The World Wreckers (7 page)

reasons, of course. And a telepath could never be ignorant of the reasons. Many had been attracted to

him because of his position and power; still more had been strongly drawn to him because of his

extraordinary good looks, because of his vitality, even—and he knew it—because of his own strongly

sensual personality. He had grown cynical about women, even while he took what was offered.

Especially during the last few years, promiscuity was expected, even strongly urged, among the young

telepaths of his caste.

The offer itself was nothing new. He knew, completely without vanity, that he could have virtually any

woman he wanted, and as a result there were not many he wanted.

But this was the first time that a girl of his own caste—and Linnea, he began to realize, was an

extraordinary telepath—had come to him in such complete simplicity. It wasn't pity, it was a sudden,

deep sharing of his own emotion. There had been no hint of the status which she, of a minor house,

might gain by bearing a
laran
heir to Hastur. There was not even any sense, except perhaps at the deepest level, of wanting him sensually; like most extravagantly handsome men he had grown very tired

of that, and it repelled him rather than otherwise.

None of that. Linnea had simply sensed how difficult his life had become, and through a sudden deep

sharing had wanted to make it easier for him, and had offered what she had to give.

They had stood locked together only a few seconds; but both of them knew how the world had changed

for them. Then, the wheels of the universe began to go around again, they fell back into the elaborate

games of ordinary life; and Regis sighed, let his hands fall from her cheeks, leaned forward and kissed

her lips gently. He said, with infinite regret, "Not now, my darling. Although, if we are later blessed—

but just now we need you where you are. There are so few of you girls, now, who can work the matrix

relays. How can I put out more of the lights on our world?"

She nodded, in a serious and infinitely tender understanding. She said: "I know. If too many of us are taken away at once we will be what the Terrans call us, a world of barbarians."

Their clasped hands fell apart. They did not need pledges or promises for what was so deep a part of

them. Yet Regis reached out again and drew her within the curve of his arm, suddenly struck with a

spasm of fear.

A child of Linnea's would be too precious to risk to fate…

Must I fear for her too? Will she be the next target?

The chieri came out of the forest, dazed and wild-eyed, staring about like some feral thing from the

deepest woods. Even on Darkover, where human and half-human had lived side by side since the depths

of their world's prehistory, this was something to collect a crowd; and it did. Murmurs of awe,

astonishment and wonder were hushed in the streets as the tall and strange being moved, with slow,

deliberate purposiveness along the cobblestoned walkway where none of his kind had ever trodden

before.

The chieri were a legend; most people had never more than half believed in them; and as soon as the

rumor spread that a chieri, alive and in the flesh, was walking the streets of Arilinn, people came quietly out of their houses and watched, edging back with little silent whispers of astonishment as the nonhuman

moved—slowly and deliberately, as if dragging a reluctant way—toward the tall loom of the Arilinn

Tower.

It moved more and more slowly and finally its slow footsteps came to a halt. It turned toward the crowd

and said something, in appeal. The voice was clear and light and beautiful, as legend said, but the words completely incomprehensible, and the people simply stared without understanding until finally an old

man in a scholar's robe said, "Let me through; I believe he is speaking in a very old mode of the
casta
. I have seen it written in old books, though I never attempted to speak it. I will try." The crowd made room for the old man, and he made a deep bow to the nonhuman and said, "You lend us grace, Noble One.

How may we serve you?"

The chieri said, slowly as if the words were long rusty with nonuse, "I am—very stranger here to this place. I have been—" a word none of them could comprehend. "There is a Hastur here. Can you direct me to that place where he is?"

The old scholar said, "If you will follow, Noble One," and led the way toward the Tower. He told his friends later: "It looked at me, and I realized it was
afraid
, afraid in a way that none of us has ever been afraid. I still shake all over when I think about anything like
that
, being as frightened as all that. I wonder what it wanted?"

Regis Hastur was at breakfast in his rooms in the Arilinn Tower, making ready for the departure of the

plane that had brought him here, when one of the young matrix workers of the Tower, a boy of

seventeen or eighteen, came to his door.

"
Vai dom
—"

Regis turned and said courteously, "How may I serve you, Marton?"

"Lord, there is a chieri at the gates below, asking to meet with you, with the Hastur."

"A chieri?" Suddenly Regis laughed. "This language of Arilinn still defeats me at times; I misheard you; a kyrri we would say in Thendara, one of your nonhuman servants here. Can you find out what it wants

for me?"

"No, my lord, not a kyrri," Marton looked scandalized. "As if any of them would so presume! No, Lord Regis, a chieri, one of the old Beautiful Folk of the Forest."

Startled, Regis said, "If this is a jest I find it ill-timed," but another look at the boy convinced him that the youngster was as surprised and disbelieving as he was himself. He rose without further delay and

went down to the foot of the Tower.

A chieri! Even in his grandfather's day it was rumored that few or none of that oldest race on Darkover

still survived, deep in the deepest woods. Never in living memory had one come out of the forest; at

most there were strange tales of folk lost or hurt or benighted in the forest, who found themselves

succored by strange hands, gentle voices and kindliness, and promptly guided on their way again, and no

more than this.

He came out of the dark corridors at the foot of the Tower, and into the pale light of the rising sun, and there, standing in a little awed circle of the servitors, the furred kyrri and the uniformed City Guard and a few bystanders, he had his first sight of the chieri.

It stood on the cobblestones, seeming to stand apart from the others, looking very much like a tall young man, or even a tall young girl, except that the features seemed a little too thin, too pale, too delicate to be human. It was taller than tall Regis, by almost a full head. It had quantities of pale hair that glinted silver gilt. It turned slowly to Regis, moving with a grace and beauty alien and unknown to humankind; and

then Regis raised his eyes and met those of the chieri.

The chieri had pale gray eyes, very pale gray with silvery lights deep in them, and as Regis looked into

the non-human's eyes, he suddenly stopped thinking in terms of awe and wonder and reverence and old

legends. He suddenly realized that this chieri was only a young creature, very confused by the strange

sights of the city, very young, very wild and very frightened. He put out his hands with a sudden

spontaneous sympathy and said in
casta
, the archaic and little used tongue of the Comyn Domains,

"Why, you poor thing, how did you come here? I am Regis Hastur, grandson of Hastur; and I am at your service. Will you not come in out of the cold—and away from all these eyes," he added suddenly.

"I thank you, young Hastur," the chieri said in that slow, halting speech. Regis stepped back in courtesy to allow his strange guest to pass inside. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the guards and the others.

Danilo followed them as Regis led the chieri into one of the small reception rooms on the lowest floor, a room of white translucent stone hung with pale luminescent hangings. Regis motioned the chieri to a

seat, but the nonhuman remained standing, seeming to misunderstand the gesture, and said in his

hesitant, slow, archaic speech, "It has come to us in the Yellow Forest, Hastur, that you are searching for those with the old powers: to study these powers, to know more of them, whence they came, and what

manner of folk have them."

"Why, that's true," Regis said. He realized that the chieri was already imitating his own accent and speech and that he could understand it perfectly well. "But how did you come to know it in the Yellow Forest, Noble One?"

"We chieri—such as we are in these days—know things, Lord of Hastur. It seemed well to us that one of our kind should come and be with you in your search, if you will have us. And since I was the youngest

and they felt I could—adjust myself—most easily to leaving the Forest and to changing myself to live

among mankind, I was told to come to you and do as you would have me do."

"How far have you come, then?" asked Regis in wonder.

"Many, many days journey, Regis Hastur. I went first to Armida, for my people knew some young folk

from there a generation ago; but they were gone, all the Altons, and so I came here."

Danilo stepped forward and motioned to Regis. He did not speak aloud, but linking directly with Regis

asked, "Are you sure you can trust this nonhuman? Are you sure it's not a trap?"

"It is not," said the chieri aloud, turning to face Danilo and smiling at him. "I have no contact with the enemies of your friend; before this day I have never had speech with a man of your people, Danilo."

"You know my name?"

"Forgive me—I do not know your ways—is it a rudeness to speak the name?"

"No," said Danilo, baffled. "I just didn't know how you knew it, but you must have uncanny good telepathic power; more than I'm used to dealing with in nonhumans."

The chieri's light gray eyes met Danilo's for a minute; then the chieri smiled and said to Regis, "You are fortunate in your friend; he loves you well and would protect you with his own life. Nevertheless,

reassure him that I will never harm you or your kind. I could not if I would."

"I know," Regis said. He felt suddenly warm and at ease. He had heard old tales of the chieri, of their beauty and kindliness, and although this one seemed young and frightened by the strangeness, Regis

knew that there was no threat here.

Dando was about to speak; then he looked from the chieri to Regis, struck at once by something strange.

The nonhuman was taller, by about a head, and slenderer, his face narrow, the pale, narrow, six-fingered

hands inhumanly long and graceful; yet the resemblance, like a shadow, was there, accentuated by

Regis' prematurely white hair; the curious cast of feature which marked off the old Comyn type on

Darkover.

Some of those old families, they used to say, were akin to the chieri.
I can well believe it.

Regis said, "Are you willing to go back with us, then, to Thendara?"

"I came here for that," said the chieri, but he looked around him in an appeal that was like panic. "I am not accustomed to being—within walls."

Poor thing, what will he do on the plane?
"I'll look after you," Regis said. "You mustn't be afraid."

"I am afraid because it is very strange and I have never been out of the shadow of my forests before this," said the chieri, and somehow the confession of his fear had a deep dignity which added to Regis'

respect and sympathy. "But I am not afraid otherwise and I am at your disposal."

Regis asked, "What is your name? What can we call you?"

"My name is very long and would be hard to say in your speech," said the chieri. "But when I was very small, I called myself s'Keral. You may call me Keral, if you like."

Regis called a servant and asked him to have the plane made ready at once. His brain was spinning.

It has not been more than a few months since the project to study telepath powers had been set up by the

Terran Empire's medical facility. Not more than a scant half-dozen Darkovans had been willing to give

themselves to this project. And now a chieri, oldest and least known of the nonhuman races of Darkover,

traditionally most alien to mankind, (despite old stories, never more than legends, of chieri and mortal) had come unasked and unsought to them, volunteering—when they had hidden for centuries even from

the Comyn, except for legends as impalpable as leaves blown on the wind.

How had this happened, and what would come of it?

He suddenly realized that he could not even decide adequately whether this strange being out of the

woods were male or female. In its positiveness and strength and in the prompt manner it had reassured

Danilo, it seemed like a man; yet the delicate voice and hands, the flowing hair and light garments, the

timidity and the way in which, as they passed the doors, it clung to Regis' hand in a renewal of panic,

was altogether feminine.
Do they have gender at all, anyhow?
There was an old joke about the

nonhuman
cralmacs
which had become a proverb on Darkover:
the sex of a cralmac is of interest to
nobody but another cralmac.
He supposed the apparent sexlessness of the chieri was some such thing.

I'll have to remember that Keral isn't human. From the minute it went into rapport with me, it seemed

that Keral was all too human, one of my own kind, more than most of the people I'd known…

Small wonder the legends speak of men who died of love, having seen a chieri in the woods… and pined

away for a voice, a beauty more than mortal
… Regis was shocked, startled at the turn his own thoughts were taking. He said to Keral, not looking at the chieri, "We will go soon," and went to take leave of his grandfather.