Marion Bradley - The Forbidden Tower

“Aye,” broke in the man whose feet were pulpy and swollen, “I had Narron rub my feet wi’ snow. When my grandsire froze his feet in the reign of old Marius Hastur—”

“I know your grandfather,” Damon interrupted. “He walked with two canes till the end of his life, and it looks to me as if your friend tried to make sure you had the same good fortune, lad. Trust me, and I will do better for you than that.” He turned to Ferrika and said, “Try poultices, not hot water alone, but black thornleaf, very strong; it will draw the blood to the limbs and back to the heart. And give them some of it in tea too, to stimulate the circulation.” He turned back to the injured man, saying encouragingly, “This treatment is used in Nevarsin, where the weather is worse than here, and the monks claim they have saved men who would otherwise have been lamed for life.”

“Can’t you help, Lord Damon?” begged the man Raimon, and Damon, looking at the grayish-blue feet, shook his head. “I don’t know, truly, lad. I will do as much as I can, but this is the worst I have seen. It’s regrettable, butj—”

“Regrettable!” The man’s eyes blazed with pain and fury. “Is that all you can say about it, vai dom ? Is that all it means to you? Do you know what it means to us, especially this year? There’s not a house in Adereis or Corresanti but lost a man or maybe two or three to the accursed catfolk, and last year’s harvest withered ungathered in the fields, so already there is hunger in these hills! And now more than a dozen ablebodied men to be laid up, certainly for months, maybe never to walk again, and you can’t say more than ‘It is regrettable.’” His thick dialect angrily mimicked Damon’s careful speech.

“It’s all very well for the likes of you, vai dom , you willna’ go hungry, what may happen or no! But what of my wife, and my little children? What of my brother’s wife and her babes, that I took in when my brother ran mad and slew himself in the Darkening-lands, and the cat-hags made play wi’ his soul? What of my old mother, and her brother who lost an eye and a leg on the field of Corresanti? All too few able-bodied men in the villages, so that even the little maids and the old wives work in the fields, all too few to handle crops and beasts or even to glean the nut-trees before the snow buries our food, and now a good half of the ablebodied men of two villages lying here with frozen feet and hands, maybe lame for life — regrettable!”

His voice struggled with his rage and pain, and Damon closed his eyes in dismay. It was all too easy to forget. Did war not end, then, when there was peace in the land? He could kill ordinary foes, or lead armed men against them, but against the greater foes — hunger, disease, bad weather, loss of ablebodied men — he was powerless.

“The weather is not mine to command, my friend. What would you have me do?”

“There was a time — so my grandsire told me — when the folk of the Comyn, the Tower-folk, sorceresses and warlocks, could use their starstones to heal wounds. Eduin” — he gestured to the Guardsman at Dom Esteban’s side — “saw you heal Caradoc so he didna’ bleed to death when his leg was cut to the bone by a catman sword. Can’t you do something for us too, vai dom ?”

Without conscious thought, Damon’s fingers closed over the small leather bag strung-round his neck which held the matrix crystal he had been given at Arilinn, as a novice psi technician. Yes, he could do some of those things. But since he had been sent from the Tower — he felt his throat close in fear and revulsion. It was hard, dangerous, frightening, even to think of doing these things outside of the Tower, unprotected by the electromagnetic Veil which protected the matrix technicians from intruding thoughts and dangers…

Yet the alternative was death or crippling for these men, indescribable suffering, at the very least, hunger and famine in the villages.

He said, and knew his voice was trembling, “It has been so long, I do not know if I can still do anything. Uncle…?”

Dom Esteban shook his head. “Such skills I never had, Damon. My little time there was spent working relays and communications. I had thought most of those healing skills were lost in the Ages of Chaos.”

Damon shook his head. “No, some of them were taught at Arilinn even when I was there. But I can do nothing much alone.”

Raimon said, “The domna Callista, she was a leronis… ”

That was true too. He said, trying to control his voice, “I will see what we can do. For now, the important thing is to see how much of the circulation can be restored naturally. Ferrika,” he said to the young woman who had come back, carrying vials and flasks of herb salves and extracts, “I will leave you to care for these men, for now. Is Lady Callista still upstairs with my wife?”

“She is in the still-room, vai dom , she helped me to find these things.”

It was in a small back passage near the kitchens, a narrow, stone-floored room, lined with shelves. Callista, a faded blue cloth tied over her hair, was sorting bunches of dried herbs. Others hung from the rafters or were stuffed into bottles and jars. Damon wrinkled his nose at the pungent herb-smell of the place, as Callista turned to him.

“Ferrika tells me you have some bad cases of frostbite and freezing. Shall I come help put hot-packs about them?”

“You can do better than that,” Damon said, and laid his hand, with that involuntary gesture, over his insulated matrix. “I am going to have to do some cell-regeneration with the worst ones, or Ferrika and I will end by having to cut off a dozen fingers and toes, or worse. But I can’t do it alone; you must monitor for me.”

“To be sure,” she said quickly, and her hands went automatically to the matrix at her throat. She was already replacing the jars on the shelf. Then she turned — and stopped, her eyes wide with panic.

“Damon, I cannot!” She stood in the doorway, tense, a part of her already poised for action, a part stricken, drooping, remembering the real situation.

“I have given back my oath! I am forbidden!”

He looked at her in blank dismay. He could have understood it if Ellemir, who had never lived in a Tower and knew little more than a commoner, had spoken this old superstition. But Callista, who had been a Keeper?

“ Breda ,” he said gently, with the feather-light touch on her sleeve that the Arilinn people used among themselves, “it is not a Keeper’s work I ask of you. I know you can never again enter the great relays and energon rings — that is for those who live apart, guarding their powers in seclusion. I ask only simple monitoring, such work as any woman might do who does not live by the laws of a Keeper. I would ask it of Ellemir, but she is pregnant and it would not be wise. Surely you know you have not lost that skill; you will never lose it.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I cannot, Damon. You know that everything of this sort which I do will reinforce old habits, old… old patterns which I must break.” She stood unmoving, beautiful, proud, angry, and Damon inwardly cursed the superstitious taboos she had been taught.

How could she believe this nonsense? He said angrily, “Do you realize what is at stake here, Callista? Do you realize the kind of suffering to which you condemn these men?”

“I am not the only telepath at Armida!” she flung at him. “I have given years of my life to this, now it is enough! I thought you, of all men living, would understand that!”

“Understand!” Damon felt rage and frustration surge up inside him. “I understand that you are being selfish! Are you going to spend the rest of your life counting holes in linen towels and making spices for herb-breads? You, who were Callista of Arilinn?”