To Save a World (17 page)

DAY BY DAY, they streamed into the city, in caravans and alone, red-headed Darkovan telepaths: Comyn and commoner, city dweller and rustic, noble and peasant, with only one thing in common; the flaming red hair which had been, from time immemorial on Darkover, linked indissolubly with the telepath genes and the
laran
powers of the ancient world.

No; more than one thing in common. Each one, as he came, through snow-clogged passes or dust-choked dry plains, had another story to tell of a world lying in ruin, near death.

"For the fall plowing, the earth has turned to black choking dust," said a quiet bitter man from the lowlands. "Even the weeds will not grow. The soil is barren as a woman of ninety years."

"We die from the blazing sun," said a tall, wild-faced mountain lord, dressed in the embroidered leather cloaks which had been abandoned in the cities for more than a hundred years; "there is no fog on the hills, no rain. The fumes of the resin trees poison our beasts in the sun."

"The trees are leafless, turned to yellow brown and spreading no seeds this autumn," said a quiet aristocrat with the face of a Hastur and the gray eyes of the forest people. "The trailmen are dying in their villages; they come to the edge of their forests with their red eyes seared almost to white, standing there, no longer afraid of mankind. We spare them what food we can, but we too are facing hunger and privation."

"There is no Ghost Wind, and yet the Ya-men are coming from the hills," said a sad-faced girl with braided hair, her dress caught with silver butterflies and the blue starstone of a Keeper like a pendant jewel at her throat. "No living human has seen them before, and now we see only their dead bodies lying at the edge of the deep woods. We have feared that always, because when the Ghost Wind brought them from the hills they came in a cannibal rage, to pillage and tear and raven, but it is terrible to know that they are dying away and there will be no more."

"The very land is washing away where there has been fire . . . ."

"The trees bear no fruit, no nuts, no oil . . . ."

"The voices even of the catmen are stilled in the ranges . . . ."

"We are dying . . . ."

"We are dying . . . ."

"Dying . . . ."

The Terrans set up food programs; but with the lack of transportation on Darkover, there was little help available for the more remote districts. Regis had thrown his own personal fortune into the gap, but it was necessary to prove, first, what was happening and how. As more and more of his kinsmen streamed into the city—kinsmen and others, kin by virtue of the curious genetic quality they bore—he grew silent and desperate. How could he find a way to draw them together, in some fashion that would save their world? Could even all the resources and wealth of Darkover do it?

He had left Project Telepath to David and Jason. There was no time for it, now. If it could be of help, Jason would know, and tell him. His own personal life was in abeyance, held to the one agonizing preoccupation of safeguarding his surviving children.

Linnea had not returned to Arilinn; she remained at his side, and her presence was both comfort and torture; the torture of longing and need; and yet he would not expose her to the danger that had struck at Melora and her child within the very walls of the Terran HQ. If an assassin could strike there, then the very Tower of Ashara or the sanctuaries at Hali could provide no surety for the woman who bore the seed of Hastur. And he would not expose Linnea to that.

With Regis withdrawn, much of the onus of the project fell on David, but it seemed meaningless, and he had abandoned routine tests. What good would it do to discover that Desideria could manipulate small objects up to but not including eighteen grams gross weight? He occupied himself, feeling faintly guilty, with the records of the curious changes in Missy. He and Keral were together in his quarters late one afternoon going over them with interest.

"I found it hard to believe what you told me, about emotional factors initiating the changes," he said; "but it seems to be contact with Conner which is having some effect on Missy. Evidently the shift back to female phase is reasonably complete, although it's true we've used some hormones. It was a matter of desperation; she was terribly ill; there was a partial failure of the adrenals and thyroid. We had to try."

He studied Keral and did not have to say the next thought in his mind: that the increasing delicacy of Keral's skin color, something in his growing passivity, made him suspect a slow, beginning change in the chieri. It was a faintly frightening thing to contemplate. Keral, following his thoughts with that bewildering accuracy, said, "David, could you bring on that change in me? You said the hormones were similar."

"With Missy, it was life and death," David said. "I wouldn't risk it for anything less, Keral, even with humans, hormone treatment is risky and inexact, and we've been studying it for three thousand years! The quantities needed for changes are so minute, and a mistake can mean madness and death. We've simply got to wait and see . . . how long does the shift usually take?"

"Under the proper stimulus," Keral said, "not long. As you know, we chieri are not so tied to clocks and sun cycles as you; but perhaps, for a full phase shift, a night and a day . . . at a rough guess."

"What usually touches off the shift, Keral? Is it the seasons? The phases of the moons?" There were four, David remembered, on Darkover, and keeping track of their eclipses and phases would have been a task to drive an astrologer wild.

"I am not certain what brings on the change to a fertile state," Keral said. "How could I be sure? I have been told by my elders that I am of an age for bearing—no, I don't mind talking of it now; earlier I did not know you, or your language, well enough to make myself understood. In the ordinary way, many things which we find hard to—analyze in your way—can bring on the changes for mating. The most common is—well, the preliminaries of love, the very stimulus of contact. I don't know how it works, myself."

David said, with some wryness, "I never thought I'd be part of an investigation into the sex life of your people. It might be easier if I, if I hadn't involved myself in it!"

Keral said, "Do you wish you hadn't?"

"No, I'm committed." He laughed suddenly, stirred by a sudden and imaginary picture of Keral as a woman. It was hard to imagine, harder to believe. His picture of the chieri as a female was ineradicably colored by his memory of Missy as he had first known her, and her somewhat crude seductiveness.

"I know," said Keral in a low voice, "I'm afraid of that, too. And perhaps that very fear is—is inhibiting the changes."

The knock at the door which interrupted them was welcome, at least to David; but Keral flinched as he saw Missy standing in the door.

The only remaining trace of the acute psychotic episode was a certain scarring and discoloration of her skin; and she had wholly ceased to project the blatant female sexuality, although she had a faintly feminine appeal which David was glad, for Conner's sake, to see. She was still, obviously, in the neuter state, and David had no idea whether she and Conner had resumed any sort of sexual relationship, though he supposed, if they had, he would probably know. He was quite aware of the tension of abstinence between Linnea and Regis, and it was very wearing. What had Regis said, that sex let loose in a group of strange telepaths was disruptive? That was an understatement if there'd ever been one. There were times when, looking at Desideria, he still saw the vague and disturbing image of the exquisitely sensual young girl which she had once been, and could not control a flare of desire quite incongruous when he looked at the present Desideria, with her great age and sexless dignity. Well, she was one hell of a personality and she'd be a woman until she died! He wouldn't have touched her—good God, she could have been his great-grandmother—but it was there, and they both knew it, and it made them gentle and warm with one another, and strangely like lovers . . . .

He came back quickly to Missy; taking refuge in the commonplaces of courtesy.

"Did you want something?"

Keral had gone white with fear, and Missy looked past David to say quickly, "I won't hurt you, either of you." Her eyes rested on Keral with a curious, veiled contempt as she said, "You've lived a sheltered life, haven't you?"

Keral said, "I've no right to judge you, Missy."

Her face softened slightly. "I know what you were trying to do, Keral. I'm sorry I couldn't—respond. I wasn't sane. But I do thank you, and I've come to ask you to do something else for me."

Keral bent his head. "I'll do what I can to help, you know that."

"You tell me that I belong to your own race, your kind. I know nothing, nothing of my people. I was a foundling, literally a castaway, abandoned with my birth wounds still bleeding, thrown out to die like some abortion." Her face was bitter with an old anguish and Keral shook his head in bewilderment.

"I cannot understand it, either. To our people, children are precious beyond words, beloved, welcome, cause for incredible rejoicing and joy. That a woman of the chieri should cast her own child out to die . . . unless she herself was dead or mad—"

"You've had proof that we can go mad, all right," said Missy with a wry smile. "Oh, I believe what you say; I saw you with the child in your arms, the child of Regis Hastur's woman, and it evidently did something strange to you, too. But I want to know more of your people."

"You shall know everything I know myself," Keral promised, and David said, "There are also legends of the chieri among men. Desideria knows those, and she has promised to tell what she knows—for Keral and me. Why not come with us, Missy? I'm sure she'd be glad to have you . . . . "

Missy flinched slightly, then laughed a little. Like Keral, she had a magical laugh, light and clear as the chiming of a bell. "I'm still afraid of her," she confessed, "but she didn't mean to hurt me, either. And I must learn not to be afraid."

"That's true," David said gravely. He knew that somehow a strong bond was being woven, and that all resentments must vanish . . . and he was not sure why, but it was a part of what he must some day become.

It felt incredible now, to realize that he had not wanted to come to Darkover at all.

Before he came here, he had been only half alive. The thing he had regarded as a freakish deformity was now the major part of his life; and as he reached out to Keral for the familiar touch, he knew that being without it, now, would be worse than blinding.

"THIS IS a legend told in the heyday of the Comyn, years before the Terrans came with their ships and their Empire. I heard it when I was a young girl, Desideria Leynier, being trained in Castle Aldaran as a matrix Keeper and technician. But it stems from the days before the Terrans ever came to our world, with their ships and their Empire.

In the ancient days when the valley lords held court at Thendara, and rode forth from Arilinn to Carthon, there dwelt a lord of the Old People in Carthon, king over those who dwelt there. There were no Seven Domains in those days, and none of the Comyn.

There was a maiden of the Fair People of the Wood, Kierestelli by name, which is to say
Crystal
in the valley speech. The legends say much of her beauty, but beauty dwells in the eyes of love and not in any single feature. In those days there was an evil queen in the forest, and she drove out Kierestelli to wander long in the woods alone, to flee into the lands of the valley people, and there she met with the Lord of Carthon, by the wells of Reuel. He took her home to his castle in the ancient city that now lies drowned in the Bay of Dreams, beyond the isle of Mormallor, and there she dwelt in happiness; but word came that she was held prisoner there, and the chieri lords sent a great treasure in gold and jewels—for they knew that the People of the Valley valued these things, which are nothing to the chieri folk—for her ransom. But Kierestelli chose to remain with the Lord of Carthon, because she loved him; so the Lord of Carthon sent back all the treasure but a single gold ring, which was long a treasure in the house of Hastur.

The treasure of the forest folk is a legend in the Venza Mountains, for when the Lord of Carthon sent it back, the caravan was waylaid and came never to the Yellow Forest. So the sire of Kierestelli said, 'These people would keep both gold and woman,' and gathered his people for the last battle to rescue her; but before the first arrow flew, Kierestelli came from the besieged castle, in her shift and barefoot, her hair hanging loose about her face, walking through the assembled defenders and besiegers alike, and knelt before her father, laying her hand in her lord's, and begging them to be reconciled.

'I will not bear a child in war and terror,' she told him, and when the chieri lord saw that her body was heavy with the child of Carthon, he laid down his spear and wept, and then he called his men back into the forest; after, they pledged friendship eternal, and there a great feast was held—they still say, in the mountains, when someone shows great honor, 'They feasted him like the Lords of Carthon.'

In the end the friendship was broken, and the chieri withdrew again across the Kadarin and into the hills beyond Carthon; but from the sons of Carthon was born Cassilda, who was the bride of Hastur, and from whom were descended the sons of the Seven Domains."

Desideria ended her story, and her listeners sat silent for a moment. Then David, seizing on a salient point, said:

"They speak of a
woman
of the chieri . . . ."

"That is the way she appeared to your people,'' Keral said quietly. "To me what seems important about this tale—and it may well be true—is that a child was born between human and chieri, without madness or fear. I have known long that the Comyn people here on Darkover bore the blood of my people in your veins. We chieri think of you as our far grandchildren. And so, although we die, some part of our folk survives, even at far remove."

David asked, "But where does the red hair come from?"

"I'm not sure," Jason said, "but I've studied Darkovan history; there's a theory, you know, that Darkover was originally colonized by one of the 'lost ships'—ships from the 21st and 22nd centuries, before the Terran Empire, before the hyperdrives, when so many ships vanished and were never heard of again. Red hair—adrenal function—is commonplace in one or two old Earth strains, particularly the highland Celts who were said to be psychic—second sight. Possibly this became fixed in the telepath line."

Desideria said, "I think I mentioned the belief among matrix workers—the redder the hair, the stronger the gift. But there was also a theory that very intense psychic work would make a Keeper go gray early. My own hair turned white almost overnight after the Sharra contacts."

"So did mine," said Regis in a low voice.

"Partial adrenal exhaustion?" Jason theorized.

"In the mountains where I had my home," Desideria said, "I heard many tales of the chieri, how fair they were. There is an old song. I cannot recall it now," her brow furrowed in a strange, inward-turned attempt at recall, "which tells of a chieri woman seeking for her mortal lover, not knowing—so long they live—that in the years between, her lover had grown old and died . . . ."

Missy said, not looking up, her voice almost a whisper, "Before I knew what I was . . . only once did I ever think I loved; I remained young, a child in looks and years, and he grew old, old . . . ."

Her voice died. Keral reached out quietly, across Conner, and touched her hand. She smiled, a brief sad glint of a smile, and was silent. Regis reached for Linnea's hand, drew her fingers under his arm.

"Always—a
woman
of the chieri," David murmured, hardly aware that he spoke aloud.

Linnea raised her eyes and looked at Keral. She said, "I am not idly curious, believe me. But I have heard strange things, in legend. Legends lie;
to lie like an old song
, is a proverb with us. Tell me this, then. Is it true that your people take a mate but once, and if death or misfortune part you, seek never for another?"

"Not entirely true," said Keral, "although it is true that once our hearts and emotions are set on one, we seldom seek elsewhere. I am speaking from the long memory of my people, not from my own experience, you understand, Lady. Rare is the chieri who comes not to his lover untouched—as she to him. It is not that we demand this, it is simply that all things come in season; and we do not, as we say, seek fruit in spring, or blossom from a winter bough . . . ." He sighed. "It is not only that we desire no other; we can endure no other, as a common thing. And this is why we died, our people . . . . Perhaps it is Evanda's way to cancel the gift of long life she gave us when the world was shaped. Our women are able to bear for only—I know not your words—
cuere
—one turn of the seasons? A year? Yes; maybe one year in a hundred, and sometimes for many
cueru
at a time, those of us in male phase can sow only barren seed. So rarely does it happen, as you can see, that both would come together,
raiva
—ripened for mating: one to engender, and his mate to conceive, in a single season. So fewer and fewer children were born to us. There are exceptions. There are times when one of us, desperate to bear, would seek another mate. Yet, it has ever been a bitter, hard thing, and seldom can any one of our people bring herself to this. Something in our blood will not allow it, as I have told you."

Linnea said: "Is it true then, what else they say—that your people lie down together—" she used the courtly and evasive casta word,
accandir
, but spoke calmly and without embarrassment, "only when they desire children?"

Keral laughed aloud. "
That
tale, at least, is false—or else it would make us a strange folk indeed! No, Linnea, I suppose we come together like any other people in this world, or any other world, for consolation in loneliness, for pleasure, for heart's ease. But—except in the madness of the Change—it is not a drive, a compulsion. Not a need, but a pleasantness, as with music, or dancing."

David said slowly, "A people without divided sexes, then, without an overwhelming sex drive—"

"Would have a low survival factor," Jason said; and Regis added, "Something of this has come down in our blood from you. I've known for many years that among telepaths the sexual drive is lower than in ordinary man."

Conner, who had not spoken aloud yet, said quietly from where he sat in shadow, "This makes sense. Those with 'closed minds' have no way to reach one another except in the blind touching of bodies in sex . . . ."

"And sex can be a deeper contact," said Linnea gravely, "or it can—if you're doing intense telepathic work—act as a kind of static, so disruptive that it was believed, for a long time, that a Keeper must be a virgin. Most of them aren't, these days—I'm not—but some care is needed. Men doing heavy telepath work in the matrix screens are impotent a good deal of the time."

Desideria nodded. "When I was a girl, it was believed a Keeper must be a virgin," she said. "I was banned from my place with my first love; I found soon that I had not lost my powers, but it was years before I had the courage to use them again."

"Another thing," said Linnea, looking straight at David, "among the Comyn telepaths men and women are not regarded as so different, and it is common enough for young girls to fall in love, first, with other girls, and young boys with their playmates."

"It's not unknown among Terrans either," said Jason, "but the taboo is very strong."

Regis said, holding Linnea's hand, "For me, this was a frightful conflict. I was brought so young to know that I was the last male Hastur; my father died so young, my grandfather so old. From my earliest childhood I came to feel they regarded me only as
seed
. I came to hate women, for a time. I felt at ease only with other men, my kinsmen and cousins . . . ." He looked quickly, smiling, at Danilo.

David laughed. "They could have solved that in the Empire," he said; "they'd have had you contributing to a sperm bank." He chuckled at Regis' look of noncomprehension and explained, and had the surprising experience of seeing Regis Hastur blushing. Evidently sex wasn't quite the no-taboo thing among telepaths that he had been led to believe. Silently he reflected that despite the strong taboo on overt homosexual behavior in Terran cultures, he had often felt closer rapport with his male friends in the hospital than with most women.

—
You establish rapport quickly,
from Regis.

I'm not homosexual!

Would it matter so much if you were?
Regis caught them all up quickly in the swift net of rapport. Conner and Missy, their fingers lightly intertwined, fair and dark, dropped a curious bittersweet note into the contact; a swift touch of warmth from Desideria,
I love you all, although none of you has ever touched me or will
; a strange tense reaching from Keral, still hesitant and filled with fear . . . .

—
the preliminaries of love play . . . how break this deadlock
. . . .

There was a long silence. Outside the glass, soft snow beat on the panes and a silent wind whirled, white against the darkness. In Keral's mind was a picture of a forest, lying quiet under snow, light forms moving in a snowflake dance through the bare trees and groves . . . a moment they all felt the soft blowing through the chieri grove as it lay silent in the winter twilight.

Then Regis said softly, aloud:

"Among my people they say that when men come together with men, or women with women, as lovers—we call it the
donas amizu
, the gift of friends—it is recognition of a deeper truth. That within every woman is a hidden man; within every man, a hidden woman. And it is to this inner self, the polar opposite of your own, that you give your love."

"The
animus
and the
anima
," Jason murmured.

"And in the chieri," Missy said softly, "the inner side is not hidden, and lies nearer to the surface. This is new to me, too . . . ."

"—
but not a thing of shame
."

And once again the intense awareness caught them all up, Regis, Linnea, Desideria holding them all together in a close bond. David suddenly knew that he had found his own truth. Man or woman? He touched Conner for a moment and sensed a like sense of homecoming; felt Linnea nestling like a flower in his consciousness, reached out briefly with his hands, drew her close and kissed her lips; felt himself embraced quickly by Jason; dropped in and out of swift awareness; Missy flaring like a comet across his senses; the swift stir of warmth and love that was Desideria; returning to Keral with a sense of homecoming.

He knew, now, that although they would be afraid of each other again, the deadlock of shame and fear had been broken, and he and Keral would somehow find a way to one another.

The rapport slid apart, and they were separated. But David knew he would never be alone again.

Even as they drew apart, an undertone of mirth ran through their minds, still lightly linked, with Linnea's laughing protest:

"I love your kinsman, Regis; but must he go wherever we go? Will Danilo sleep at our feet? Can we never be alone?"

And the quick, sobering answer: "Would you meet Melora's fate? Alone?"

And as the contact fell apart into its last disappearing shreds, a scrap of thought that there were some things even a bodyguard could not do.