Exile's Song (57 page)

The remaining children watched these activities with stricken eyes. Javanne seemed torn between wanting to follow her daughter up the stairs and caring for her grandchildren. At last, she bent down and patted Damon on the shoulder. “Your mother will be fine now. But your father has to take care of her, so I expect you to help us with your brothers.” Her voice carried above the renewed roar of the storm outside, and, for once, she did not sound too certain of herself.

Damon puffed out his little chest and looked proud. This brave gesture made the remaining adults smile, in spite of the circumstances. “Yes. I can do that.” He turned to Donal. “Get Lewis, and I’ll take Kennard.”

Donal gave his brother a look of momentary rebellion, then shrugged. Of all the children he seemed the least upset, and Margaret found herself envying his resilience. “Come on, Lewee. You have to get some dry clothes or you will get sick, and Nurse will make you drink kamfer tea.” He reached for his younger brother’s hand, and the child took it, making a face which said that he would do nearly anything to avoid the threatened remedy.
Now I am second, and I will learn to read, like Dom did, and be very learned like Mikhail and Marguerida.

Javanne was clearly shocked by this childish opportunism, but Mikhail almost laughed. “He can’t help it, Mother. Being third is no fun at all.”

Margaret had pulled the foam splint out of the kit, and was reading the instructions that came with it. It seemed easy enough, but she was terrified that now they would do more harm than good. If only they could take Domenic to a real hospital! If only they could call a plane or a helicopter to come and take him to Terran HQ! Her fingers were cold, and she dropped the splint into her lap, then snatched it back, swearing.

Jeff, beside her, was very calm, and that steadied her. But there was a kind of thundering in her mind that had nothing to do with the storm outside. It felt like the hoofbeats of some enormous equine coming closer and closer, and that, plus the general uproar in the entry, made it very hard to concentrate. Margaret wished she knew a way to block out the spillover of thoughts. Dartan, the
coridom,
returned with a pile of blankets. He and Jeff got one under the small boy, and wrapped it around him.

She thought she understood the instructions now, and while Jeff lifted the little head, she slipped the device under Domenic’s neck. He looked so small and so helpless that her heart clenched. After they had positioned it as well as they could, with some advice from Jeff, who was able, she supposed, to somehow see where the lad was injured using his
laran,
she pressed the tab on the side of the splint. It expanded slowly, surrounding the neck without putting any pressure on the throat, lifting Domenic’s head up from the floorboards a couple of inches. Jeff thrust a rolled-up blanket under the head, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Now, at least, it would be possible to take the boy to a bed without further damaging his spine, and that was the best she could manage. It did not seem like nearly enough.

Suddenly there was a tremendous banging at the door. Margaret looked up as Dartan rose from his knees on the other side of the child and hurried toward the booming noise. She felt something tug at her heart, something strong and wonderful and unexpected.

Before she could wonder what it was, Dartan pulled the huge door open, and a dripping figure moved into the light of the entry. It was cloaked and hooded, and the wind from outside blew the folds of wet cloth against the stranger, shoving the hood down over his face. Then an arm without a hand thrust the cloak away below the breast, and she jumped up and flew across the floor, heedless of the puddles.

Margaret nearly slipped twice in the short distance to the door. Then she flung herself against the soaking form of the newcomer. “Father!” was all she could say, and then she burst into tears.

Lew Alton pushed the hood back, sending a shower of drops down on her head, and drew her against his chest with both arms. Margaret could feel her aunt stiffen behind her, and a wave of mixed emotions flooded from the older woman. She was angry, shocked, displeased, and resigned all at once.

Javanne, despite her mild outrage, laughed at this. “You are still a rascal, and a storm crow.”

“Now, Javanne, surely you cannot blame me for Darkovan weather! There, there, Marja. I know you are glad to see me—you
are
glad, aren’t you?—but you are strangling me! A fine welcome home. Why is everyone standing around dripping in the foyer?”

Margaret hardly knew what to make of the man she clung to. He was making jokes, and the Lew Alton she remembered did not do that. He was teasing Javanne, and she was not a woman who seemed a good candidate for that. More, Javanne actually seemed to be enjoying it. He felt different under her hands—almost cheerful. And yet, beneath it, she could sense a kind of deep sorrow, not an old one, but something new and fresh. “Of course I am glad—what took you so long?”

Lew chuckled and ruffled her still damp hair. He had not done that since she was a child, and the touch of his fingers nearly overset her again. Instead, Margaret snuffled against his shoulder. He smelled of rain and Darkovan cloth, but most of all he smelled
right
. She had not known, until that moment, how much she missed the scent of him, the sound of his strong voice, and the feel of his arm around her shoulders.

“If I could have been here sooner, I would have,
chiya.
”

“I know. You kept telling me, but I couldn’t quite believe it was real. So many strange things have happened . . .”

“I have been a pretty sorry excuse for a parent, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But I know you couldn’t help it.”

Lew Alton looked down at his daughter’s head against his shoulder. She could feel his regrets welling up in his chest.
You have a generous heart, Marja. I can’t imagine where you got it—not from me and not from
. . . He could not let himself think of Thyra.

Margaret could feel him holding something back. His arm around her tensed slightly, and even his mental voice seemed strained. After a second she was sure it was the source of that deep sorrow she had sensed a moment before, and her heart went cold. She shivered with chill, both physical and emotional.
What’s wrong? Is she ill?

Yes,
chiya,
she is very ill indeed. It was the last straw, and I brought her home, though I never thought to see the sun of Darkover again.

Later,
chiya.
I should not call you that, for you are a woman now, but you will always be my little Marja.

They drew apart reluctantly. “I want dry clothes, hot food, and I want them now.” Lew announced this as if he expected the items to appear instantly. He seemed to Margaret like a monarch, used to issuing orders, and she had never really seen him like this before. “Then you can tell me why you are all standing around looking like drowned rats.”

Dartan was supervising two servants who were lifting the small form of Domenic from the floor, using the corners of a blanket, and moving gingerly, so as not to jostle the patient. Lew took in the situation as he removed his dripping cloak and hung it from a nearby hook.
What happened?

Margaret told him, without words, about the accident, and who the child was, more rapidly than she would have thought possible. She confessed her own unwitting participation in the matter, and Lew gave a deep sigh.
Things have not been easy for you, have they, child? This is as much my fault, for not telling you about your history, as anyone’s. We must just hope the child will make a full recovery.

“Mikhail, take Lew to your rooms, please. I think something of yours will fit him.” Javanne was calm now, almost resigned. “Did you meet Gabriel on the way? He was riding to Thendara.”

Lew goggled at Javanne. “No, and I cannot say I am sorry. We have not seen eye to eye in many years, though once we were friends.”

He went to get Regis to make me his ward, so he could marry me off to his namesake—who is a blooming idiot.
Margaret’s mental snarl contained all her frustrations and anger at the events of the afternoon.

Then he will be both wet and disappointed.
Lew answered calmly. He seemed steady in a way she had never known him to be, and even though she knew he was worried about Dio, Margaret felt herself become quiet within.

 

Half an hour later, the adults gathered in the dining hall. It was a subdued group, and the pleasant smell of cooked meats and pastries did nothing to relieve the unspoken gloom.

Once again there was a hesitation while everyone considered where to sit. Lew, his silvered hair dry and curling slightly, appeared quite at ease as he seated himself at the head of the table, as if it had never occurred to him to sit elsewhere. He wore a rose-colored tunic with silver mountains embroidered at the sleeves and throat and a pair of blue trousers. He glanced around, completely confident. Margaret had never seen him in such command of himself, or the situation, and she felt both vastly relieved and mildly angry. Her earlier pleasure in his arrival was now mitigated by his air of assurance. How dare he waltz in looking so damn cheerful!

She sat down in the chair beside him, and Jeff took the place opposite her, across the board. Javanne seated herself at the foot of the table, with her sons, Gabriel and Rafael, on either side of her. It was as if the table was the battleground of two opposing armies, with Javanne as the general of one side, and Lew Alton on the other. When Mikhail took a place beside Jeff, silently allying himself with that side of the wordless conflict, Javanne gave her youngest son a look that spoke of betrayal.

Liriel came in then, her wide shoulders drooping a little. “’I have Ariel calmed down, and I sent Piedro to bed. The children are in the nursery. I don’t think it has quite sunk in, yet, what has happened. Our old nurse is looking after Dominic for the moment, and I cannot think of any better hands to leave him in. That thing you put on him seems to have relieved the pressure, Marguerida, and the worst danger now is pneumonia, not his spine. We will need to transport him to Arilinn as quickly as he is able to travel.” She sat down beside Mikhail, apparently unaware of her mother’s hostile gaze.

Liriel glanced around the table, and her eyes stopped at Lew Alton. They widened. Then she turned back to face her mother. Whatever words they exchanged they kept private, but it was clear to Margaret that Javanne was understandably more concerned with her daughter and her eldest grandson than she was with the sudden appearance of the Old Man. Still, Javanne looked hostile, and Margaret was sure that she wished Lew Alton anywhere in the universe but sitting opposite her, at the other end of the table.

Donal appeared just as Liriel sat down, his hair tousled and wearing his night robes. He climbed into the empty chair next to Margaret. “I don’t want porridge,” he announced, and smiled at her winningly.

“Of course you don’t,” she told the charming child. “I never liked porridge for dinner myself.”

“They make you have it when you are sick, and I am not sick.”

The presence of the little boy seemed to ease the tension around the table somewhat, and the food was brought in by the servants. There was a miasma of worry that seemed to effect everyone except the child, so rather than talk, they gave their attention to a thick soup followed by roast meat and a custard side dish that was heavy with dried fruits. Margaret was surprised by her own hunger, and a little ashamed as well. It didn’t seem right to be so hungry with that child lying upstairs with a broken neck. If he lived, he would probably be paralyzed for the rest of his life, and she could not bear that. She could not imagine what the life of a cripple would be like on Darkover.

Then she noticed that everyone, including her aunt, was tucking into their suppers with a good appetite, and felt slightly less guilty. It was not, she decided, that they were unmoved by the accident—not in the least! It was only that they had done what they could for the present, and needed to keep up their strength for whatever lay ahead.

Jeff finally broke the silence. “We never thought to see you back on Darkover, Lew.”

“I never thought to return myself—but never is a word that almost always comes back to haunt me. I am finished with trying to be a diplomat. I was not very good at in the best of times, and now, with Dio ill, it was intolerable.”

“Dio is sick?” Jeff’s voice expressed concern, but Lew just gave him a head shake, as if the matter was not to be discussed for the present.

“But, Lew, who will represent us in the Senate now?” Javanne asked the question with real interest, and gave Mikhail a look as if she imagined that he might be sent to fill the spot. Margaret almost choked on her food. She could guess at her aunt’s train of thought, without needing any telepathy at all. Well, it would certainly solve the problem of what to do with her third son, wouldn’t it? Get him off the planet—which Mikhail would like, she knew—and out of her hair. But Margaret didn’t like the idea at all, for some reason.

It took her a minute to unravel her own turmoil. She knew now that she must spend some time studying in a Tower, no matter how she felt about it. But Mikhail was her friend, and she wanted him to be on Darkover if she was. It was so simple and, at the same time, so complicated.