The Shattered Chain (29 page)

“Mag, I didn’t say I believed—”

“You’re a fool, Peter,” she said in disgust. “Do you really believe no woman could be loyal to another woman out of common humanity and integrity? Jaelle saved my life; and do I have to remind you that if she had not risked hers to cross Scaravel Pass with an unhealed wound, you would still be counting the days to midwinter-night in Rumal’s dungeons? And you want me to leave her, not even knowing if she will live or die, or be scarred for life?”

“Do
you
need to remain? I thought these people were her closest kinfolk!”

“Yes,” Magda said, “but by oath she has had to renounce all her kinfolk; as her oath-daughter I am the closest kin she has beneath this roof.” She said this with absolute certainty, knowing that, in spite of Rohana’s deep affection for Jaelle, she would have said the same thing. Rohana had taken it for granted that Magda had a duty, and a right, to stay with Jaelle and care for her; more than Rohana’s own right. Camilla had said, jesting, that Rohana was still ignorant about the ways of Free Amazons. But she had her finger on the very pulse of what they meant to one another; more, Magda knew, than she herself did.

Peter’s anger had been short-lived, as always. He said, “Probably you know best, Mag; you usually do. And midwinter-feast is the time for hospitality; probably a couple of extra guests will never be noticed.” He walked to Jaelle’s side, and stood looking down at her.

“How beautiful she is,” he said softly, “or how beautiful she would be, without that terrible scar! How could a woman like that renounce love and marriage?”

Jaelle opened her unbandaged eye; her vision was blurry and unfocused. She said, “It is not love we renounce … only marriage … bondage …” she stretched out her hand, and Peter knelt beside the bed, taking her hand in his. Her eyes fell shut again, but she kept hold of him.

He was still kneeling there when the door opened again and Lady Rohana came in, with dom Gabriel’s sister, who had been described to Magda as a
leronis.
The title translated, usually, as “sorceress” or “wise-woman”; Magda suspected it meant, in this case, “healer.” Her name was Alida. She was a small, slight woman with flaming red hair, younger by some years than Rohana, and with a kind of indefinable arrogance which made Magda, for some reason, think of Lorill Hastur.

Lady Alida inclined her head in the faintest of courteous greetings to Magda. She ignored Peter. She pulled back Jaelle’s blankets and began to unfasten the cutaway nightgown; then looked, in unmistakable command, at Peter. He had been brought up in the mountains near Caer Donn and understood perfectly well; actually it was even somewhat scandalous that he should have been in the room when Magda was not fully dressed. He let go Jaelle’s hand, but she quickly clasped it again, opening her eyes.

She said, “I want him to stay!” She sounded like a child, and Magda wondered if she were delirious again.

Lady Alida shrugged. “Stay, then, if she wants you. But take her other hand, and keep out of my way.” Peter obeyed, and Alida, with some minor help from Rohana, got the bandages undone to examine the ugly wounds. Even Magda could see that they were not healing properly, but were swollen and festered. The clean slash on the face had spread and reddened, the nick in the eyelid so swollen that Jaelle’s eye was shut.

“This is a poisoned wound! How came she by it?”

Briefly, Magda recounted their fight with the bandits. Lady Alida made a fastidious grimace. “That is no work for women!”

Jaelle flushed with anger. She said pettishly, “I do not need to be told you do not approve of my way of life, kinswoman, but courtesy should prevent you from insulting my sister and guest before me!”

Rohana said in haste, “Alida meant no offense—did you, kinswoman?”

Alida paid no attention to either of them. “What has happened to
your
wound,
mestra?”

After a moment Magda realized that she was being addressed, and pushed up the long sleeve of the nightgown she was wearing. “It is healing.”

“But not as it should,” Alida said, her light, cold fingers gently touching the red seam, still puckered and inflamed. “A cut like this should long be closed and sealed, with not even an itch remaining. This still gives you some pain, I can tell—does it not?”

“Yes, a little,” Magda said. She had so little experience with such cuts that she had thought it natural. She saw Peter looking up, in surprise and consternation, at her bare arm and the red seam there, and she pushed her sleeve down to cover it.

Alida said, “Jaelle must have been wounded first, and got most of the poison.”

Rohana sounded anxious. “Can you help it, Alida?”

“Oh certainly. I learned to treat such wounds at Neskaya Tower; it is nothing much. You were Tower-trained in Dalereuth as a girl; can you monitor for me?”

Rohana nodded. “Certainly.”

But Rohana watched, faintly troubled, as Alida uncovered her matrix jewel. She knew she should send the two Terrans away. This, she knew, was one reason why Lorill Hastur had interdicted any serious contact between Terran and Darkovan; he was unwilling they should learn anything about the ancient matrix sciences. Yet, if she should make a point of dismissing Magda and Peter from the room now, she must explain why.

She had told no one here that they were Terrans, but she was sure Gabriel guessed. When he had seen Peter’s almost unbelievable likeness to their son Kyril, and heard that he was the prisoner from Sain Scarp, he must have known; but he did not really want to know, Rohana realized, that she had gone against his wishes again.
Because then I would have to tell him, in so many words, that he is not the keeper of my conscience; and even now I do not think Gabriel wants to know that in a way he cannot pretend to ignore.

And the woman, Magda, was Jaelle’s oath-sister and had a right to remain. As for the man—she saw Jaelle clinging to his hand, saw the tenderness in his eyes, and knew what neither of them knew themselves, as yet.

“Put that away. Lady Alida. I will have none of your sorcery,” Jaelle said weakly.

“I must, child. There is poison in the wound and it is spreading to your eye; it can damage your sight. If I do not treat it now …”

“I do not care,” said Jaelle in great agitation. “I will not allow—”

Rohana said sternly, “Stop it, Jaelle. You are behaving like a frightened child who will not have a cut bandaged! I had not believed you so cowardly!”

Alida’s voice was kinder. “I know you were afraid of me when you were a child, Jaelle, but I hoped you had outgrown your fear.”

“I am not afraid,” Jaelle said, shaking with anger, “but I will not have you meddling with my mind! Once is enough for a lifetime!”

Suddenly Rohana recalled what Jaelle was talking about. On that single extended visit to Ardais, which she had demanded before allowing Jaelle to take the Amazon’s oath, she had insisted that Jaelle be tested for
laran;
Melora’s child, and with the flame-colored hair that marked the telepath strain, would surely have one of the Comyn gifts. Jaelle had been frightened and helplessly reluctant, but on this point Rohana would not be moved. Alida had done the testing, and Jaelle had come away white as a corpse and looking deathly ill. It was the only time since her mother’s death that Rohana had ever seen Jaelle in tears. When Rohana had sent her away, a little calmed and comforted, Alida had said:

“Yes, she has
laran;
I think she is a powerful telepath, but for some reason she is blocking it. I could break her defenses, of course; but whether I could ever put them together again afterward—that is another matter. And since you have allowed her to be fostered among the Amazons, I think she would find life intolerable in a Tower. Let her take her own way.”

Rohana had left it at that. She had complied with the law that every child of Comyn blood-legitimate or illegitimate; and in law Jaelle was illegitimate—must be tested. More was not necessary. She was sure it was the shock of rapport with her dying mother that had forced Jaelle to barricade her own
laran,
but she had not tried to find out. But was Jaelle’s fear still so acute? Domna Alida only said, unoffended, when Jaelle swore at her, “You are ill, Jaelle. You do not know what you are saying. Shall I really put you to the indignity of having your hands tied?”

Magda almost cried out: “No, you mustn’t!”

“Jaelle,” Rohana persuaded, “you are not one of those Amazons who makes a great thing of swaggering and comparing scars.”

Alida said coolly, “If she wishes to end her days looking like a battle-scarred veteran of the campaigns at Corresanti, that is her affair; I am only concerned about her eyesight!”

Peter was still holding Jaelle’s hand in his. He raised his free hand to Jaelle’s cheek, caressed the smooth skin below the red slash. He said, as if there were no one in the room but himself and Jaelle, “You are so beautiful. It would be so dreadful to let that beauty be spoiled.”

Jaelle moved her other hand, clumsily, toward his; and Magda knew—they all knew—that she would not protest further.

That wasn’t fair,
Magda thought.
Jaelle is too vulnerable. Peter should not have done it. …

Lady Alida moved her hand, and Magda could see the blue stone in it—a jewel? A brilliant flash, a twisting, sickening
glare …
Magda turned her eyes away, unable to endure the sight. The
leronis
said.quietly, “You were too busy cursing me to let me explain, Jaelle, but I need not touch your mind for this. I am going to be doing some very delicate cell-reconstruction work, so you must lie as quietly as possible, and try to make your mind as blank as you can, so that your thoughts will not interfere. You can sleep if you wish; it will be all the better if you do. I do not think you will feel any pain, but if you do you must tell me at once, so that your pain will not blur what I am doing.”

Magda listened, in amazed curiosity. Hypnosis? All that about making her mind a blank …?

“Rohana, you must monitor,” Alida instructed. “And you must warn me if I come too close to the nerves, or to the small muscles near the corner of the eye,” Alida warned, and again the blue jewel flashed in her hand. Magda felt a little, twisting ripple deep in her body, almost a sickness. Alida looked up, her face now remote and mask like, looking at Magda without really seeing her.

“Do not look directly at the matrix,
mestra;
many people cannot endure the sight.”

Magda turned her eyes away, but found them drawn back.
Fakery, nonsense; but what are they going to do to Jaelle?

Rohana approached Jaelle, bending over her; ignoring Peter, who still knelt on the far side of the bed, holding Jaelle’s hands. Jaelle’s eyes had fallen shut again. Rohana ran her fingertips along Jaelle’s face, not quite touching her; down across the bared shoulder and the swollen, horribly festered wound there. It seemed to Magda that a line of light followed Rohana’s fingertips, began to glow along Jaelle’s skin
… As if I could see the bones through the skin. …

Rohana said,—
No, not the bones, the nerve currents that lie among them …
But Rohana had
not
spoken, not raised her head; she was bending intently over Jaelle.

Alida was holding the jewel stone before her eyes with one hand, her face set in an almost inhuman calm. Now Magda could see, around the two wounds, a dull pulsing, a kind of glow around the inflamed flesh.

Alida said, “Now,” and Rohana began to move her fingertips along the wound in the collarbone and shoulder. She did not touch Jaelle, but as the small lines of light followed her fingers, the swollen flesh seemed to move and ripple, dull colors swirling inside it; to heave, tremble and change color, from angry inflamed red to thick festering purple and then, almost, to a dull black, the lights in the flesh dimming, pulsing. Magda caught her breath; was this some ghastly hypnotic illusion? Blood oozed from the wound.

“Careful,” Rohana said tonelessly.

The rippling surface of the open wound slowly paled, turned purple again, and as the lights around it brightened, turned red, then a smooth, healthy pink …