed a bandage, but was clean and almost healed. There was also her own arm—it looked like a scar a year old. And somehow, with the aid of the blue jewel, this had all been done through the powers of the mind.
Psi power. I never believed in it, not really. But I saw it
—

Rohana saw Magda trembling, reached out and gently steadied her as she had done with Alida. She said, “Rest, my girl, that is strenuous work. Why did you not tell us you had
laran?”

And Magda could only stammer, confused and dismayed, “I don’t even know what the word
means!”

Chapter

THIRTEEN

On the eve of midwinter-day, the long-delayed blizzard swept down from the Hellers, a thick white wilderness of snow and howling wind that effectively damped the preparations for the festival. The house-party guests had already arrived, but Lady Rohana told her guests, with some disappointment, that the usual festivities would have to be suspended. Normally, everyone who lived within a day’s ride would have visited Castle Ardais at some time during the day to share in the merrymaking there.

Magda expressed polite regrets for the spoiling of the holiday, but was herself secretly relieved not to have to face more strangers. She had no personal fear. Dora Gabriel would not make trouble for his wife’s guests, whoever they were; and the strong tradition of hospitality in the Hellers made it unlikely that they would meet with any personal unpleasantness. But it might well mean that other Terrans, after this, would be more carefully watched and restricted in their travel.

Lady Rohana had holiday gifts for them both: long riding-capes trimmed with fur. She also tactfully offered them garments more suitable for the festival, pointing out that they had only traveling clothes with them, and those much the worse for wear. Magda accepted with relief, Jaelle with a wry laugh. She said when Rohana had gone away, “My kinsman is cowardly, to make Rohana do his errands! Margali, you are a translator by trade; see if you can interpret this as I do! I may not have the words quite right, but the music is very clear, and the tune is something like this: ‘I refuse to have two Amazons in trousers at my banquet-table!’ ”

Magda politely refrained from comment on her host, but she felt Jaelle was probably right. Jaelle was up and around now, though until today confined to her room, but she was recovering so swiftly that Magda still doubted the evidence of her own eyes. But there it was before her: the healed scar on Jaelle’s collarbone, the red line—perceptible, and a little startling, but no longer disfiguring—across her cheek.

It makes Terran medical science look primitive!
Magda thought.

But if it was psi force, what was the function of the blue jewel? Was it only a focus? Magda knew she would never rest till she knew the answer to these questions. The key seemed to be the strange word
laran,
which was colloquially translated as an art, skill, gift or talent; she surmised that a
leronis
was one who used
laran,
and that the meanings of “wise-woman” or “sorceress” were ancillary. Jaelle verified this guess, adding that
laran
meant an inborn gift for psi power, and that while she herself had a little of it, she had not wanted to be trained in its use. When Magda repeated Rohana’s remark—that she herself seemed to have
laran
—Jaelle shut up and could not be persuaded to say another word.

In midafternoon the promised festival dresses arrived, brought by one of Rohana’s women. Magda’s was a rust-colored gown with narrow sable fur trim, and trailing sleeves lined with golden silk; it was one of the prettiest dresses she had ever seen, and fitted her well enough. She felt a twinge of regret as she put it on and brushed her dark smooth hair, thinking of the silver butterfly-clasp that she would never wear again.

Jaelle said, “Among Terran women, is close-cropped hair thought a disgrace?”

“Oh, no. Most women in Empire service wear their hair little longer than men; but I have lived on Darkover most of my life, and kept mine long to be able to mingle unnoticed with women here, so I am accustomed to long hair,” Magda said. “I had half expected to be told that Amazons were not allowed to wear women’s dress! Is this simply a courtesy to dom Gabriel, then, Jaelle?”

Jaelle laughed merrily. She had put on the delicate green gown Rohana had sent her. She said that it had been made for her cousin, Rohana’s seventeen-year-old daughter, whose name was Elorie but who was usually called Lori. With a little pinning at the waist, it fitted Jaelle beautifully. As she brushed her own hair into a burnished coppery helmet and fastened it with a pair of gold bar-clasps from her saddlebags, she said, “Oh, no! Do you think we wear trousers compulsively, like men, you silly girl? We wear them when we have to ride, or work like men, but in the Guild-house, or when working indoors, we wear whatever seems comfortable to us. We are not
required
to wear anything in particular; we simply refuse to accept the social rule that
forbids
women to wear any comfortable garment for reasons of modesty or custom. The only thing we
may
not wear—by our Charter—is a sword.” Again, she laughed. “Kindra chided me, now and then, that I spent so much of what I earned on finery; I probably have as many pretty gowns as Rohana, or more, because I need not account to anyone for what use I make of my money!”

Magda felt a little relieved; she was not fond of fine clothes, in particular, but she would have felt strange to think of spending the rest of her life in rough and unattractive work clothes!

Jaelle said delightedly, when they were ready to go down, “I had no idea you were so pretty! When I first saw you, you looked like a half-frozen rabbit, and after that I have not been able to notice!”

Magda herself had been aware of Jaelle’s astonishing beauty, even in rough Amazon dress; in the green gown, she was breathtaking. She saw her own opinion confirmed when Peter joined them in the hallway, outside their connecting rooms; he looked at Jaelle in delighted amazement. She smiled at him shyly, and lowered her eyes; Magda knew Jaelle was embarrassed at recalling how she had clung to him when she was weak and ill. Jaelle did not offer him her hand as she had done readily during her illness; strangely, the very omission seemed to create a greater closeness than the frank gesture.
She reacted to him as a child reacts then. Now she is very aware that he is a man and she a woman,
Magda thought.

Peter said softly, “I am very happy to see you recovered, Jaelle,” and with something of her own constraint, turned to Magda, and offered her his arm. She took it, mostly because she sensed his embarrassment and tension and it was an old habit, to cover his indecision.

“Have you noticed how like our own celebrations this is? The halls decorated with greenery, the great fire, the exchanged gifts—even the smell of the spice-bread!”

She knew he was only saying the first thing that came into his head, to cover embarrassment; it roused an old emotion, a mixture of tenderness and exasperation, so familiar that she felt an old, inner trembling.

“You are lovely, Magda. But I miss your lovely long hair—” He put up his hand to touch the bare nape of her neck: a gesture of intimacy, permitted only to lovers. Magda felt embarrassed. She said in a low voice, “Don’t, Piedro.” She used his Darkovan name deliberately, to remind him of where they were. Yet she knew it had had exactly the reverse effect; it had recreated the old intimacy.

He said, “Margali,” speaking her Darkovan name like a special caress. She saw Jaelle’s eyes on them and dropped his hand as if it burned her, so that they went into the Great Hall side by side, but not together.

The kindled midwinter-fire burned on the great hearth, and dom Gabriel, Lord of Ardais, stood before it, a tall, soldierly man, with graying russet hair, dressed in green and scarlet. When Jaelle stepped toward him with a formal bow, he clasped her, briefly, in a kinsman’s embrace, pressing his lips to her cheek.

“I rejoice that you are well enough to join us, Jaelle. A pleasant year to you, and all happiness.”

“I thank you for your hospitality, for myself and my friends, Uncle,” Jaelle said, and stepped along, to be warmly hugged by Rohana and to exchange greetings with her cousins. Magda and Peter stood before the Ardais lord; he bowed over her hand, raising his eyes to hers with a puzzled, kindly smile. Magda thought of what Jaelle had said: “Anything belonging to Rohana he will treat kindly—pet dogs, Free Amazons, even Terrans …!” It seemed to her for a moment that Jaelle had been hard on him; from the very touch of his hand she sensed he was a decent man and a kind one, if a little narrowed by the prejudices of his caste, and without much imagination. Anyway, if Rohana loved and obeyed him, he must have more virtues than Jaelle could see in him.