A World Divided (40 page)

“I’ve met a couple,” Kerwin said.

“You’ve got to remember,” Kennard told him, “that this was complicated by a lot of intense, very emotional attitudes. It was virtually a religion, and the Comyn were almost a priesthood at one time. The Keepers, especially, were objects of religious fanaticism that amounted to worship. And now we come to where you fit into the story.”

He shifted his weight, uncomfortably, sighed and stared at Jeff Kerwin. Finally he said, “Cleindori Aillard was my foster-sister. She was a
nedestro
of her clan; that means she was not born in a legitimate marriage, but was the daughter of an Aillard woman and one of the Ridenow, a younger son of that clan. She carried Aillard name because among us a child takes the name of the parent of higher rank, not necessarily the father’s name as you do on Terra. She and I were brought up together from the time she was a small girl, and she was handfasted—which is a sort of pledge of marriage, more between the families than the persons concerned—to my older brother Lewis. Then she was chosen to be trained as Keeper at Arilinn.”

Kennard was still, his face bitter and remote again. Then he said, “I don’t know all the story; and I swore an oath—they forced me to swear, when I came back to Arilinn—there are things I can’t tell you. Anyway, during part of it I was away, fostered on Terra; that’s a long story, too. My father chose a Terran foster-son, and I went to Terra as what you’d call, I suppose, an exchange student, while Lerrys was fostered here. And so I did not see Cleindori for six or seven years, and when I came back she was Dorilys of Arilinn. Keeper. Cleindori was—in some ways—the most powerful person in the Comyn, the most powerful woman on Darkover. Lady of Arilinn. She was a
leronis
of surpassing skill; and, like all Keepers, she was pledged virgin, living in seclusion and a rigid isolation ... she was the last. Even Elorie was not trained as Cleindori had been trained, in the old ways; Cleindori accomplished that much, at least.” He slid away for a moment into the bitter remoteness again. Then, sitting upright on his cushions, his voice dry and emotionless, he said: “Cleindori was a fighter; a rebel. She was a reformer at heart; and, as Lady of Arilinn, and one of the last surviving Aillard women in the direct line, she had considerable power and Council status in her own right. So she tried to change the laws of Arilinn. She fought bitterly against the new Council, and the conviction they held, that Comyn Towers should maintain their secrecy and their old, protected, semi-religious status. She tried to bring in outsiders to the Towers—she succeeded in that, a little. Neskaya Tower, for example, will take anyone with telepathic power—Comyn, commoner, or beggar born in a ditch. But then, they have not had a real Keeper for half a hundred years. But then she began to attack the taboos around her own special status. And that was too much, that kind of heresy raised up rebellion ... Cleindori broke the taboos again and again, insisting that she could break them with impunity because, as Keeper, she was responsible only to her own conscience. And at last she ran away from Arilinn.”

Kerwin had begun to suspect that it would end there, but even so it was a shock. He said very low, “With an Earthman. With my father.”

“I am not sure whether she left the Tower with him, or whether he came later,” Kennard evaded. “But yes, this is why Auster hates you, why there are many, many people who think your very existence is a sacrilege. It was not unheard of that a Keeper should lay down her powers and marry. Many have done so. But that a Keeper should leave the Towers and give up her ritual virginity and remain a Keeper ... no, that they would not tolerate.” The bitterness in his voice deepened. “After all, a Keeper is not so unusual; it was discovered, or rediscovered, in my father’s time, that any halfway competent technician can do a Keeper’s work. Including some men. I can, if I must, do it myself, though I am not especially skillful at it. But the Keeper of Arilinn—well, she is a symbol. Cleindori said once to me that what the Comyn really needed was a child’s waxen doll on a stick, to wear the crimson robe and speak the right words at the proper time, and there would be no need for Keepers at Arilinn; and since the doll could remain virgin forever without fuss or pain or sacrifice, all the troubles of Arilinn would be forever solved. I don’t suppose you can imagine just how shocking that was to the more conservative men and women of the Council. They were very bitter against Cleindori’s—sacrilege.”

He scowled at the floor. “Auster too has a special reason to hate you. He too was born among the Terranan, although he does not remember; for a time he too was in the Spacemen’s Orphanage, although we got him back from them before he had even learned their language. I have not heard him speak a word of Terran, or
cahuenga
, since he was thirteen years old; but that’s neither here or there. That’s a strange story.” Kennard raised his head and looked at Kerwin, saying, “It’s fortunate for you that the Terrans sent you to the Kerwins on Terra. There were plenty of fanatics who would have considered that they had done a virtuous deed—to avenge the dishonor of a
vai leronis
by killing the child she had borne to her lover.”

Kerwin found that he was shivering, although the room was warm. “If that’s the case,” he said, “what in the hell am I doing here at Arilinn?”

“Times have changed,” Kennard said. “As I told you, we’re dying out. There just aren’t enough of us any more. Here at Arilinn, we have a Keeper, but there are not more than two or three Keepers in all of the Domains, and a couple of little girls growing up who might grow
into
Keepers. The fanatics have died off or mellowed into old age; and even if there are still a few around, the ones who are left have learned to listen to the voice of expediency. I ought to say, of stark necessity; we cannot afford to waste anyone who might be carrying Aillard or Ardais gifts, or ... others. You have Ridenow blood, and Hastur blood not too many generations back, and Alton. For a variety of reasons—” He checked himself. He said, “Different people are ruling the Council. When you came back to Thendara ... well, it didn’t take me long to guess who you must be. Elorie saw you in the monitor screens—saw Cleindori’s matrix, rather—and confirmed it. That night in the Sky Harbor Hotel, half a dozen of us from the few remaining Towers gathered there—outside Comyn Castle, so that we could talk freely about it—and the reason we met was to try and reach some agreement about standards for admissions to the Towers, so that we could keep more than one or two of them working. When you walked in—well, you remember what happened; we thought you were one of us, and it wasn’t just that you had red hair. We could sense what you were. So we called you. And you came. And here you are.”

“Here I am. An outsider—”

“Not really, or you could never have passed the Veil. You have guessed that we don’t like having non-telepaths around; that’s why we have no human servants, and why Mesyr stays and keeps house for us even though she’s past working in the screens. You passed the Veil, which means you have Comyn blood. And I feel at ease with you. That’s a good sign.”

Kerwin felt his eyebrows lift. Kennard might feel at ease with him, but it sure as hell wasn’t mutual, not yet. He was inclined to like the older man, but that was a good long way from feeling at home with him.

“He’s wishing he felt the same way about you,” Taniquel, popping her head into the room. “You will, Jeff. You’ve just lived among barbarians too long.”

“Don’t tease,
chiya
,” Kennard said, in indulgent reproof. “He’s not used to you either, which doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a barbarian. Get us a drink and stop making mischief, why don’t you? We’re going to have trouble enough.”

“No drinks yet,” said Rannirl, pausing beneath the arch into the room. “Elorie will be down in a minute. We’ll wait.”

“That means she’s going to test him,” Taniquel said. She came over to the cushions and dropped gracefully, catlike, her head leaning against Kennard’s knee. She flung out her arms, one of them striking Kerwin; she yawned, crooked her arm carelessly round his foot, giving it a little, absent-minded pat with her hand. She let her hand rest on his ankle, her eyes glinting up at him in a mischievous smile. He was uncomfortably conscious of the touch. He had always disliked being touched, and he felt Taniquel knew it.

Neyrissa and Corus drifted into the room, found places on the cushions; they shifted, making room for Kennard’s lame leg, and Taniquel moved restlessly until she was between Kerwin and Kennard, snuggled into the cushions like a kitten, an arm across the lap of each. Kennard patted her curly head affectionately, but Kerwin drew uneasily away. Damn it, was the girl just an outrageous tease? Or was she simply naive, relaxing, childlike, among men she found as neutral as if they were brothers or close relatives? Certainly she treated Kennard—and he, her—as if he were a favorite uncle, and there was nothing provocative in the way she touched him, but somehow it was subtly different with Kerwin, and he was conscious of the difference, and wondered if s
he
was. Was he just imagining things? Once again, as when Elorie had walked unannounced into his room before he had finished dressing, Kerwin felt troubled. Damn it, the etiquette of a telepath group was still a mystery to him.

Elorie, Mesyr and Auster came together into the room. Auster’s glare instantly sought out Kerwin, and Taniquel straightened herself and drew just a little away from Kerwin. Corus went to a cabinet, evidently from long habit. “What will you drink? Your usual, Kennard, Mesyr? Neyrissa, what will you have? Elorie, I know you never drink anything stronger than s
hallan
...”

“She will tonight,” Kennard said. “We’ll have
kirian
.”

Corus turned, startled, for confirmation. Elorie nodded. Taniquel rose and went to help Corus, filling low goblets from a curiously shaped flask. She brought a glass to Kerwin, not asking if he wanted it.

The liquid in the glass was pale and aromatic; Kerwin glanced at it and felt that they were all watching him. Damn it, he was getting tired of that performance! He set the goblet, untasted, on the floor.

Kennard laughed. Auster said something Kerwin didn’t catch, and Rannirl frowned, murmuring a reproving reply. Elorie watched them, smiling faintly, raising her own goblet to her lips and barely tasting the liquid within. Taniquel giggled, and Kennard exploded:

“Zandru’s hells! This is too serious for a joke! I know you like your fun, Tani, but just the same—” He accepted the glass Corus brought him, staring into it with a frown. “I seem to be cast in the role of schoolmaster too much of the time!” He sighed, lifted the goblet and said to Kerwin, “This stuff—it isn’t pure
kirian
, in case you know what that is, but
kirian
liqueur—it’s not exactly a drug or a stimulant, but it does lower the threshold of resistance against telepathic reception. You don’t have to drink it unless you want it, but it helps. Which is why we’re all sharing it.” He sipped his own briefly and went on: “Now that you’re here, and you’ve had a chance to rest a bit, it’s fairly important that we test you for
laran
, find out how much of a telepath you are, what
donas
you may be carrying, how much training you’ll need before you can work with the rest of us—or the other way round. We’re gong to test you half a dozen ways; it’s more efficient in a group. Hence—” he drank another sip—“
kirian
.”

Kerwin shrugged and picked up the glass. The liquid had a sting and a curious volatile smell; it seemed to evaporate on his tongue even before he could taste it. It wasn’t his idea of a good way to get drunk. It was more like inhaling perfume than drinking anything. The flavor was vaguely lemony. Four or five sips finished the glass, but you had to take it slowly; the fumes were simply too strong to drink it like an ordinary drink. He noticed that Corus made a face over his, as if he violently disliked the taste. The others were apparently accustomed to it; Neyrissa swirled it in her glass and inhaled the fumes as if it were a fragrant brandy. Kerwin decided the stuff was very much of an acquired taste.

He finished the goblet and set it down.

“Now what happens?” To his surprise, the words, on his tongue, sounded curiously thick; he had some trouble framing them, and when he had finished speaking, he was not sure what language he had been speaking. Rannirl turned toward him and with a grin that Kerwin knew was meant to reassure him said, “Nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t know why this is necessary,” Taniquel said. “He’s already been tested for
laran
. They saved us that much trouble with the monitor screens.” As she spoke, a picture flickered, unbidden, in Kerwin’s mind, the brother and sister who had studied his matrix, arrogantly told him he was not welcome in their house or on their world.

“They had the damned insolence!” Corus said angrily. “I didn’t know that!”

Taniquel said, “As for the rest—”

Kerwin looked down at the girl curled up close to his knee, her face upturned to him, her eyes, meeting his, bright and sympathetic. She was very close to him. Kerwin could have bent down and kissed her.

He did.

Taniquel leaned against him, smiling, her cheek resting against his. She said, “Mark him positive for empathy, Kennard.”

Kerwin started, startled, at his own arms around Taniquel; then laughed and relaxed, suddenly not worrying about it. If the girl intended to object, she would have done it already; but he sensed that she was pleased, nestling within his arm as if she was quite content to be there. Auster exploded into a mouthful of unintelligible syllables, and Neyrissa shook her head reprovingly at Taniquel.

“
Chiya
, this is a serious matter!”

“And I was perfectly serious,” said Taniquel, smiling, “even if my methods strike you as unorthodox.” She laid her cheek against Kerwin’s; suddenly, surprisingly, Kerwin felt a lump in his throat, and for the first time in years he felt tears gathering and blurring his eyes. Taniquel was not smiling now; she moved away from Kerwin a little, but left her hand cradling his cheek, like a promise.