The Shadow Matrix (42 page)

watching goats in spring, which is amusing but a little earthy. But your dream meetings

with Mikhail are gentle and quite tender. Restrained, for the most part." She bent her

head toward her chest for a moment, and Margaret knew that Istvana had caught the

fringes of those other dreams, the ones that were close to pornographic.

"Oh, damn! I was afraid I was shouting lust all over the Tower."

Istvana lifted her head and laughed so hard her eyes began to tear. "I'm sorry,

Marguerida. It is not kind of me to laugh," she said, when she had recovered her

breath. "Outright lust would be easier to deal with, actually. But your longing is like an

ache. Do you think your Uncle Gabriel will ever give in?"

"He is a very stubborn man."

"I've known mules with nicer dispositions," the
leronis
agreed dryly.

Dom
Gabriel and Istvana had nearly come to blows over Marguerida months earlier, at

Castle Ardais. She seemed to cause nothing but trouble, wherever she went. She

wished she could run away, escape the whole, incredible mess. But there was almost

three feet of snow around the Tower at the moment—they insisted this was a mild fall,

and that it was sure to be an easy winter! The trails in the hills were already difficult

and would soon be impossible. Besides, where would she go? To the moon?

That thought made Margaret chuckle slightly, and she felt better. "When my father

came back to Darkover, I thought everything would get settled, but things still seem to

be in a muddle, don't they? And I cannot seem to mend them, no matter how much

time I spend thinking up solutions. I suppose it is like moving mountains—a nice

metaphor, but easier said than done."

"Not a complete muddle, but . . . Let's get back to that calling. I think it is very

important. I thought it was Mikhail,, which is perhaps why I did not give it any

attention until you became agitated, but now I recall it was not his voice I heard. It was

.a man, though, not a woman, so you can stop worrying about Ashara."

"Yes, you are right. It was a deep voice—basso profundo, not a light tenor like Mik's.

It felt like the earth rumbling, almost. And no one I know has that sort of voice.

Believe me, I know voices. Sometimes I wish I was back running around recording

them and listening to old songs instead of trying to control my Gifts. I'm sorry.

Everyone has been very patient with me, very understanding and all. But I still feel

trapped." Margaret paused. "And when I have these

dreams about halls and corridors and mazes, it is worse. I didn't realize that until I said

it."

"Mazes? You mentioned that before—when you were recovering from the threshold

sickness. I had forgotten it until now."

"So had I—and I was perfectly happy not to remember it! There are a lot of things I

would be thrilled never to think about again!"

"Tell me about it again, please." Istvana settled back into the chair, drawing her

garments around her more closely. It was chilly in the room, though not really cold, for

the Tower was well heated. Margaret hauled a knitted shawl out of the drawer beside

her bed and tossed it to the Keeper, then got out another for herself. She had about six

now, soft wools, or wool combined with fine silk, in the green or russet colors she

preferred, and sometimes she wore several at once.

Once she had drawn the shawl around her shoulders, and Istvana had done the same,

Marguerida frowned. "The first time I went to Comyn Castle, I mean when Rafe Scott

escorted me there, not when I was a little girl, I had this sense that I could see this

labyrinth running through the place. I thought I was imagining it, but later I found out

there is a kind of maze within the Castle. I guess it is a piece of Ashara's memory or

something, because I haven't been able to find out very much about it. All I know is

that I could find my way around Comyn Castle blindfolded if I needed to."

"Interesting. I have heard of it, but like you I haven't discovered much real

information. Were you in that maze in this dream?"

"No, I wasn't. But wherever I was, it was similar. Did the architect of Comyn Castle

build anything else?"

Istvana laughed again. "Architect? If there was one, his name is long gone. To my

knowledge, the original Comyn Castle was built over a long period, two or three

generations. Like most structures on Darkover, it just grew and grew. And the building

you are familiar with is a much more recent overlay."

"I had guessed as much. Who would know?"

"There might be some record of the history of the Castle

in Nevarsin, Marguerida. The
cristoforos
have a lot of old texts."

"Moldering in the damp, no doubt," she said sourly.

"Now, now. The monks at Nevarsin take very good care of their books. Wait!

Something is nagging at me here. My brain is full of stories tonight. Dancing stones.

Something about dancing stones. Ah! Now I remember. It was something my old

nursemaid told me, years and years ago, to keep me quiet when I was cranky. That is

probably why I didn't recall it sooner. No one wants to remember a bad mood, do they?

She told me about how the Altons raised Comyn Castle in one night by making the

stones dance. That's nonsense, of course—the single night business. But she was quite

definite that it was built by the Altons."

"You mean I may have some sort of... blood memory?"

"Well, it does seem far-fetched, when you put it like that."

Margaret nibbled on her lower lip and realized she was hungry. She felt as if she spent

altogether too much time eating since she'd come to Darkover, but she knew her body

was not yet accustomed to the rigors of the frigid climate or the physical taxation of

telepathy. The sound of the wind outside made her yearn for the warmth of Thetis, and

the smell of the ocean. Snow there was exotic, not commonplace. More, most of the

planets she had visited with Ivor had been tropical or at least temperate.. Darkover

was, in her opinion, quite intemperate, weatherwise, and she wondered if she would

ever adjust. She told her stomach to be quiet, because she could sense a question

forming that was important. "What is memory?"

Istvana looked at her, her pale eyes a little confused. "Why, what we remember, of

course."

"But, where does memory come from? I mean, it's part of our bodies, and therefore it

is physiological. And if Terranan scientists are correct, then our cells 'remember' things

—how to reproduce themselves, and how to repair themselves, too. Who knows what

else they might be able to recall?" She hesitated, overwhelmed by the task of

discussing DNA in
casta.
Even though they had been breeding for
laran
for centuries,

the Darkovans did not seem to have ever developed a proper vocabulary for describing

genetics. She paused, braced. herself, and went on. "I suspect that

the reason I can see the maze in Comyn Castle is some leftover from Ashara, or from

one of the Keepers she overshadowed. That, at least, is an idea I can entertain without

worrying about my sanity."

"You have grown enormously since I first met you at Castle Ardais, Marguerida. I

never thought to hear you speak her name without a quiver in your voice."

"It is not easy, believe me!" She tried to conceal her intense pleasure in this praise, and

her hunger for more. Marguerida thought she might be able to fill her belly to satiation,

but her need for approval would remain for the rest of her life. "I still feel like a baby a

lot of the time."

"We all do. I think we never outgrow our sense of not knowing, and that makes us feel

childish. No matter how much we learn, there is always more. Tell me, other than

hearing your name spoken by an unknown voice, do you remember anything more?"

"There was something else, something that was like a deep intonation. It almost

sounded like a ... a humming sound."

"A hum?"

Margaret frowned again and focused her mind on the fragment of sound, elusive and

maddening. It was a word, she was sure of that. Her palm began to warm beneath the

glove, the lines of energy pulsing. She could almost feel the word in her mouth, and

she ran through sounds. Ah, bah, dah, fah, gah . . . "Hah!"

"Hah? You know what you heard?"

"No. The sound starts with a 'ha' noise. Like Hastur, but it wasn't that. Not 'haa' as in

Hastur, but more like 'hah,' a longish sound. I think I would have remembered Hastur

without any problem. The rest of the word is being very elusive."

Istvana sighed. "I hate it when my mind does that. Something is right there, on the tip

of my tongue, and I can't..."

"Shh!" Margaret felt her face flame again. How rude, hushing the
leronis!
But

something Istvana had just said . . . what was it? She tried to remember the precise

words the
leronis
had used. The tip of the tongue! That was it! She ran her tongue

against her upper teeth, wiggling it. What sounds were made with the tip of the

tongue? "Lee."

"What?"

"The voice said ...
Hall.
That's it!" A flush of relief flooded her tense shoulders.

"Hali? You mean the lake on the way to Thendara? Strange place. It always gives me

the shivers."

"No, not the lake. I never told you about the trip from Armida to Thendara, did I?" She

took in Istvana's rather blank expression. "I was riding with Uncle Jeff, and suddenly I

pointed and asked if that tower I saw was Arilinn. He got the strangest expression and

told me no, it wasn't, and that there was nothing there but the ruins of Hali Tower. It

was real to my eye, at that moment, and I felt as though I could go up and knock on the

door. In fact, I felt I almost
had
to. The feeling didn't last very long, and I almost forgot

about it later. I mean, it wasn't anything like the compulsions that. . . Ashara put on

me." Margaret shuddered all over. "I asked Jeff what would happen if I did enter it, and

he said he didn't know, and then we started talking about time and space and a lot of

other things."

Istvana looked rather puzzled. "Marguerida, there hasn't been a tower there for

hundreds of years. There's only a ruin. It must have been a trick of the light. Lake

Hali . . ."

"Mikhail saw it, too!"

"Did he? Or did he merely see the image in your mind? The power of suggestion is

very strong between two . . ."'

"He believed he saw the Hali Tower, and he also felt the same compulsion to go there I

did. I remember thinking at the time that some day I would go back there and ..."

"And what?"

"I don't know. When I saw it, and Jeff and I talked about time, he mentioned something

called Time Search."

Now Istvana was openly concerned, and she did not try to conceal it. "Time Search!

Marguerida, you are much too inexperienced to even consider such ... I know that

Damon Ridenow—the older one, not Jeff—did it once, but he was very skilled and had

studied for years. Even so, it nearly killed him! Please, put this idea from your mind."

Margaret could sense the deep distress of the
leronis,
and she did not wish to cause her

more.
How the hell do I put something out of my mind? No one can do that
—
the more

you try not to think about it, the more it intrudes on your brain.
She shrugged and

changed the subject. She knew

Istvana well enough now that she was aware that it was useless to argue with her when

she had decided something. Beneath all her empathy and kindness, she was a very

determined woman. "I'm hungry."

Istvana looked relieved. "You are always hungry. I know that matrix work gives a

healthy appetite, but you are the best trencherwoman I have ever seen. I don't know

how you keep your figure. If I ate as often as you do, I would burst my seams. There's

some soup in the kitchen. Come along."

Margaret got out of the bed and put on a thick overrobe, focusing her mind on the

gentle rumble of her belly. She knew she was dissembling, and she did not like herself

for it. She would not forget the dream, or the voice that called to her. But she could not

do anything about it now, except push it down into the depths of her mind. After all—it

was only a dream.

An hour later, after two bowls of thick soup and several slabs of bread slathered with

butter and honey, Margaret felt replete and much less anxious. She left Istvana and

returned to her room. As soon as she closed the door, she felt her hand begin to throb

and an itching sensation started above her eyes. Over the past few, months she had

learned some control over her waking mind; recently, when someone tried to reach her

through it, she got the itching. It was not pleasant, but at least it caught her attention.

Margaret sat down in the chair and leaned back, letting her careful control relax a little.

After just a few seconds, the itching stopped, and she felt a familiar warmth steal into

her* body. Sometimes she could not immediately tell one mind from another, but