Marion Bradley - The Sword of Aldones

“Ritual,” I said impatiently. “Superstition!”

The still old face turned to me. “You think so? What do you know of the Sword of Aldones?”

I swallowed. “It is — the weapon against Sharra,” I said. “I suppose it’s a matrix, and, like the Sharra one, it’s set in a sword for camouflage.”

It was a hypothetical discussion anyhow, and I -said so. The Sword of Aldones was in the rhu fead, the holy place of the Comyn, and might as well have been in another Galaxy.

There are things like that on Darkover. They can’t be destroyed; but they are so powerful, and so deadly dangerous, even the Comyn, or the Keepers, can’t be trusted with them.

The rhu fead was so keyed and so activated by matrices that no one can enter it but the Comyn who have been sealed into council. It is physically impossible for an outsider to get inside without stripping his mind bare. By the time he got through the force-layer, he would be an imbecile without enough directive power to know why he had come.

But inside — the Comyn of a thousand years ago had put them out of our own reach. They are guarded in the opposite fashion. No Comyn can touch them. An outsider could have picked them up freely, but no Comyn can come near the force-field surrounding them.

I said, “Every unscrupulous Comyn for three hundred generations has been trying to figure that one out.”

“But none of them have had a Keeper on their side,” Callina said. She looked at Ashara. “A Terran?”

“Perhaps,” Ashara said. “At least, an outsider. Not a Terran born on Darkover, with a mind adjusted to the forces here, but a real alien. Such a one would pass where we never could. His mind would be locked off and sealed against those forces, because he wouldn’t even know they were there.”

“Fine,” I said. “All I have to do is go some fifty light years, and bring one back, without telling him anything about this planet, or what we want him for, and hope he has enough telepathic talent to co-operate with us.”

Ashara’s colorless eyes held a flicker of scorn. “You are a matrix technician. What about the screen?”

Abruptly, I remembered the strange, shimmering screen I had seen in Callina’s matrix laboratory. So it was one of the legendary psychokinetic transmitters, then? Vaguely, I began to see what they were aiming at. To transmit matter, animate or inanimate, instantaneously through space —

“That hasn’t been done for hundreds of years!”

“I know what Callina can do,” Ashara said with her strange smile. “Now. You and Callina touched minds, at the council—”

“Surface contact. It exhausted us both.”

Ashara nodded. “Because all your energy — and hers — went into maintaining the contact. But I could put the two of you into focus as you and Marius were linked.”

I whistled soundlessly. That was drastic; normally only the Altons can endure that deep focus.

“The Altons — and the Keepers.”

I looked dubiously at Callina, but her eyes were averted. I understood; that sort of rapport is the ultimate intimacy. I wasn’t any too eager myself. I had my own private hell that would not bear the light of day; could I open it for Callina’s clear seeing?

Callina’s hand twitched in a shuddering denial.

“No!”

The refusal hurt. If I could steel myself to this, why should she refuse?

“I will not!” There was anger in her voice, but terror, too. “I am mine — I belong to myself — No one, no one, least of all you, shall violate that!”

I was not sure whether she spoke to me or to Ashara,, but I tried to calm her with tenderness. “Callina, do this for me? We can’t be lovers yet, but you can belong to me this way—”

I needed her so, why did she go rigid in my arms as if my touch were shameful? She sobbed wildly, stormily. “I can’t, I won’t, I can’t! I thought I could, but I cannot!” She faced Ashara at last, her face white, burning. “You made me so — I’d give my life if I had never seen you, I’d die to be free of you, but you made me so, and I cannot change!”

“Callina—”

“No!” Her voice vibrated with passionate refusal. “You don’t know everything! You wouldn’t want it, either, if you knew!”

“Enough!” Ashara’s voice was a cold bell, recalling us to the silence in the tower; it seemed that even the flame in Callina’s eyes died. “Be it so, then; I cannot force it. I will do what I can.”

She rose from the glass throne. Her tiny, blue-ice form hardly reached to Callina’s shoulder. She looked up and met my eyes for the first time; and that icy, compelling stare swallowed me…

The room vanished. For a moment I looked on blank emptiness, like the starless chasms past the rim of the universe; a shadow among shadows, I drifted in tingling mist. Then a stream of force pulsed in me; deep in my brain a spark, a core waked to life, charging me with power that stung through my whole being. I could feel myself as a network of live nerves, a sort of lacework of living force.

Then, suddenly, a face sketched itself on my mind.

I cannot describe that face, although I know, now, what it was. I saw it three time, but there are no human words to describe it. It was beautiful beyond imagining; and it was terrible beyond all conception. It was not even evil. But it was damnable and damned. Only a fraction of a second it swam in my eyes, then it burned out in the darkness. But in that instant, I looked straight in at the gates of hell.

I struggled back to reality. I was in Ashara’s blue-ice tower room again. Again? Had I left it? I felt giddy and confused, disoriented; but Callina threw herself at me, and the convulsive pressure of her arms, the damp fragrance of her hair and her wet face against mine, brought me back to sanity.

Over her shoulder I saw that the carven throne was empty. “Where is Ashara?” I asked numbly.

Callina straightened, her sobs vanishing without trace. Her face held a sudden, uncanny stillness. “You had better not ask me,” she murmured. “You would never believe the answer.”

I frowned. I could only guess at the bond between the Keepers. Had we seen Ashara at all, or only her semblance? Had Callina seen that face?

Outdoors the lights had faded; we walked through the rainy courtyard and the echoing passages without once speaking. In Callina’s matrix laboratory it was warm; I pulled off my cloak, letting the heat soak into my chilled body and aching arm, while Callina busied herself adjusting the telepathic dampers. I crossed the room to the immense screen I had seen the day before, and stared, frowning, into its cloudy depths. Transmitter.

At its side, cradled in the silk shock-absorber, was the largest matrix I had ever seen. An ordinary matrix mechanic operates the first sis. levels. A telepath can manipulate the seventh and eighth. Sharra was ninth or tenth — I had never been sure — and demanded at, least three linked minds, one of them a telepath. I could not even guess at the level of this one.

Sorcery? Unknown laws of science? They were one. But the freak Gift born in my blood, a spark in my nerves — I was Comyn, and for such things as this the Comyn had been bred.

To explain the screen fully would be impossible outside the Comyn. It captured images. It was a duplicator; a trap for a desired pattern. An automatic assembly of a set of predetermined requisites — no, I can’t explain and I won’t try.

But with my telepathic force, augmented by the matrix, I could search, without space limitation, for such a mind as we wanted. Of all the billions of human and nonhuman minds in the million worlds in spacetime, somewhere was one exactly suited to our purpose, having a certain awareness — and a certain lack of awareness.