The Keeper's Price Read online

  The Keeper's Price

  by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  with Lisa Waters

  The pain had started.

  Hilary was aware of it even in her sleep, but, knowing that her body needed at least another two hours' rest, she tried to ignore it. But the gnawing discomfort deep in her body would not be ignored; after an hour she gave up the futile attempt and threw on a robe, slipping silently down the stairs to the stillroom to make herself a cup of golden-flower tea. She knew from experience that it would numb the cramping pain, at least a little.

  It might also, she thought, settling back into her bed, make her sleepy. At least that was what the other women said. Somehow it never seemed to work that way with Hilary. It only made her arms numb and her head feel fuzzy, and the room seemed unbearably warm as things swam in and out of focus. The effects of the tea wore off all too quickly, and the heavy cramping pains, contractions, Leonie called them, became worse and worse, moving up from her abdomen to her stomach to her heart, so that she felt constricted and aching, struggling for breath.

  She had only to call, she knew, and someone would come. But in a Tower filled with telepaths, help would be there when she absolutely needed it. And she didn't want to disturb anyone unless she had to.

  After all, she thought wryly, this happens every forty days. They should be used to it by now. Just Hilary again, going through her usual crisis, disturbing everybody as usual.

  The circle had been mining metal the night before, and everyone had gone to bed late and exhausted, especially Leonie. Leonie of Arilinn had been Keeper since she was a young girl; now she was an old woman - Hilary did not know how old - training Hilary and the new child, Callista Lanart, to be Keepers in her place.

  For the last half-year Hilary had been able to work at Leonie's side, during the heavy stresses of the work, taking some of the burden from the older woman. She wasn't going to drag Leonie out of bed to hold her hand. They wouldn't let her die. Maybe this month it would be only the cramping pain, the weakness; after all, there wasn't a woman in Arilinn who didn't have some trouble when her cycle started. It was simply one of the hazards of the work. Maybe this time it would subside, as it did in the other women, before she went into crisis, without the agonizing clearing of the channels. . . .

  But they couldn't wait too long, hoping it would clear spontaneously. Last time, wanting to spare her the excruciating ordeal, Leonie had waited too long; and Hilary had gone into convulsions. But that wouldn't happen for hours, maybe for days. Let Leonie sleep as long as she could. She could bear the pain till then.

  Hilary adored Leonie; the older woman had been like a mother to her ever since she had come to Arilinn, five years before, a lonely, frightened child of eleven, enduring the first testing of a girl with Comyn blood, the loneliness, the waiting until, when her woman's cycles began, she could begin serious training as Keeper. She had been proud to be chosen for this. Most of the young people who came here were selected as monitor, mechanic, even technician - but very few had the talent or potential to be a Keeper, or could endure the long and difficult training. And now Hilary was near to that goal. Had all but achieved it; except for one thing. Every time, when her cycles started, there was the pain, the cramping contractions quickly escalating to agony, and sometimes to crisis and convulsions.

  She knew why, of course. Like all matrix workers, she had begun her training as a monitor, learning the anatomy of the nerve channels which carried laran - and, unfortunately, also carried the sexual energies. Hilary had known, from the time she agreed to take training as a Keeper, that she must pay the Keeper's price; ordinary sexuality was not for her, and she had solemnly sworn, at thirteen, a vow of perpetual chastity. She had been taught, in all kinds of difficult and somewhat frightening ways, to avoid in herself even the slightest sexual arousal, so that the lower nerve centers which would carry these energies were wholly dear and uncontaminated, the channels between the centers nonfunctional.

  Only, somehow, the channels were not clear at this time, and it puzzled all of them. Hilary, who lived under Leonie's immediate supervision, and rarely drew a breath Leonie did not know about, knew that her chastity was not suspect; so it had to be something else, perhaps some unsuspected weakness in the nerve centers.

  The only thing that pulled Hilary through each moon, and sent her back to work again in the screens, was her desire not to fail Leonie. She could not leave Leonie to shoulder the burden alone, not when she was so close to her goal. Leonie had been letting her, now, take a part of the burden as Keeper, at the center of the circle, and Hilary knew, without conceit, that she was capable and strong, that she could handle the linked energies of a circle up to the fourth level without too much drain on her energies. Soon, now, Leonie would be free of at least a part of the burden.

  Little Callista showed promise and talent; but she was only a child. It would be a year before she could begin serious training, though she was already living with the carefully supervised life of a pledged Keeper and had been allowed to make provisional vows; it would be years before she would be old enough to take on any part of the serious work. There was so much work to do, and so few to do it! Arilinn was not alone in this; every Tower in the Domains was short-handed.

  The last effects of the tea were gone. Outside the window it was sunrise, but no one was stirring. Now the pains seemed to double her into a tight ball; she rolled herself up and moaned to herself.

  Don’t be silly, she told herself. You’re acting like a baby. When this is over you’ll hardly remember how much it hurt.

  Yes, but how much longer can I stand this?

  As long as you have to. You know that. What good is your training, if you can’t stand a little pain?

  Another wave of pain washed over her, effectively silencing the inner dialogue. Hilary concentrated on her breathing, trying to still herself, to let the breath flow in and out quietly, one by one monitoring channel after channel, trying to ease the flow of the currents. But the pains were so violent that she could not concentrate.

  It's never been this bad before! Never!

  “Hilary?” It was the gentlest of whispers. Callista was bending over her, a slight long-legged girl, her red hair loosely tied back, a heavy robe flung over her nightgown. She was barefoot. “Hilary, what is it?”

  Hilary gasped, breathing hard.

  “Just - the usual thing.”

  “I'd better get Leonie.”

  “Not yet,” Hilary whispered, “I can manage a little longer. Stay with me though. Please. . . .”

  “Of course,” Callista said. “Hilary, your nightgown is soaking wet; you'd better get out of it. You'll feel better when you're dried off.”

  Hilary managed to pull herself upright, to slide out of the gown, drenched with her own sweat. Callista brought her a dry one from her chest, held it while Hilary slipped it over her head; maneuvering deftly, so carefully that she did not touch Hilary even with a fingertip.

  She is learning, Hilary thought, and looked with wry detachment at the small scarred-over burns on her own hands; remnants of the first year of her training. In that year she had been so conditioned to avoid a touch, that the slightest touch of living flesh would create a deep blistered burn exactly as if the other flesh were a live coal. Callista's scars were still red and raw; even now she would punish herself with a deep burn if she touched anyone even accidentally. Later, when the conditioning was complete, the command would be removed - Hilary was no longer forbidden to touch anyone, the prohibition was no longer needed; she could touch or be touched, with great caution, if it was unavoidable - but no one touched a Keeper; even in the matrix chamber, a Keeper was robed in crimson so that no one would touch her when she was carrying the load of the energons
. And among themselves, even when the conditioning was no more than a memory, they used the lightest of fingertip-touches, more symbolic than real. Hilary, settling back on the clean dry pillow - Callista had changed the pillow-cover, too - wished rather wistfully that she could hold someone's hand. But such a touch would torment Callista and probably wouldn't make her feel any better.

  “It's really bad this time, isn't it, Hilary?”

  Hilary nodded, thinking, She is still young enough to feel compassion. She hasn't yet been dehumanized. . . .

  “You're lucky,” Hilary said with effort. “Still too young to go through this. Maybe it won't be so bad for you. . . .”

  “I don't know how you bear it-”

  “Neither do I,” Hilary murmured, doubling up again under the fresh wave of violent pain, and Callista stood helpless, wondering why Hilary's struggles hadn't yet waked. Leonie.

  “I made her promise to sleep in one of the insulated rooms last night,” Hilary said, picking the unspoken question out of the child's mind.

  “Did you get all the copper mined?”

  “No; Romilla broke the circle early; Damon had to carry Leonie to her room, she couldn't walk. . . .”

  “She's been working too hard,” Callista said, “but Lord Serrais will be upset; he's been badgering us for that copper since midsummer.”

  “He won't get it at all if we kill Leonie with overwork,” Hilary said, “and I'm no good one tenday out of every four.”

  “Maybe overworking is why you get so sick, Hilary.”

  “I'd get sick anyway. But overworking does seem to make it worse,” Hilary muttered, “I don't have the strength to fight off the pain anymore.”

  “I wish I'd hurry and grow up so I could be trained, and help you both,” Callista said, but suddenly she was frightened. Would this happen to her too?

  “Take your time, Callista, you're only eleven. . . . I'm glad your training is going so well,” Hilary murmured, “Leonie says you are going to be really great, better than I am, so much better. . . . we need Keepers so badly, so badly. . . .”

  “Hilary, hush, don't try to talk. Just try to even out your breathing.”

  “I’ll live. I always do. But I'm glad you're doing so well. I'm so afraid. . . .”

  “That you won't be able to work as a Keeper anymore?”

  “Yes, but I have to, Callista, I have to-”

  “No you don't,” said the younger girl, perching on the end of Hilary's bed, “Leonie will release you, if it's really too much for you. I heard her tell Damon so.”

  “Of course she will,” Hilary whispered, “but I don't want her to be alone with all the weight of the work again. I love her, Callista. . . .”

  “Of course you do, Hilary. We all do. I do, too.”

  “She's worked so hard, all her life - we can't let her down now! We can't!” Hilary struggled upright, gasping. “The others - there were six others who tried and failed, and there were so many times she tried to train a Keeper only to have her leave and marry - and Callista, she's not young, not strong enough anymore, we may be her last chance, she may not be strong enough to train Keepers after us, we have to succeed - it could be the end of Arilinn, Callista-”

  “Lie down, Hilary. Don't upset yourself like this. Just relax, try to get control of your breathing, now.” Hilary lay back on the bed, while Callista came and bent over her. Light was beginning to filter through the window of her room. She did not speak as Callista bent over her, but her thoughts were as tormented as her body. There must be Keepers, otherwise darkness and ignorance closed over the Domains. And she could not fail, could not let Leonie down.

  Callista ran her small hands over Hilary's body, not touching her; about an inch from the surface of the nightgown. Her face was intent, remote.· After a little she said, troubled, “I'm not very good at this yet. But it looks as if the lower centers were involved, and the solar plexus too, already - Hilary, I'd better waken Leonie.”

  Wordless, Hilary shook her head. “Not yet.” The cramping pain had moved all through her body now, so that she found it hard to breathe, and Callista looked down, deeply troubled. She said, “Why does it happen, Hilary? It doesn't happen with the other women - I've monitored them during their cycles - and they-” She stopped, turning her eyes away; there were some things from which a Keeper turned her mind and her words away as she would have turned her physical eyes from an obscenity; but they both knew what the quick equivocal glance meant: and they are not even virgins. . . .

  “I don't know, Callista. I swear I don't,” Hilary said, feeling again the terrifying sting of guilt. What forbidden thing can I have done, not knowing, that the channels are not clear? How can I have become contaminated ... what is wrong with me? I have kept my vows, I have touched no one, I have not even thought any forbidden thought, and yet . . . and yet . . . another wave of pain struck her, so that she turned over, biting her lip hard, feeling it break and blood run down her chin; she did not want Callista to see, but the child was still in rapport with her from the monitoring, and she gasped with the physical assault of it.

  “Callista, I have tried so hard, I don't know what I have done, and I can't let her down, I can't . . .” Hilary gasped, but the words were so blurred and incoherent that the young girl heard them only in her mind; Hilary was struggling for breath.

  “Hilary, Never mind, just lie quiet, try to rest.”

  “I can't - I can't - I've got to know what I have done wrong.”

  Callista was only eleven; but she had spent almost a year in the Tower, a year of intense and specialized training; she recognized that Hilary was fast slipping into the delirium of first-stage crisis. She ran out of the room, hurrying up the narrow stairs to the insulated room where Leonie slept. She pounded on the door, knowing that this summons would rouse Leonie at once; no one in Arilinn would venture to disturb Leonie now except for a major emergency.

  After - a moment the door opened, and Leonie, very pale, her graying hair in two long braids over her shoulders, came to the door. “What is it? Callista, child!” She caught the message before Callista could speak a word.

  “Hilary again? Ah, merciful Avarra, I had hoped that this time she would escape it-”

  Then her stern gaze flickered down Callista; the robe buttoned askew, the nightgown dragging beneath it, the bare feet.

  This is no way for a Keeper to appear before anyone! The harsh reproof of the thought was like a mental slap, though aloud she only said, and her voice was mild, “Suppose one of the others had seen you like this, child? A Keeper must always present a picture of perfect decorum. Go and make yourself tidy, at once!”

  “But Hilary-” Callista opened her mouth to protest, caught Leonie's eyes, dropped her own gray eyes and murmured, “Yes, my mother.”

  “You need not dress if your robe is properly fastened. When you are perfectly tidy, go and send Damon to Hilary; this is too serious for Romilla alone. And I will come when I can.”

  Callista wanted to protest - Waste time in dressing myself when Hilary is so sick? She could be dying! - but she knew this was all a part of the discipline which would make her, over the years, into a schooled, inhumanly perfect machine, like Leonie herself. Quickly she brushed her red hair and braided it tightly along her neck, slipped into a fresh robe and low indoor boots of velvet which concealed her bare ankles; then she knocked at the door of the young technician, Damon Ridenow, and gave her message.

  “Come with me,” Damon said, and Callista followed him down the stairs, into Hilary's room.

  A Keeper must always present a picture of perfect decorum - even so, Callista was shocked at the effort Hilary made to compose her limbs, her voice, her face. She went and stood beside Hilary, looking compassionately down at her, wishing she could help somehow.

  Damon sighed and shook his head as he looked down at Hilary's racked body, her bitten lips. He was a slight, dark man with a sensitive, ascetic face, the compassion in it carefully schooled to impassivity in a Keeper's presence. Yet
it carne through, a touch of faint humanity behind the calm mask.

  “Again, chiya? I had hoped the new medicines would help this time. How heavy is the bleeding?”

  “I don't know-” Hilary was trying hard to control her voice; Damon frowned a little, and shook his head. He said to Callista, “I don't suppose - no, you cannot touch anyone yet, can you, child? Leonie will be here soon, she will know-”

  Leonie, when she came, was as calm, as carefully put together as if she were facing the Council. “I am here, child,” she said, laying the lightest of touches on Hilary's wrist, and the very touch seemed to quiet Hilary somewhat, as if it stabilized her ragged breathing. But she whispered, “I'm so sorry, Leonie - I didn't want to - I can't let you down - I can't, I can't-”

  “Hush, hush, child. Don't waste your strength,” Leonie commanded, and behind the harshness of the words there was tenderness, too. “Callista, did you monitor her?”

  Callista, biting her lip, composed herself to make a formal report on what she had discovered. The older telepaths listened, and Damon went over the monitoring process for himself, sinking his mental awareness into the girl's tormented body, pointing out to Callista what she had missed.

  “The knots in the arms; that is only tension, but painful. The bleeding is heavy, yes, but not dangerously. Did you check the lower channels?”

  Callista shook her head and Damon said, “Do it now. And test for contamination.”

  Callista hesitated, her hands a considerable distance from Hilary, and Damon's voice was harsh.

  “You know how to test her. Do it.”

  Callista drew a deep breath, schooling her face to the absolute impassivity she knew she must maintain or be punished. She dared not even form clearly the thought, I’m sorry, Hilary, I don't want to hurt you - she focused on her matrix, then lowered her awareness into the electrical potential of the channels. Hilary screamed. Callista flinched and recoiled, but Leonie had seen, and forced swift rapport so that Callista, immobilized, felt the wave of sharp pain flood through her as well. She knew the lesson intended - you must maintain absolute detachment - and forced her face and her voice to quiet, concealing the resentment she felt.