Renunciates of Darkover Read online

  Also by Marion Zimmer Bradley

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  Free Amazons of Darkover

  The Other Side of the Mirror

  Red Sun of Darkover

  Four Moons of Darkover

  Domains of Darkover

  Renunciates of Darkover

  Leroni of Darkover

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  Watch for more at Marion Zimmer Bradley’s site.

  Renunciates of Darkover

  Darkover® Anthology 8

  Edited by

  Marion Zimmer Bradley

  The Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust

  PO Box 193473

  San Francisco, CA 94119

  www.mzbworks.com

  CONTENTS

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  STRIFE

  by Chel Avery

  AMAZON FRAGMENT

  by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  BROKEN VOWS

  by Annette Rodriguez

  IF ONLY BANSHEES COULD SEE

  by Janet R. Rhodes

  A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S GIFT

  by Deborah J. Ross

  THE HONOR OF THE GUILD

  by Joan Marie Verba

  A BUTTERFLY SEASON

  by Diana L. Paxson

  MISJUDGED SITUATIONS

  by Kelly B. Jaggers

  AWAKENING

  by Mary Fenoglio

  CARLINA’S CALLING

  by Patricia Duffy Novak

  A BEGINNING

  by Judith Kobylecky

  SET A THIEF

  by Mercedes Lackey

  SHUT-IN

  by Jean Lamb

  DANILA’S SONG

  by Vera Nazarian

  A PROPER ESCORT

  by Elisabeth Waters

  LESSON IN THE FOOTHILLS

  by Lynne Armstrong-Jones

  SUMMER FAIR

  by Emily Alward

  VARZIL’S AVENGERS

  by Diann S. Partridge

  TO TOUCH A COMYN

  by Andrew Rey

  ABOUT TIME

  by Patricia B. Cirone

  FAMILY VISIT

  by Margaret L. Carter

  DALEREUTH GUILD HOUSE

  by Priscilla W. Armstrong

  THE DARKOVER® ANTHOLOGIES

  COPYRIGHT

  INTRODUCTION

  by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Every one of these anthologies at once takes on its own special character, created by the stories I get to choose from, and this year it has assumed a form I never expected. Story after story came in, and, with very few exceptions, they all dealt with a theme I had never thought of: Renunciates with laran.

  As I say, this was an idea that had never occurred to me. When first I created the idea of the Renunciates, I had structured it as either-or: basically there were three paths for women. An ordinary woman on Darkover would follow one of these paths: to marry and have children; to go into a Tower, if she had laran; or, if she had no calling to either of these, she could become a Renunciate.

  Why is this so much of a surprise to me?

  Probably because the way I had structured Darkover, I thought of the two as mutually exclusive. Every game has its rules; one does not play chess by the rules of checkers; but today people are impatient of rules. In the SCA women insist on fighting and being knighted, quite disregarding the fact that in the Middle Ages being re-created, there were no female knights! As an historian, I cringe. I hasten to add that as an ex-tomboy, I can sympathize with a little girl's wish to play knight, and in a purely imaginary world, that would be fine; but not in the Middle Ages.

  And there's another thing; when I was a young girl, my experience with girls was that, by and large, they were all only too happy to be restricted; most of the ones I knew in school were entirely happy with their lot... they contentedly read soupy romantic novels (when I was reading science fiction), and I swear that most of the girls I knew in school had no interests but fashionable clothes, makeup, and—always—boys. I was—or would have been—happy to have nice clothes; but makeup didn't interest me, and my mother's most uncomplimentary adjective for a girl—obscenity aside—was “boy crazy.” As a result, although I liked men well enough, I have always disliked the adolescent male of the species. The ones I met in high school were only interested in football, except for a few nascent science fiction fans. Since football (and cars) bored me (and still do—blasphemous as that may seem), I never developed any interest in the adolescent male of the species. I learned to think well of teenage boys when I was teaching, though; the girls did little but compare jewelry and talk about boys. (At least some of the boys had some interest in learning the music or English I was trying to teach them.) I lost count of the girls (and female teachers) who took me aside and told me that I really should try to conform more, learn to dance, pretend to like sports and dance music—in short, catch myself a boy and start conforming. The fact that I really didn't scared them. A girl, I thought then, was someone who existed to find a boy friend. I very seldom met an “exception” until I was grown up.

  If this sounds bitter, it's only because I am.

  It was only when I got into the science fiction world that I met men—or boys—who honestly didn't care if I was female.

  As you can see from this, I am not a whole lot of aid and comfort to people who are anxious to make me into some kind of symbol of the perfect feminist. I am fond of telling doctrinaire feminists that science fiction is the one place where I have never found the slightest hint of discrimination; attempts to enlist me in the holy cause of abused women writers (my editors are women) don't get very far. I am not—to put it mildly—very popular with feminists, which is fine with me. (Where were all these feminist types when I needed them?)

  But today's women want to have it all; and perhaps that's why, when I announced this anthology, story after story came in, showing Free Amazons who had, in addition to everything else, laran.

  I still don't think it's very realistic. One thing I find totally unrealistic is the notion of a Keeper who becomes a Free Amazon; the life of a Keeper is so demanding that a woman who could not accept the discipline associated with it wouldn't be accepted for one. And if she didn't like the life, she'd find it out in the long and difficult training.

  But, short of that, I have decided that this flood of Free Amazons with laran must mean something profound to the imaginary inhabitants of Darkover; and thus I present a selection of stories about Renunciates of Darkover with laran. How do you feel about this? Do you agree with the writers?


  In any case I hope you enjoy these stories as I did. One of my fans recently told me that in writing about Free Amazons I had alienated some of the early readers. I'd hate to think so. Hey, it's all just a game. We're all having fun here.

  STRIFE

  by Chel Avery

  I didn't know at first if “Chel” was the name of a man or woman; it is short for Michel, “which I rarely use because everyone wants to change to Michelle or to Michael. I fight enough other battles.”

  My writers have a fascinating array of unusual jobs; Chel is a “Conflict Response Specialist” for the Friends Conflict Resolution Programs, a Quaker organization. I must admit that a story called “Strife” seems just right for this. She says she's done a lot of nonfiction writing, but this is her first fiction sale.

  One by one, Shaya n’ha Margali cautiously released her sisters from the five-way link, trying to ease them through a gentle coming apart. But the psychic separation was painful, and she winced as each one dropped out of rapport. In a transition that seemed sudden and harsh, she found herself mentally disconnected, sitting in a circle with four other women bent around a glowing blue stone and a young herding dog. She bent her head down to rest on her knees.

  “Look, Minka is standing on that paw as if it had never been hurt,” Caitha gloated, greedily scooping a handful of snowberries from a fruit bowl. “We did a great job.”

  “Shaya is disappointed again,” said the more observant Mellina, reaching to take Shaya’s hand. “What is it, love? The rest of us are so happy with what you’ve taught us to do together. Why can’t you enjoy it, too?”

  “The rest of you have no standards for comparison. The rest of you don’t know what a real matrix circle feels like,” Shaya snapped. Then she sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m tired and hungry, and, yes, I’m disappointed. But I shouldn’t take it out on you. Caitha, pass me some of those berries, please.”

  Caitha pushed the bowl toward her. Dorelle brought a plate of nuts and bread to Shaya’s side and sat down close beside her, and ’Lista scooted over, so the four women sat huddled around Shaya, embracing her with their love. Mellina squeezed her hand. “Talk to us, Shaya. Help us understand what’s wrong.”

  Shaya waited until the tears that threatened to slip down her cheeks were under control. “My foster father, Damon Ridenow, told me that once someone has been part of a telepathic circle, no other kind of intimacy is ever enough. If you lose it, you will either find a way to re-create it, or you will grieve over it for the rest of your life. And if you haven’t experienced it, there’s no way to understand it.”

  “But haven’t we experienced it?” ’Lista asked. What were we just doing? And you’re right about the intimacy, it’s like...”

  “Like having your skin off,” Dorelle offered.

  Shaya laughed sadly. “Those are the exact words people always use. But there’s more to it than that. It’s not just being inside each other’s minds, it’s not just knowing each other’s every thought. When it’s right, there’s such a precious sense of closeness, of trust, of love....” She stumbled on her words and paused for an awkward moment. “That sounds all wrong. I mean, I do love you all, and I’d trust you with my life. You know that. But something’s missing.”

  She went on. “Growing up in the Forbidden Tower was like being held all day, every day, in the arms of a dozen people who loved me. Even when we had arguments, even when I was naughty and was being punished, I could still feel all that caring wrapped around me. I thought I could make that happen again with all of you.”

  Dorelle spoke in a voice so low the others had to hold their breath to hear her. But at the psi level, her thoughts were urgent. “Living with you four is the best thing that ever happened to me. It is better than I could ever have dreamed was possible.”

  Shaya hugged her tight. “Oh, please, don’t ever think this little Guild House in the hills isn’t exactly the place I would choose to be in the whole world. And I am as happy as could be... in the normal scheme of things. What I’m talking about is something more than normal. I’m talking about magic.”

  Caitha stretched and yawned. “What we really need is a good night’s sleep, plus half a day. Do you realize how late it is? I think Shaya’s problem is just that she’s tired, and so are the rest of us. Good night, dears.” And with a quick kiss on four cheeks, she left the room.

  ~o0o~

  Curled in the comfort of Mellina’s arms, Shaya worried. “It must be my fault. I’m no Keeper, just a junior technician. If my breda, Cleindori, were with us, instead of closeted in Arilinn Tower, maybe....”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Mellina squeezed her. If it’s someone’s fault, blame the rest of us. Except for you, we’re all total commoners. Our laran may not be powerful enough.”

  “Don’t let those Comyn myths fool you. At Mariposa, we had more than a few commoners working in our circle. That’s why I was so sure we could do it here.”

  The dream was so vivid. When she lived in Thendara Guild House, she had noticed the disproportionate numbers of Renunciates with laran. It made sense. Women from the common classes gifted with psychic abilities were flukes. They had none of the acceptance and training available to the nobility. Misfits in their own world, they frequently sought the refuge of the Sisterhood, a community which at least allowed them to be themselves.

  Shaya also noticed the crucial need for emotional, and sometimes physical, healing among new members, many escaping to the Guild House from desperate situations. With the urgency of her vision, she had persuaded the Guild-mothers to let her take a hand-picked group of Renunciates and found a small Guild House away from the city where a circle of telepaths could develop their skills, then offer training to wild telepaths in the Sisterhood who had not learned to control their laran. They would also provide a center of retreat and healing for initiates whose emotional scars were too deep to endure the rigorous training required of new members.

  ~o0o~

  Mellina was following her thoughts. “And it’s working. We’re succeeding wonderfully. We are learning to heal.”

  “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry to gripe. We are succeeding in everything I asked the Guild-mothers to let us do. I just hadn’t realized how much more I wanted—I wanted that deep belongingness that I gave up when I left Mariposa.”

  “You do belong. We all do, love.”

  “Yes, but it’s flat somehow. I can’t describe what’s missing, but if you knew what it was, you would say the community we feel now is like a spring snowfall in the plains compared to a Hellers blizzard.”

  “Well, maybe when we’ve gotten more used to being with each other, when we get to know each other more...

  “I don’t think so. I chose this group so carefully, not just because we all have laran, but because we are all so well suited to each other. I care for each of you, and I made certain each of you could care for all the rest. No Tower circle since the Ages of Chaos was ever so carefully selected for compatibility.”

  She took a mental roll call. In the matrix link, she experienced each of them as a weather image. Caitha was a spring breeze, strong, exuberant, and sometimes unpredictable. ’Lista was a sunny sky, warm, open, peaceful. Dorelle was a summer snowfall, caressing everything she touched so gently that she seemed to dissolve on contact.

  “And me?” Mellina was still following her thoughts.

  Shaya imaged for her a rare night sky she had seen in her childhood, clear, but without a single moon in sight. The stars glimmered brilliantly against a backdrop of darkness and mystery.

  “You flatterer,” Mellina kissed her. “If I weren’t so tired.... Oh, but I am tired. Let’s sleep. Tomorrow everything may seem different.

  ~o0o~

  Shaya recalled those last words in the midst of the turmoil that erupted the next day. She was carrying hot water for the laundry when she heard a knock at the door. She assumed it was the tanner with some hides Caitha had spoken for in the market. “Mellina, can you get that? My hand
s are full.”

  A few minutes later, when she was up to her elbows in suds, Mellina came back to the room. “Shaya, I think you should come out. We have an interesting problem.”

  In the receiving room, an elderly woman, dressed in a delicately embroidered gown with fur trim, sat before the fire. Her back was held perfectly erect, yet she seemed at ease on the crude wooden stool. She stood as Shaya entered the room. “You will be Shaya n’ha Margali. It is my honor to meet you, mestra. I am Magwyn Delleray.”

  The woman was polite, even friendly in her address, but Shaya was unused to such confident directness in women outside the Guild. “How is it you know my name, domna?

  “It was my son, Regald Delleray, who leased you this lodge. He was reluctant, at first, to do business with only women, but I persuaded him that Renunciates have a reputation for honesty and fair dealing, and that you would make good tenants.”

  Shaya thought the relationship with Regald Delleray did no credit to the mother. He had tried to overcharge them. But no woman should be judged by her male kin. Lady Magwyn seemed to be cut of a different cloth.

  “Then we are in your debt, domna. How may we be of service to you?”

  “It is not I who need your help, but my grandson, Dennor. May we sit while I speak? It is a situation that will need some explaining, and I am afraid if I stay on my feet, you will find it too easy to send me back out the way I came, before I’ve had a chance to persuade you to join my cause.”

  Shaya smiled. She liked the woman’s frankness. “I promise you, my lady, neither you nor any woman will be sent from this room without a full hearing. But, please, do sit down. Your story must be a long one because I can think of no way that we can have anything to do with a young boy.”