The Alton Gift (46 page)

Mikhail tried to explain to her how it worked. She did her best to follow his directions, but without any result. She might as well have tried to use his starstone. The crystal was, after all, a type of matrix, keyed to Mikhail's mind.

Or was it?

Marguerida peered into the faceted brilliance of the crystal. Through it, she could barely make out the shadow matrix on the palm of her other hand. As she watched, the two patterns began to interweave, each enhancing the other, like harmony and counterpoint in music. She heard their combined melodies in her mind.

One love, combined
…
one love, one heart
…

One matrix
…

She could not wield the ring, but she could use the shadow matrix embedded in her own flesh, keyed to her own
laran
. If she channeled her mental power through her shadow matrix, and then through Varzil's ring…

A ball of coruscating fire burned in her memory. She remembered how it had leaped out from their hands, blinding the attackers at the Bat-de of Old North Road. Then, their Gifts had been used as a weapon.

Now I need a different sort of weapon
. Just as the immune serum changed the particles of the trailmen's fever virus, now she envisioned a stream of healing
laran
altering the molecules of poison in Mikhail's body.

Yes, that just might work!

The transformation would take every scrap of
laran
she possessed, right down to the dregs, and she knew by now that her Gifts were considerable. What had Lew said, "
I would have given anything, done anything to save the one I love "
?

Anything to have Mikhail live.

Marguerida reached deep within her mind for her Gift. She found a wellspring of strength, and poured it through the matrix on her hand.

One love, one heart…

One matrix…

One
. . .

She felt the two matrices become attuned to one another. Building

on each other's vibrations, they began to glow even more brightly than before. Crystal fire ignited in their depths. Brighter and stronger they burned, until two spheres of brilliance fused into one.

Marguerida tried to picture Mikhail's physical body as she had last seen him. He had been lying under a light blanket in the chamber in Comyn Tower, a protective field of
laran
surrounding him. His face had been pale, his features composed. Even as she attempted to bring the image into focus, it blurred, weak and indistinct, as if viewed through a badly warped lens.

How could she have forgotten the face that was as familiar to her as her own? Had she floated in the Overworld for so long? Had she lost all connection with the physical plane?

During that moment of uncertainty, Marguerida's concentration faltered. Patches of darkness appeared in the searing brilliance of the joined matrices. They pulsed, red and sluggish, like congested
laran
nodes. The energies fluctuated, peaking irregularly and falling away.

Marguerida struggled to bring the luminous orb under control, to smooth out the variations. Her efforts were of no use. The sphere was rapidly becoming unstable. In only a few moments, she would not be able to contain its power. She had no idea what would happen then, how much devastation would result. In horror, she realized that once she had lost control of the matrices, she would also destroy the only hope of either of them surviving.

She had built up this nexus of power to be used, but she had nowhere to send it. The power had no mooring, no ties to the physical plane. She had generated it from her own mind, and she was adrift in the Overworld, cut off, even as Domenic had been when she reached him on the night of the Midsummer Ball riot.

Domenic
! She had found him, lost and drifting, in the Overworld. What if they were still connected? Could he reach her in the same way?

Nico
… she called out to him across the void. Mikhail joined her, his strength flowing effortlessly into hers.

She caught the distant, eager response.

Mother! Father!

Her son's mental voice echoed weirdly through her thoughts. She could not sustain the contact. She was rapidly losing her ability to concentrate as the shifting energy of the matrices tore and pulled at her.

Hold on
! The words formed in her mind.

Nico, where are you?

Here
—
I am here, in the light
.

Marguerida bent her mental focus again on the joined matrices. They no longer radiated unblemished white light. Instead, she looked upon streams of energy, vibrating at many frequencies. Her rational mind understood this was impossible; she could not perceive such harmonics, so far above and below the visible range. Yet her imagination turned the vibrations into a panoply of rainbow lights, shifting from blue-white brilliance, to the green of tender shoots in spring, the blue of Lake Mariposa on a clear summer's day, the varying crimson shades of blood and lava and the great Bloody Sun itself, the gold of a sunrise high in the Hellers, the dusky slate of basalt, the pale ivory of Temora sands…

She seemed to be seeing all the colors of Darkover.

Vision shifted into hearing. A symphonic blending of sound spread through her mind, even as she had imagined it when Domenic spoke before the Council…

…
the sweet high singing of storm and river, the deep, rumbling groan as massive sheets of crust slowly buckled under unimaginable pressures, the resonant hum of the molten layers beneath
…

HOLD ON
! Domenic's mental voice now came through, louder and clearer than ever.

Suddenly Marguerida understood what was happening, why she saw those colors and heard that music. Her son's unique
laran
bound him to the planet itself, and he was using his Gift as an anchor in the physical plane, reaching out to her through his mind.

The unending gray of the Overwork! faded. She no longer stood upon a chill, featureless plain. Once again, she was floating, but no longer alone. Mikhail was beside her, both of them swept up in a single multicolored sphere. Streams of variegated energy, light and heat, matter and energy, rushed past without touching them.

Suddenly, all sensation of movement ceased. Marguerida blinked as the intense radiance receded. To all sides, gray stone walls emerged, as if from a disappearing mist. Below her, a spot of brightness remained. She found herself floating, looking down on her own body, lying wrapped in a her favorite shawl… in the same room, high in Comyn

Tower, where Mikhail lay. People clustered around her. She recognized them, even though she was looking down at the top of their heads. Domenic grasped her left hand in both of his. The mote of brightness issued from their joined hands.

Mik? Are you with me? Can yon use the power from the ring now?

No, I cannot
. His mental presence was very near, as if he were whispering in her ear.
But together we can
.

Marguerida gathered up the power from the Overworld matrices. Anchored by the sure, steady contact with Domenic's
laran
to the physical plane of Darkover, she and Mikhail became conduits for the ring's healing energy. It passed through them like silk, like sunshine, like a thundering waterfall.

Power flowed first through the astral form of Mikhail's body, then settled into his
laran
-carrying nodes and channels. Deftly, Mikhail shifted the vibration of the energy so that it now infused his every tissue, every fluid, every cell.

Marguerida sensed the minute particles of Francisco's poison like bits of caustic darkness. As Istvana had said, the toxin had bonded to Mikhail's bone marrow.

As the healing energy shifted, the composition of the particles altered. They brightened, infinitesimal suns, before fading away. Only healthy marrow tissue remained.

On the bed, Mikhail's body drew in a deep breath. Already he looked less pale.

Marguerida felt a pulse of reassurance from her husband. To return to the physical plane and their own bodies, they had only to follow the lifeline Domenic had created. Yet Mikhail hesitated, restraining her.

While we are still here in the Overworld
, he said,
there is one more thing that can he done, if you choose
.

What is that? What could be more important than to return to life together?

Mikhail shifted his focus to Marguerida's left palm, where the shadow matrix still pulsed with power. She had encountered Ashara again, with almost fatal results, because of the device. The ancient Keeper was destroyed, but as long as Marguerida remembered her, there remained the possibility of recreating her.

You can be free of her
, Mikhail said,
if you leave it here
.

Marguerida understood instantly what he meant. The shadow matrix

had originally been the keystone, the heart of Ashara's Tower of Mirrors. With it, Marguerida could recreate Ashara's Tower… or she could build a new Tower, one never tainted by Ashara's lust for domination. The Tower as it ought to have been. She could place the shadow matrix at its heart, build its graceful walls with her imagination… and then walk away.

If she had never acquired the shadow matrix, what would have happened at the ambush at Old North Road? Who would have defeated Belfontaine's forces? Would the Comyn have been wiped out with that single bold attack?

Yes, the shadow matrix came with a heavy responsibility, the burden of constant vigilance… just like the Alton Gift. And just like the Alton Gift, it should never be used lightly

What had Lew said about the Alton Gift, that it was a weapon when all else had failed? Could she leave her world and everyone she loved without the added defense of her shadow matrix?

For a long moment, she made no answer. She did not need to. Mikhail understood her.

Then let us go home
, he whispered, a kiss for her mind.

A sense of completion filled her. Then, with a rush like wings, like the astonishing, swift Darkovan nightfall, the last mote of brilliance faded.

Some time later—an eon, a heartbeat, she could not tell—Marguerida returned to herself. She felt her body, muscle and bone, her left hand clenched around a ring. She lay on a bed in a room in Comyn Tower, the same room she had looked down upon. Someone put an arm around her, steadying her. Someone else, with a Keeper's cool deft touch, gently opened her fingers and removed the ring.

Sound reached her, people breathing, her father's voice, too low and hoarse to make out his words. Nico, sobbing softly with exhaustion and relief and joy. The rhythm of her own heart. She opened her eyes and sat up as Mikhail came toward her on unsteady feet. Linnea supported him, and the ring gleamed once again on his right hand.

She could not speak, she could only gaze into that face that was as dear to her as breath. Tears and laughter bubbled up in her. Running her hands over his damp cheeks, she gave herself over to the rapturous moment.

Even with careful tending, it would be some while before Marguerida and Mikhail were fully recovered. With Domenic's blessing, Donal resumed his duties as Mikhail's paxman. Domenic was able to give Yllana and Rory the simultaneous news of Marguerida's perilous experiment and that both their parents were now awake and recovering. Relief and rejoicing swept away any momentary indignation at being kept ignorant of Marguerida's condition. Yllana took over much of the nursing, under the supervision of Katherine and the Castle healers. Rory was offered leave from his duties to be with his family, but he took only enough to visit frequently. Niall accompanied him whenever his own assignments permitted.

Domenic tore himself away from his parents' bedsides to tour the city. When he visited the treatment centers, he wore a formal cloak of Hastur blue and silver, so that he could be easily recognized, and rode his gray Armida-bred mare. It was important that people see the Acting Regent out on the streets, that they hear his voice.

The shelters originally set up by Darius-Mikhail now served admirably as distribution centers for the serum. The matrix mechanics and
leroni
supervised teams of healers administering the serum.

Many who were originally brought there were well enough to return home.

One morning, not long after Marguerida's crisis, Domenic found Jeram and Danilo in one such place, in the poorest area of the city. The building they were working in had once been a barn, with worn timbers and a dirt floor. A faint tang of hay and horses remained. The late summer day was mild enough so that the wide doors stood open, as did the shutters of the unglassed windows. Only a short time ago every pallet had been occupied. Now about half were empty, and the remaining patients did not seem seriously ill. In fact, several were sitting up, playing a game of knuckle bones.

A table had been set up at the far end of the shelter, and Jeram and Danilo bent over it, making notations in a log book. Smiling, Domenic approached them.

"It's going better than we expected." Lines of fatigue etched Jeram's face. "It's too soon to tell if the serum can actually prevent infection or simply attenuate it. I still have to run the final analyses, but I'm hoping that we've reduced the number of cases below a critical level."

"Critical level?" Domenic said. "I don't understand."

"The phenomenon is called
herd immunity"
Jeram explained. "That is, once enough individuals in a population are immune, the disease cannot spread past a scattering of new cases, not the pandemic of previous years. Even if we don't achieve that degree of prevention, we still can treat those who contract the fever, and we can develop a new serum in case the virus mutates again."

We've done it
! Domenic caught Jeram's exhilaration.

"Darkover owes you more than we can ever repay," Domenic said.

"It was a team effort." Jeram looked uncomfortable about being singled out for such thanks. "You, Ulm, Marguerida, Danilo, Darius-Mikhail, the Keepers, every person who came forward. None of us can claim sole credit. By working together, we found a solution that combined your own healing skills and matrix science with Federation scientific knowledge."

Danilo looked thoughtful. "I think that's been a dream ever since the
Terranan
came to Darkover. Sometimes our two cultures have clashed more than we have cooperated, but we have always been richer together than apart."

"So Great-Uncle Regis always said," Domenic said.

A strange look passed over Danilo's face, and for a moment he was silent. Jeram excused himself to continue about his work, reminding Domenic that the serum must still be distributed and patients tended, lest they succumb to secondary infections.

"Doesn't Jeram ever rest?" Domenic watched the Terran hurry out the doors.

"Not that I've noticed. I've rarely seen a man drive himself so hard, as if his soul depended on his making atonement for past sins. May the Bearer of Burdens grant him peace," Danilo murmured, making a sign of blessing.

Yes, Domenic thought, that felt right, even if phrased in
cristoforo
terms. He remembered the look that had passed between Lew and Jeram during the meeting when Jeram agreed to help them. A look of understanding, forgiveness. Hope. Jeram's knowledge, and what he chose to do with it, could kill untold thousands… or save a world.

As Domenic turned to leave, Danilo said, "If you have not already visited the encampment outside the gates, would you please do so? I am concerned about Alanna. She has scarcely left the healing pavilion, even when others offered to take her place. More than that, the last time I spoke with her, she still refused to take the serum."

Domenic had already received his dose. Katherine Aldaran had administered it to everyone in Comyn Castle with a ruthless efficiency that would have done Marguerida credit. The Terran hypo spray was quick and not particularly painful. Domenic could not imagine why Alanna had declined it.

Taking his leave, Domenic guided his horse along the streets toward the gates. The shanty camp had shrunk since his last visit. Trampled grasses and scattered ashes marked empty sites around the old gray stone well. A handful of men moved between cookfires and the few remaining sleeping tents or tended their beasts on the single picket line.

The pavilion was a motley of blankets and scraps of tents, some still bright, others so faded and dingy that their original color could not be determined. Domenic stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dimness of the interior. The place was almost deserted. Only a few pallets were occupied. On one, a white-bearded man lay curled on his side, snoring

loudly. He was fully dressed in shepherd's clothing and did not appear to be ill; in fact, he seemed to be enjoying a comfortable midday nap.

Ulm's black-haired son, Rannirl, stretched out on another pallet, arms raised and crossed behind his head. He sat up as Domenic approached.

"A fair day to you,
Dom
Domenic. I would greet you properly, but—

"No, do not disturb yourself," Domenic said. "Is there no one here to tend you?"

"There is no need." Rannirl shrugged. "I had a touch of the fever, nothing more.
Mestra
Varinna was going to give me the medicine yesterday, but I was already on the mend. I told her to save it for someone who really needs it. Even so, she wanted me to stay in bed for another day. I don't suppose there's an urgent task I can do for you?"

Grinning, Domenic shook his head. Jeram was right; the virulent fever had changed into a benign form that would give the same immunity. The primary danger to those infected with the new strain was, in Rannirl's case, simple boredom. The original fever, however, still carried a grave risk.

"Where is
Damisela
Alanna Alar, who was nursing the sick here? Has she returned to the Castle?" Domenic asked.

"Over there." Rannirl pointed to the farthest corner. "Though she's not stirred since I woke this morning."

Alarmed, Domenic hurried over. It was indeed Alanna, but this was no normal sleep of exhaustion. She had curled into a ball, shivering under layers of blankets. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. He could hear her breath as coarse rattling in her chest. When he brushed her cheek with his lips, he felt the intense, brittle heat of her body.

What had Alanna been thinking, to take such a risk? Why hadn't she taken the serum, as the other nurses had? His head seethed with questions to drive out the one that terrified him—
What if she should die'
?

No, that would not happen. She was not beyond help. Many who had been even more critically ill had recovered.

"Alanna?"

Through chapped lips, she murmured something he could not understand.

"Rannirl, can you help me?" Domenic called. "I must get her to the Castle right away." He lifted Alanna to a sitting position. She had always

been small, and her oversized garments disguised how thin she had become.

Looking relieved to be of use, Rannirl helped Domenic settle Alanna in front of him on the gray mare's saddle. The horse snorted, unsure of what to make of this extra burden. She quieted at Domenic's touch and moved out easily. They headed for the city at a brisk pace. Alanna's head lolled against Domenic's chest, swaying with the motion of the horse's stride. As they passed the gates and threaded their way along the noisy streets, she roused.

"Nico, is it winter again? I'm so cold…"

"Hush, darling, I will take you home and light a fire to keep you warm. Now lie still. I am here with you. Everything is going to be all right."

With a sigh, she rested her face against him and slipped back into unconsciousness.

Immediately upon their arrival at Comyn Castle, servants carried Alanna inside, and others went in search of a healer. Domenic turned his horse over to a groom and then hurried through the labyrinth of Castle stairways and corridors to the Alton family quarters. While he paced the hallway, Illona and Charissa examined Alanna in her chamber.

Domenic remembered standing here, outside Alanna's door, the night of Grandmother Javanne's funeral. He'd been half drunk, boiling over with frustration and rebellion. Had it been only a year ago that Alanna had so enchanted him, that the last thing he wanted was to step into his father's place? How little he had known then of duty… and of love.

The door opened, and Illona stepped out. Domenic struggled not to fling himself into her arms. Her fleeting smile and the steady light of her eyes were as shelter to a man caught in a Hellers blizzard. Warmth spread through him. His pulse quickened. His heart ached with longing. Then he felt disgusted with himself. What was he doing, when Alanna was so sick?

"We have done what we can," Illona said gently. She gave no sign she was aware of Domenic's emotional turmoil, although she could hardly have mistaken the intensity of his feelings. "Before you go in, there is something you should know"

Dearest
, she spoke to him mentally,
I do not think she
wants
to be helped
.

Aloud, she said, "We have given her willow bark infusion to lower her fever. She knows how ill she is and that if she does not receive treatment, she will most likely die. Yet she adamantly refuses to take the serum and has forbidden us to administer it if she becomes unconscious. Domenic, I know she has a reputation of being willful, but I have never seen anyone so determined. She even called upon my monitor's oath to prevent me from taking any action."

Domenic was too stunned by this news to think clearly. It sounded as if Alanna
wanted
to die.

"We swear never to enter the mind of another except by consent," Illona went on, "and Alanna has extended this to mean we cannot treat her body either if she has refused permission. She is correct in principle, of course. The only way around it is to presume she is mad, and that is clearly not the case."

"Blessed Cassilda! What are we to do?"

"Go to her,
precioso
. She spoke of the strength you give her. Perhaps that is what she needs to regain the will to live."

Illona brushed her fingertips against the back of Domenic's wrist, a telepath's butterfly-light touch. Unable to contain his emotions, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. An aching tenderness rose from the core of his being and flowed into the kiss.

"You would send me to Alanna, knowing my only chance of saving her may be the promise I once made to her?"

"Of course." Illona pressed their joined hands to her breast, over her beating heart. "How can your honor in keeping that promise in any way diminish what we have together? If you were capable of turning away from her, now when she needs you most, you would not be the man I love."

"Do you wish nothing for yourself, then?"

She released his hand and turned away with a little sigh. "I already have more than I ever dreamed possible. I have your love and the song that rises in my heart when we are together. I have a place in the world. I will someday be a Keeper, beholden to no man, not even the Regent of Darkover."

As long as I am pledged to Alanna
, he lashed out,
you do not have to choose between Tower and marriage. How convenient for you
!

Illona's chin came up and she glared at him. An instant later, her expression softened. "Let us not quarrel. Rather, let us treasure the time we have together, and its memory when it has passed."

For a moment he was too overcome to speak. His heart rose in his throat so that his next words came as a sob. "I will never love anyone the way I love you."

Her lips trembled, and her beautiful jade-green eyes glittered with tears. He remembered the taste of her kisses, the velvet of her breasts, the silken fall of her hair across his bare chest. Some part of him wanted to cry out that he could not live without her and that once he was married to Alanna, he would never know such love-making again. The
catenas
locked upon his wrist would separate them forever.

The moment fled, and the under-Keeper once more looked out at him. With a bow, he left her and went in to Alanna.