The Other Side of the Mirror: Darkover Anthology, #4

By Marion Zimmer Bradley

This fourth anthology of all-original Darkover stories, first published in 1987, contains the following: 
Bride Price, by Marion Zimmer Bradley; Everything But Freedom, a novella by Marion Zimmer Bradley; Oathbreaker, by Marion Zimmer Bradley; The Other Side of the Mirror, a novella by Patricia Floss; Blood Hunt, by Linda Frankel & Paula Crunk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust
• Release date: Jul 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386116684

Marion Zimmer Bradley

Marion Zimmer Bradley is the creator of the popular Darkover universe, as well as the critically acclaimed author of the bestselling ‘The Mists of Avalon’ and its sequel, ‘The Forest House’. She lives in Berkeley, California.

Book preview

Introduction

by Marion Zimmer  Bradley

Almost since I published the second or third Darkover novel, other writers—usually young—have for some reason wanted to write about Darkover, too. I am and always have been a little baffled by this response; I am a great lover of J. R. R. Tolkien, but only once have I yielded to the desire to write a pastiche Middle Earth story; and although a Star Trek fan, I have in general refrained from adding to the voluminous apocryphal lore of the Enterprise.

On the other hand I would not go so far as one admirer of the Darkover stories proclaimed; that he would never be able to bring himself to read one word about Darkover except from my hand; he proclaimed them tainted and felt that they damaged the pure vision of Darkover.

Personally, I have always felt that it clarified my vision of Darkover to see it through someone else’s eyes; and a special case in point is the story The Other Side of the Mirror, by Patricia Floss. I remember seeing Patty as a dark-eyed wisp of a girl dressed in a Keeper’s crimson robe and veil at an early Darkover convention; and when Other Side appeared in the mail, although it was too long for the Darkover anthology I was considering, and even too long for our fiction magazine Starstone, during the brief life of Thendara House Publications, we were able to sell a few hundred copies of a pamphlet edition of Other Side and distribute it to hard-core fans.

During this time I had begun writing SHARRA’S EXILE, and had decided that the events described in Pat Floss’s story made somewhat better sense than those I had envisioned as taking place between the acts as it were. I decided that Pat’s version was henceforth to be considered the official version of events on Darkover between the end of HERITAGE and the beginning of EXILE.

However, not having DAW’s printing facilities nor distribution mechanism, there was no way to bring Other Side before the public which should have read it. The only possibility would have been to print it in one of the anthologies of short Darkover fiction—THE KEEPER’S PRICE or SWORD OF CHAOS—but Pat’s story, though excellent, was nearly 30,000 words long; and one does not, whatever the story’s quality, allot nearly a third of the available wordage to a single piece; so with considerable regret I was forced to refuse it for that anthology.

After the good sale of the first two anthologies made it possible to discuss a further volume with DAW Books; I envisioned a possible group of a few longer stories; by this time I had also received, without much hope of professional publication but because it was a good story which I had found pleasure in reading, Blood Hunt, by Paula Crunk and Linda Frankel. The idea was to form an anthology of three stories; that I would write a short novel, not long enough for a major Darkover book, but of sufficient length to round out a respectably-sized volume; such a volume might serve to please readers between major novels. The novelette—perhaps better classified as a novella (about 40,000 words)—is an episode referred to in THE SHATTERED CHAIN, which various fans of the Free Amazon stories had urged me to write; I felt it was not important enough to merit a novel on its own but was possibly too hefty for a subplot in a work the size of, say, STORMQUEEN.

Having written the said novella, I felt it proper to enclose it in a bracket of somewhat tangential short stories. The first, Bride Price, was a small out-take from some peripheral writings, which I felt cast some light on the characters of Rohana and Dom Gabriel Ardais and the curious nature of their marriage; very much according to the Tolstoy epigram which heads his famous novel ANNA KARENINA. (Happy families are all alike; but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.)

The other story, Oathbreaker, deals with the enigma that one of the few villains I ever created, Dyan Ardais, promptly became a favorite, and quite a number of fans and readers felt compelled to write stories about Dyan and his love life; especially they felt compelled to write about his love affairs with women... in the nature, I suppose, of the Star Trek fans who have felt compelled to entangle the chaste Spock in tormented love affairs with almost everyone except Darth Vader. While I prefer to leave Dyan’s love life in decent obscurity (since I suspect that to investigate it too closely would be unedifying in the extreme), I had no particular objection to investigating the reason why a telepath of his proven abilities would have been banned from a Tower. This was the result; and it seemed a fitting cap to the brief portrait of Kyril Ardais in Everything But Freedom.

I do not regard this handful of stories as a major addition to the literature of Darkover; but for the fans who want to know more about the private lives of their favorite characters, I hope it may prove of interest.

The Other Side of the Mirror

by Patricia Floss

––––––––

Marius Lanart stood on the edge of the cliff, wondering if it would be best to jump off and save himself a good deal of misery. Certainly no one would regret his death. If he had been twelve, instead of nearly fifteen, he would have wept. He stared down at the blue stone towers of Comyn Castle, wishing they would fall and crumble into dust, and gradually the misery was replaced by a hot, furious anger that he had never felt before.

He clenched his fists, remembering the day’s events. Andres, the Terran ex-spaceman whom his father had appointed Chief Steward of Armida more than fifteen years ago, had brought Marius to Comyn Castle late last night. This afternoon, Lerrys Ridenow had accompanied them to Lord Hastur’s audience and championed Marius’s right, as the son of a Comyn Lord, to join the elite Comyn Cadets.

Dyan Ardais, Commander of the Guards, had not even looked at him. He had said in a bored voice, that Kennard Alton’s other bastard had already proven the fallibility of their mother’s Terran blood.

Gabriel Lanart-Hastur, who was kinsman to Marius as well as Cadet-Master, had been patronizing: Marius looks even more Terran than Lew did, with his dark hair and eyes. And some people still blame Lew for the Sharra rebellion. It would be cruel to expose Marius to the ridicule and the hatred his very presence would incur among ignorant boys who share the prejudices of their elders. I will personally instruct him in swordsmanship and fighting techniques—but not among the Cadets.

Then Lord Hastur had ended the discussion in his usual fashion, raising a frail white hand and calling for silence. The old man had calmly addressed Marius: My boy, we have nothing against you personally, you must understand that. But the Comyn Council ruled long ago that neither you nor your brother had any claim to Comyn privileges. We gave Lew those privileges because your father had no other children, and his domain needed an heir. But since your father took Lew and left our world, there has been much resentment.... Believe me when I say I wish it could be otherwise; but I cannot permit you to enter the Cadets at this time.

More than anything in the world, Marius wished that his father and brother had not gone away. And why haven’t they come back? he asked himself, for perhaps the hundredth time. I know Lew was very sick, and Father hoped the Terranan could help him, but it’s been years since they left. Is Father still so worried about Lew that he’s forgotten me? Even if Lew hasn’t gotten better, Father could come back to visit... he’d be Commander again, and send Dyan crawling back to Ardais, and Hastur wouldn’t dare deny me a place in the Cadets. And then I’d show them all! He let the fantasy sweep him up; but only for a moment. No. Who am I trying to fool? It’s been too long. Father and Lew will never come home. They don’t want me any more than the Comyn does. How I hate them! Gabriel Lanart-Hastur, that filthy boy-chaser Dyan, and all the rest of the Comyn Lords! If I could pull that dungheap of a castle down about their ears—I would begin by pushing old High-and-Holy Hastur off the parapet—I swear by Aldones I’ll make all of them pay for casting me out!

The wind was colder now as the sky grew dark. He hugged his knees and stared his hatred at the castle. Somehow, I will make them pay!

From far off, a man’s voice called, Marius! Probably Andres come looking for him. He didn’t want to return to the castle, but he was not going to run and hide like a child afraid of a reprimand. Much as he hated the indifference and the cold stares of the Comyn Lords, he knew the only way to resolve the situation was to face it. Father and Lew went away, but I will not. I am the last Alton, and I won’t give up my heritage.

He stood up and watched the faint glow of torchlight grow brighter, discerning the form of a man on horseback on the trail below him. The man dismounted, tethered the horse, and began to climb. It was Andres, scowling fiercely. Marius smiled; behind Andres Ramirez’s habitual grimace was the man who had been his second father.

Are you all right? Andres growled, looking at Marius’s torn sleeve and dirt-smudged face. You lit out of the Castle like a rabbithorn in a brush-fire.

How did you know where to look for me?

Lew used to come here often, his first summer in the Cadets, when the Comyn brats and Lord Dyan made his life miserable. He never wanted anyone to see him crying.

Three of Darkover’s four moons had risen by the time they reached the castle. Marius suppressed a yawn as they approached the Alton quarters. A hot supper and a long sleep looked very attractive to him. If he could sleep, with Hastur’s polite denial burning in his ears!

In the main hall of the suite, servants divested him of wet cloak and boots. A huge fire spread cheerful warmth through the hall, and Marius felt his taut muscles relax. During dinner, he noticed that everyone seemed solicitous toward him. Andres had not said one word of reproach for his flight that afternoon. Even Bruna, the gruff old woman who tyrannized the kitchen-maids and traded insults with Andres, asked if Marius wanted a third helping of stew. At that, he turned to Andres and said, The condemned man eats well, eh? Marius spoke half in jest, but Andres did not respond at all.

Andres, what’s the matter? Then he clenched his fists. Did the old man say anything after I left?

Andres sighed heavily and looked at his callused hands. Marius had never seen him look so grim.

Look at me, Andres. What happened? Have they excluded me from Council again?

Worse than that, I’m afraid. Lord Hastur has decided you’re to go to the Terran Zone.

For a few seconds Marius thought he’d heard wrong. And do what? he spat out.

There’s a school that their government runs for the children of Terrans stationed here in Thendara. You’ll be taking classes with them and with a private tutor in the HQ building. Hastur said you can live there, too, if you like.

Marius shook his head. He felt numb. How could this be happening to him? Not satisfied with rejecting him from the Comyn Cadets, Hastur and his puppets were now tossing him away like a dirty rag. He turned away, afraid that if he saw pity on Andres’s face, he would start to cry.

"Are you sure that Hastur ordered it; that it wasn’t just a suggestion? I know he’s a politician, but Father was his strongest ally, and his friend. How can he do this to me? Am I held so worthless, to be thrown to the Terranan?" His voice shook, and he was unable to go on.

Hastur ordered it, personally. I told him that your father gave you into my charge when he left, and I wouldn’t permit this—this arrangement. But he reminded me that you and I are both subject to the will of the Council. Ha! Andres snorted. I don’t think ‘the will of the Council’ had anything to do with it. You’re an embarrassment to Hastur; he’s unable to give you your rightful place in the Comyn, so he decides to introduce you to Terran culture, whether you’re willing or not. That way you’ll be out of sight, and.... He stopped, seeing that Marius was barely hearing him. The boy sat quietly; one fist loosely clenched, his dark face as bleak and hopeless as an old man’s.

Andres swore, then placed a hand on Marius’s shoulder. Look, son, this isn’t as bad as it seems. Hastur didn’t say you’d have to spend the rest of your life there, just one summer. The Terrans aren’t monsters, you know. I’m Terran—spent half my life in Spaceforce, and I’m still trustworthy, aren’t I? Marius, your own mother was born and raised on Terra, and a finer woman never breathed, God rest her soul. At least you’ll get the chance to explore that side of your heritage you’ll learn all about the stars, mathematics, science... I know a few Comyn lordlings who’d break their arms for such an opportunity!

Marius looked up at the Alton banners that hung from the ceiling. There was no hope there, nor anywhere else. I can’t fight Hastur. I’ll go to the Terran Zone and learn whatever they want to teach me there. But I’ll sleep here at night, even if Hastur sends you and the staff back to Armida.

Andres seemed cheered by this. That’s the spirit! I’ll stay on, too. Armida can do without me for a few tendays. He rose from the table. Hastur’s already made the necessary arrangements; I’m to take you to the Zone tomorrow morning.

Marius fought a ripple of panic. So soon? He smiled bitterly. The old man was pretty sure of me. To himself, he added, He shouldn’t have been. He may regret what I do with this Terranan education. And here is one more wrong to be avenged—the worst of them all.

Later, after the rest of the household had retired, Marius sat alone by the empty hearth. He was very tired, but he could not sleep. Finally he lit a candle, placed it on the table, and knelt before its tiny flame.

Avarra, Dark Mother of Birth and Death, he prayed silently, the peace of Your healing sleep eludes me. Grant that it may be thus with those who have cast me out, this night and all the nights to come, that they may never know peace again.

~o0o~

The next day began badly. The pity in the servants’ eyes continued to set Marius on edge, and he ignored his breakfast. Andres was not much better; he looked as if he were anticipating a funeral. When the time came to leave, Marius was almost glad. He put on his finest cloak and a new pair of suede boots and followed Andres through the castle. As they passed by the barracks, he heard the clanging noise of swordplay and harsh voices calling out orders. The Cadets start training today, he thought. I should be there, too. He gritted his teeth and composed his face into a blank slate. No one must know what I am feeling, not even Andres. I will not be the object of anyone’s pity or mockery.

When they reached the square that marked the boundary of the Old City, he turned and said, You can leave me now, Andres. I’ve been to the Zone before and I know the way to the HQ. He pointed to the enormous building that dwarfed both Comyn Castle and the gaunt structures of the spaceport. They call it a skyscraper, right? he added, pronouncing the Terran word with conscious ease.

Don’t get smart with me, Marius, Andres growled. I’m taking you right up to the spaceport gates. The Terrans will have someone there to take charge of you.

I’m not exactly a babe in arms, Marius said angrily, as they turned up a wide avenue of cafes, bars, and souvenir shops. Just tell me who I report to in the HQ and I’ll find him.

Look, Andres answered, a little too loudly, you may be nearly a man by Darkovan law, but to the Terrans you’re still a minor, a child. And by the time you get to your first class, you’ll be grateful to have someone showing you around. The HQ is like a gigantic anthill, and Terran bureaucracy is even worse.

The gates of the Spaceport Complex lay ahead. Andres stopped short and stared at the shining edifice that rose above them like a small mountain. Marius looked, too; and, involuntarily, in a sudden wish to be close to Andres, he felt the familiar vibration of telepathic rapport... I never thought I’d be bringing Kennard’s son here. There was a bitterness there that nearly matched his own. Andres cleared his throat, and Marius felt the contact dissolve. This is as far as I go, lad— Andres pointed at the gate. Good luck. I’ll see you tonight. He turned around, but not before Marius had seen his eyes moisten.

Left alone, Marius walked forward, more than a little frightened. In conscious imitation of Kennard Alton, he squared his shoulders, lifted his head, and strode on proudly. The burly guards in black leather shifted their weight as he passed them, and he suppressed a grimace at the blasters they wore.

A slight man in a silvery, shining coverall stepped up to meet him. You’re Marius Alton? he inquired in a nasal voice.

Stupid Terranan, Marius winced inwardly, and answered, I am Marius Montray-Lanart. He hardly heard the Terran identify himself as Claude Sorrell, the Public Relations man assigned to take him through the HQ. It was like a cruel joke to be called `Alton,’ the name that Comyn Council had refused to give the sons of Elaine Montray. One can’t expect Terranan to be aware of such subtleties, he told himself, and dismissed the incident from his mind.

The next few hours were the most confusing of Marius’s life. Sorrell led him through what seemed an endless maze of glaring lights and windowless cubicles. Over and over again he answered impertinent questions on identical papers and signed his name to them, until he thought his hand would fall from his arm. He submitted to the indignity of having his body inspected by a pompous Terran healer and was rewarded with one more piece of paper to add to the pile that Sorrell carried for him. By the time they had finished testing him, he understood the remark Andres had made about bureaucracy. The walls seemed to press in on him, and he wanted desperately to run back outside, away from all the people who infested the Terran base.

Sorrell took him to a vast room that reminded Marius of the Guard Hall at Comyn Castle, save that it was jammed with people eating at circular counters. They joined a long line before a machine that was twice the height of Marius. He was fascinated by the dials, buttons, and throbbing hum of the contraption—until Sorrell handed him a tray and utensils. See the pictures next to the buttons? Sorrell directed. You pick whatever you want to eat and press the button beside it.

Marius felt sick to his stomach. Eat food that comes from a machine? No wonder the Ridenow brothers say the Terranan are barbarians!

No, thank you, he said politely. I’m not hungry.

After Sorrell had finished eating, they took the elevator to the Academic Placement Office on the thirty-first floor. Well, Marius, Sorrell announced in the overly-cheerful tone that Marius was beginning to dislike, you did very well on your tests. Your knowledge of Terran Standard is close to the norm, your grasp of basic mathematics is unusual for a Darkovan, and you show an affinity for historical analysis.

Marius wasn’t surprised. He and his brother had learned to speak the Terran language early in life; their father had also insisted that Andres teach them the rudiments of mathematics. Sorrell continued to chatter. You’ll be studying Life Sciences, Basic Algebra, Empire Geography, Advanced Terran Standard, and, of course, Physical Fitness. You’ll also see a tutor for an hour every other school day. Now we’ll go pick up the textbooks that you’ll need for those classes.

At last they let him go. Once outside, Marius nearly cried for joy. The air was sharp and keen, the first stars glimmered above him as the setting sun’s red glare purpled the oncoming clouds. He had almost forgotten there were such things as wind and darkness. The day spent in the hot, constantly bright arc-lights of the HQ had seemed to last forever. He hurried through the Terran Zone, elated to be walking free again. The candle-lit windows of the Old City houses spurred him on his way.

~o0o~

In the days that followed, Marius found that life in the Terran stronghold was more difficult than he had anticipated. He was familiar with loneliness, having been shunned or scorned by most of the Comyn ever since he could remember; but the bulk of his life had been spent at Armida, the hereditary estate of the Alton lords. There, from the great house and stables to the villages and Ranger Stations in the hills, he was known and cherished as Kennard Alton’s son.

Now he was thrust against his will into a world strange and frightening, and his was the loneliness of both exile and alien. Sorrell and Andres warned him of culture shock, but that ancient cliche hardly described his own confusion. Inside the walls of the HQ, Marius felt like a child, learning the mechanics of existence for the first time.

In the first tenday alone, he mastered the use of elevators, slide-walks, push-button lights, video machines, microscopes, and Terran plumbing. He had thought himself fluent in Terran Standard; yet the effort of speaking and reading it each day tired him, and the concepts it carried were often completely foreign to his understanding. Also, the regulations that governed a Terran student’s life were a constant irritant to him.

His claustrophobia increased with every day spent behind walls. He held himself aloof from his fellow students, and concentrated on learning what their teachers set before him. The only Terran with whom he felt at all comfortable was his tutor, a slender young woman who spoke perfect Cahuenga and insisted he call her by her first name, Elena. Marius was tempted more than once to unbend and confide some of his problems in her sympathetic ear; but he did not.

Hardest of all was changing worlds each day: leaving Comyn Castle when the sun had barely risen, sitting still throughout the day in the Terran base, and walking back to the castle under the sun’s last rays became a torturous routine. If he had followed Hastur’s suggestion, however, and lived in one of the windowless cubicles of the HQ dormitories, he would have gone mad. To climb the hill up to the castle was to return to Darkover from the horrors of exile. But whenever he passed the barracks, he heard the noise of the Cadets at swordplay, reminding him of all that he had lost.

Sometimes he encountered the Cadets when they were off-duty. Most of them ignored him, sneered, or made remarks that were not worthy of reply. Felix Aillard, an arrogant boy a head taller than Marius, stopped him one evening, to grab his books and rip out several pages. Infuriated, Marius had knocked him breathless to the ground with a quick jab to the solar plexus that he’d learned from his Physical Fitness teacher.

In the familiar comfort of the Alton rooms, he evaded Andres’s questions and attempted counsels—but beneath his mask of equanimity, a terrible anger smoldered like the forge of Mar.

Marius had counted almost two tendays in the Terran Zone the day his luck changed for the better. His Terran Standard class seemed to stretch out in an unendurable catalog of grammatical minutiae. Marius did not need the sound of knuckles cracking from the rows behind him to perceive that the others shared his boredom. The only reason he could tolerate this class was the window near his seat, through which he could see the spaceport and the purple-tinged Venza Hills beyond the city. As Horton’s heavy voice droned on, Marius sought distraction in the perfect view.

From the corner of his eye, a metallic blur arched upward, cleaving the sky like an arrow. Probably one of their Mapping and Exploring expeditions, gone to spy on us from the air, he thought. In a fit of resentment, he wished the craft would turn in mid-flight, fall from the sky, and crash into the spaceport. Though he knew his own matrix was not strong enough to accomplish this, he focused all his telepathic force into a mental image of the spaceport bursting into flame.

Without warning, he was interrupted. A wave of mental protest hit his unprepared mind, as