The Forbidden Circle Read online

  Andrew assured Damon that he was accustomed to bathing himself without assistance, and the young man withdrew. Andrew took a long, luxurious bath, soaking to the neck in the scalding hot water (And I thought this place was primitive, good God!), meanwhile wondering a little about the heating system. The ancient Romans and Cretans on Earth managed to have the most elaborate baths in history, so why shouldn’t these people? Downstairs they’d been lighting wood fires, but why not? Fireplaces were considered the height of luxury even in some societies that didn’t need them. Maybe they used natural hot springs. Anyhow, the hot water felt good, and he lingered, soaking out the stiffness of days spent sleeping on stone floors, clambering around in the mountains. Finally, feeling incredibly refreshed, he climbed out of the deep tub, dried himself, and wrapped himself in a blanket.

  Soon afterward Damon returned. He looked as if he, too, had taken advantage of the time to bathe and put on fresh clothes; he looked younger and less exhausted and spent. He brought an armful of clothing, saying almost in apology, “These are poor enough garments to offer a guest; it is the hall-steward’s holiday suit.”

  “At least they’re dry and clean,” Andrew said, “so thank him for me, whoever he is.”

  “Come down to the hall when you’re ready,” Damon said. “There will be food cooked by then.”

  Left alone, Andrew got himself into the “hall- steward’s holiday suit.” It consisted of a shirt and knee-length underdrawers of coarse linen; over which went suedelike breeches, flared somewhat from knee to ankle; a long-sleeved finely embroidered shirt with wide sleeves gathered in at the wrist; and a leather jerkin. There were knitted stockings that tied at the knee, and over them low felt boots lined with fur. In this outfit, which was more comfortable than he had thought when he looked at it, he felt warm for the first time in days. He was hungry, too, and when he opened his door to go downstairs, it was only necessary to follow the good smell of food that was rising. He did wonder, a little tardily, if this would take him, not to the hall, but to the kitchens; but the stairway ended in a corridor from which he could see the door to the Great Hall, where he had been welcomed.

  Damon and Ellemir were seated at a small table, and a third chair, empty, was drawn up before it. Damon raised his head in welcome and said, “Forgive us for not waiting for you. But I was awake all night, and very hungry. Come and join us.”

  Andrew took the third chair. Ellemir looked him over with mild surprise as he sat down, and said, “In those clothes you look quite like one of us. Damon has been telling me a little about your people from Terra. But I had thought that men from another world would be very different from us, more like the nonhumans in the mountains. Are you human in every way?”

  Andrew laughed “Well, I seem human enough to myself,” he said. “It would seem more rational for me to ask, are you people human too? Most of the worlds of the Empire are inhabited by people who seem to be more or less human, at least as far as the casual observer can tell. Most people believe that all the planets were colonized by a common human stock, a few million years ago. There’s been plenty of adaptation to environment, but on planets like Terra, the human organism seems to stay fairly stable. I’m not a biologist, so I can’t answer for things like chromosomes and such, but I was told before I came here that the dominant race on Cottman Four was basically human, though there were a couple of sapient peoples that weren’t.” With a shock, he remembered what Callista had said: that she was in the hands of nonhumans. Surely she would want her kinsfolk to know. But should he spoil their breakfast? Time enough to tell them later.

  Damon held a dish toward him, and he served himself with what looked—and later, tasted—like an omelet. It had herbs and unfamiliar vegetables in it, but it was good. There were fruits—the nearest analogy to what he was accustomed to were apples and plums—and a drink he had tasted in the Trade City, with the taste of bitter chocolate.

  He noticed, while he ate, that Ellemir was watching him surreptitiously. He wondered if by their standards his table manners were atrociously bad, or whether it was more complicated than that.

  Ellemir was still unsettling to him. She was so very like Callista, and yet in some subtle way so unlike. He could look at every feature of her face, and not see a hair’s difference from Callista: the broad high forehead, with the hair growing in small delicate tendrils at the hairline, too short to be tucked into the neat braids at the back; the high cheekbones and small straight nose with a dusting of amber freckles; the short upper lip and small determined mouth; and the small, round dimpled chin. Callista had been the first woman he had seen on this planet who had not been abundantly and warmly clad, except for the women working in the central heated spaceport offices, and those were women of the Empire.

  Yes, that was the subtle difference. Callista, every time he had seen her, had been in definite undress, in her flimsy blue nightgown. He had seen almost all of her that there was to see. If any other woman had shown herself to him in that kind of attire—well, all his life Carr had been the kind of man who took his fun where he found it, without getting particularly involved. And yet when he woke and found Callista apparently sleeping at his side, and still half-sleeping had reached for her, he had been distressed and had shared her own embarrassment. Quite simply, he didn’t really want her on those terms at all. No, that wasn’t quite right. Of course he wanted her. It seemed the most natural thing that he should want her, and she had accepted it that way. But what he wanted was something more. He wanted to know her, to understand her. He wanted her to know and understand him, and care about him. At the very thought that she might have reason to fear some crude or thoughtless approach from him, Andrew had gone hot and cold all over, as if by his own clumsy reactions he might have spoiled something very sweet and precious, very perfect. Even now, when he remembered the brave little joke she had made (“Ah, this is sad! The very first time, the very first, that I lie down with any man, and I am not able to enjoy it!”), he felt a lump in his throat, an immense and completely unfamiliar tenderness.

  For this girl, this Ellemir, he felt nothing of that sort at all. If he had waked up and found her asleep in his bed, he would have treated her like any other pretty girl he found there, unless she had some strenuous objection—in which case she probably wouldn’t have been there at all. But it would have meant no more than that to him, and when it was over, she would have meant no more to him than any of the various other women he had known and enjoyed for a little while. How could twins have such a subtle difference? Was it simply that intangible known as personality? But he hardly knew anything at all of Ellemir’s.

  So how could Callista rouse in him that enormous and unqualified yes, that absolute self-surrender, and Ellemir simply a shrug?

  Ellemir put down her spoon. She said uneasily, “Why are you staring at me, stranger?”

  Andrew dropped his eyes. “Didn’t realize I was.”

  She flushed to the roots of her hair. “Oh, don’t apologize. I was staring too. I suppose, when first I heard of men who had come here from other planets, I halfway expected them to be strange, weird, like the strange creatures of horror stories, things with horns and tails. And here you are, quite like any man from the next valley. But I am only a country girl, and not as accustomed to new things as people who live in the cities. So I am staring like any peasant who never sees anything but his own cows and sheep.”

  For the first time Andrew sensed a faint, a very faint likeness to Callista: the gentle directness, the straightforward honesty, without coquetry or wariness. It warmed him to her, somehow, for all the hostility she had shown before.

  Damon leaned forward, laying his hand over Ellemir’s, and said, “Child, he does not know our customs. He meant no offense. . . . Stranger, among our people it is offensive to stare at young girls. If you were one of us, I would be in honor bound to call challenge on you. Ignorance can be forgiven in a child or a stranger, but I can tell you are not a man who would deliberately offend women; so I instr
uct you without offense.” He smiled, as if anxious to reassure Carr that he really meant none.

  Uneasily, Carr looked away from Ellemir. That was a hell of a custom; it would take some getting used to.

  “I hope it’s polite to ask questions,” Andrew said. “I could use some answers. You people live here—”

  “It is Ellemir’s home,” Damon said. “Her father and brothers are at Comyn Council at this season.”

  “You are her brother? Her husband?”

  Damon shook his head. “A kinsman; when Callista was taken, she sent for me. And we, too, would like to ask some questions. You are a Terran from the Trade City; what were you doing in our mountains?”

  Andrew told them a little about the Mapping and Exploring expedition. “My name’s Andrew Carr.”

  “Ann’dra,” Ellemir repeated slowly, with a light inflection. “Why, that is not so outlandish; there are Ann dras and MacAnndras back in the Kilghard Hills, MacAnndras and MacArans—”

  And that was another thing, Andrew thought, the names on this planet. They were a lot like Terran names. Yet, as far as he had ever heard, this wasn’t one of the colonies settled by Terran Empire ships and societies. Well, that wasn’t important now.

  “Have you had quite enough to eat?” Damon asked. “You are sure? The cold here can deplete your reserves very fast; you must eat well to recuperate.”

  Ellemir, nibbling at a plate of dried fruit resembling raisins, said, “Damon, you eat as if you had been out in the blizzard for days.”

  “Believe me, it felt that way,” Damon said wryly, and shivered. “I did not tell you everything, because he came and we were distracted, but I was thrust into a place where the storm had gone on, and if you had not brought me back—” He stared at something invisible to Carr or the young woman. “Why don’t we move to the fire, and be comfortable,” he said, “and then we can talk. Now that you are warm and, I hope, comfortable—” He paused.

  Andrew, guessing some formal remark was expected, said, “Very. Thank you.”

  “Now it is time to go over your story again, from the beginning, and in detail.” They moved to the fireside, Andrew on one of the high-backed benches, Ellemir in a low chair. Damon dropped to the rug at her feet, and said, “Now begin, and tell us everything. Especially I want to hear every word you exchanged with Callista; even if you did not understand it, there may be some clue in it which would mean something to us. You said that you saw her first after your plane crashed—?”

  “No, that was not the first time,” Andrew said, and told them about the fortune-teller in the Trade City, and the crystal, and how he had seen Callista’s face. He hesitated at the thought of trying to tell them exactly how deep that random contact had gone, and finally left it without comment.

  Ellemir asked, “And did you accept her as real, then?”

  “No,” Andrew said. “I thought it was a game—the fortune-telling. Maybe even that the old dame was a procuress, showing me women for the usual reasons. Fortune-telling is usually a swindle.”

  “How can that be?” Ellemir said. “Anyone who pretended to psi powers which she did not in fact possess would be treated as a criminal! That is a very serious offense!”

  Andrew said dryly, “My people don’t believe there are any psi powers which are not pretended. At that time I thought that the girl was a dream. A wish-fulfillment, if you like.”

  “Yet she was real enough for you to change your plans and decide to stay here on Darkover,” Damon said shrewdly.

  Andrew felt uncomfortable under his knowing gaze, and said, “I had nowhere special to go. I’m—what’s the old saying? ‘I’m the cat who walked by himself and all places are alike to me.’ So this place was as good as any other and better than most.” (As he said it, he remembered Damon saying, “I know when I’m being lied to,” but he couldn’t explain it and felt foolish trying.)

  “Anyhow, I stayed. Say it seemed like a good idea at the time. Call it a whim.”

  To Carr’s relief, Damon left it at that. He said, “In any case, and for whatever reasons, you stayed. Exactly when was this?” Andrew figured out the time, and Ellemir shook her head in puzzlement.

  “At that time, Callista was safe in the Tower. She would hardly have sent any psi message for help and comfort, certainly not to a stranger!”

  Carr said stubbornly, “I don’t ask you to believe it. I’m trying to tell you just exactly what happened, the way I felt it. You’re supposed to be the ones who understand psychic things like this.” Again, their eyes met in that queer hostility.

  Damon said, “In the overworld, time is often out of focus. There may have been some element of precognition, for both of you.”

  Ellemir flared, “You’re acting as if you believe his story, Damon.”

  “I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, and I suggest you do likewise. I remind you, Ellemir: neither you nor I can reach Callista. If this man has done so, he may very well be our only link with her. It would be best not to anger him.”

  She dropped her eyes and said curtly, “Go on. I won’t interrupt again.”

  “So. Andrew, your next contact with Callista was when the plane crashed—?”

  “After the plane crashed. I was lying half conscious on the ledge, and she called to me, and told me to take shelter.” Slowly, trying to recall word by word what Callista had said to him, he told of how she had saved him from trying to reenter the plane a moment before it crashed down into the bottom of the ravine.

  “Do you suppose you could find the place again?” Ellemir asked.

  “I don’t know. The mountains are bewildering, when you’re not used to them. I suppose I could try, though the trip was bad enough one way.”

  “I see no reason why it’s necessary,” Damon said. “Go on. When did she next appear to you?”

  “After the snow began. In fact, just about the time it was working up to blizzard proportions, and I was ready to give up and decide it was all completely hopeless, and the best thing to do was to pick out a comfortable spot to lie down and die.”

  Damon thought that over a moment. He said, “Then the link between you is two-way. Possibly her need established a link with you, the first time. But your need and danger brought her to you that time, at least.”

  “But if Callista is free in the overworld,” Ellemir cried out, “why could she not come to you there, Damon? Why could Leonie not reach her? It makes no sense!”

  She looked so distressed, so frantic, that Carr could not endure it. It was too much like Callista’s weeping. “She told me she did not know where she was—that she was being kept in darkness. If it is any comfort to you, Ellemir, she came to me only because she had tried, and failed, to reach you.” He tried to reconstruct her exact words. It wasn’t easy, and he was beginning to suspect that Callista had reached his mind directly without too much need for words. “She said something like—I think—it was as if the minds of her kinsfolk and friends had all been erased from the surfaces of this world, and that she had wandered around a long time in the dark looking for you, until she had found herself in communication with me. And then she said that she kept coming back to me because she was frightened and alone”—he heard his own voice thicken and catch—“and because a stranger was better than no one at all. She said she thought she was being kept in a part of that level—overworld you call it?—where her people’s minds could not reach.”

  “But how? Why?” Ellemir demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” Carr said humbly. “I don’t know a thing about it. Your sister had a dreadful time trying to explain even that much to me, and I’m still not sure I’ve got it straight. If what I say isn’t accurate, it’s not because I’m lying, it’s because I just don’t have the language to put it in. I seemed to understand it when Callista was telling me about it, but it’s something else to try to tell it in your language.”

  Ellemir’s face softened a little. “I don’t think you’re lying, Ann’dra,” she said, again mispronouncing his n
ame in that strange soft way. “If you’d come here with some evil purpose, I’m sure you could tell much better lies than those. But anything you can tell us about Callista, please try to say it somehow. Has she been hurt, did she seem to be in pain, had she been ill-treated? Did you actually see her, and how did she look? Oh, yes, you must have seen her if you recognized me.”

  Andrew said, “She did not seem to be injured, although there was a bruise on her cheek. She was wearing a thin blue dress, it looked like a nightgown; no one in her right senses would have worn it out-of-doors. It had—” He closed his eyes, the better to visualize her. “It had some kind of embroidery around the hem, in green and gold, but it was torn and I could not see the design.”

  Ellemir shivered faintly. “I know the gown. I have one like it. Callista wore it to bed the night we were—raided. Tell me more, quickly!”

  “Proof of the truth of his tale,” Damon said. “I saw her, only for an instant, in the overworld. She still wore that nightdress. Which tells me two things. He has in fact seen Callista. And—a little more ominous—she cannot, for some reason, although she walks in the overworld as if it were her own courtyard, clothe herself in anything more suitable, even in thought. When I have seen her before this in the overworld, she was clothed as befits a leronis—a sorceress,” he added to Andrew, in explanation, “in her crimson robes, and veiled as a Keeper should be.” He repeated, unwillingly, what Leonie had said: “If she were drugged, or entranced, or her starstone taken from her, or if she had been so ill-treated that her mind had darkened into madness—”

  “I can’t believe that,” Andrew said. “Everything she did was too—too sensible, too purposeful, if you will. She guided me to one specific place, in the blizzard; and she came back again, so she could show me where to find food that had been stored there for emergencies. I asked her if she was cold, and she told me it was not cold where she was. Also—when I saw the bruise on her face—I asked, and she told me she had not been hurt or really ill-treated.”