“You probably weren’t taught as intensively.” That, to me, was the oddest thing about Terra — the casualness with which they regarded this one talent which distinguishes man from four-footed kind. Women who could not dance! How could they have true beauty?
I just happened to be watching the great central curtains when they parted and Callina Aillard entered the hall. And for me, the music stopped.
I have seen the black night of interstellar space flecked by single stars. Callina was like that, in a scrap torn from the midnight sky, her dark hair netted with pale constellations.
“How beautiful she is,” Kathie whispered. “What does the dress represent? I’ve never seen one just like it.”
“I don’t know,” I said. But I lied. I did not know why any girl on the eve of her marriage — even an unwilling marriage — should assume the traditional costume of la damnee; Naotalba, daughter of doom, bride of the daemon Zandru. What would happen when Beltran caught the significance of the costume? A more direct insult would have been hard to devise — unless she had come in the dress of the public hangman!
I excused myself quickly from Kathie and went toward Callina. She had agreed to the wishes of the Comyn; she had no right to embarrass her family like this, at such a late date.
But by the time I reached her, she was already getting that lecture from old Hastur; I caught the tail of it;
“Behaving like a naughty, willful child!”
“Grandfather,” said Callina, in that quiet, controlled voice, “I will neither look nor act a lie. This dress pleases me. It is perfectly suited to the way I have been treated by the Comyn all my life.” Her laugh was musical and unexpectedly bitter. “Beltran of Aldaran would endure more insults than this — for laran rights in council! You will see.” She turned away from the old man.
“Dance with me, Lew?”
It was no request but a command; as such I obeyed, but I was upset and didn’t care if she knew it. It was shameful, to spoil Linnell’s first dance like this!
“I am sorry about Linnell,” Callina said. “But the dress pleases my mood. And it is becoming, is it not?”
It was. “You’re too damned beautiful,” I said hoarsely. “Callina, Callina, you’re not going through with this — this crazy farce! I drew her into a recess and bent to kiss her, savagely crushing my mouth on hers. For a moment she was passive, startled; then went rigid, bending back and pushing me frantically away. “No!! Don’t!”
I let my arms drop and stood looking at her, slow fury heating my face. “That’s not the way you acted last night!”
She was almost weeping. “Can’t you spare me this?”
“Did you ever think there were things you might have spared me? Farewell, Callina comynara; I wish Beltran joy of his bride.” I felt her catch at my sleeve, but I shook her off and strode away.
I skirted the floor, grimly quiet. A nagging unease, half telepathic, beat on me. Aldaran was dancing with Callina now; viciously I hoped he’d try to kiss her. Lerrys, Dyan? They were in costume, unrecognizable. Half the Terran colony could be here, too, and I’d never know.
Rare Scott was chatting with Derik in a corner; Derik looked flushed, and his voice, when he turned and greeted me, was thick and unsteady. “Eve’n, Lew.”
“Derik, have you seen Regis Hastur? What’s his costume?”
“Do’ know,” Derik said thickly. “I’m Derik, that’s all I know. Have ’nough trouble rememberin’ that. You. try it some time.”
“A fine spectacle,” I muttered. “Derik, I wish you would remember who you are! Get out and sober up, won’t you? So you realize what a show you are giving the Terrans?”
“I think — forget y’self,” he mumbled. “Not your affair wha’ I do — ain’ drunk anyhow.”
“Linnell should be very proud of you!” I snapped.
“Li’l girl’s mad at me.” He forgot his anger and spoke in a tone of intimate self-pity. “Won’t even dansh—”
“Who would?” I muttered, standing on both feet so I would not kick him. I resolved to hunt up Hastur again; he had authority I didn’t, and influence with Derik. It was bad enough to have a Regency in such times. But when the heir presumptive makes a public idiot of himself before half a planet!
I scanned the riot of costumes, looking for Hastur. One in particular caught my eye; I had seen such harlequins in old books on Terra. Parti-colored, a lean beaked cap over a masked face, gaunt and somehow horrible. Not in itself, for the costume was only grotesque, but there was a sort of atmosphere, the man himself — I scowled, angry at myself. Was I imagining things already?”
“No. I don’t like him either,” said Regis quietly at my side. “And I don’t like the atmosphere of this room — or this night.” He paused. “I went to grandfather today, and demanded form.”
I gripped his hand, without a word. Every Comyn comes to that, soon or late.
“Things are different,” he said slowly. “Maybe I’m different. I know what the Hastur Gift is, and why it’s recessive in so many generations. I wish it was as recessive in me as in grandfather.”
I didn’t have to answer. He would heal. But now that new strength, that added dimension — whatever it was — was a raw wound in his brain.
He said, “You remember about the Hastur and Alton Gifts? How tight can you barrier your mind? Hell could break loose, you know.”
“In a crowd like this, my barriers aren’t worth too much,” I said. I knew what he meant, though. The Hastur and Alton Gifts were mutually antagonistic, the two like poles of a magnet which cannot be made to touch. I didn’t know what the Hastur Gift was; but from time immemorial in the Comyn, Hastur and Alton could work together only with infinite precaution — even in the matrix screens. Regis, a latent Hastur, his Gift dormant, I could join in rapport; could even force it on him undesired. A developed Hastur, which he had suddenly become, could knock my mind from his with the fury of lightning. Regis and I could read each other’s minds if we wanted to — ordinary telepathy isn’t affected — but we could probably never link in rapport again.
Reluctantly I found myself wondering. I had forced contact on Regis,; had he taken this step to protect himself from another such attempt? Didn’t he trust me?
But before I could ask him, the dome lights were switched off. Immediately the room was flooded with streaming, silvery moonlight; there was a soft “A — ah!” from the thronged guests as, through the clearing dome, the four moons, blazing now in full conjunction, lighted the floor like daylight. Suddenly, I felt a light touch, and looked down to see Dio Ridenow standing beside me.
Her dress — a molded tabard of some stuff that gleamed, green and blue and silver, in the shifting moonlight — was so breathtakingly fitted to her body that it might as well have been sprayed on; and her fair hair, the color of the moonlight, rippled like water with the glint of jewels. She tossed her head, with a little silvery chiming of tiny bells.
“Well? Am I beautiful enough for you?”
I tried to sidestep the provocative tone, the green witch-fire in her saucy eyes. “I must say it is an improvement over your riding breeches,” I said dryly.
She giggled and tucked her hand through my arm; a hard, light little hand. “Dance with me, Lew? A secain?” Without waiting for my answer, she tapped the rhythm-pattern on the light-panel, and after a moment the steady, characteristic beat of the secain throbbed into the invisible music.
The secain is no formal promenade. Last year Dio and I had outraged the dowagers and the dandies, even on the pleasure-world of Vainwal, by dancing it there. I didn’t want to dance it here. The floor was almost cleared now; most of the Thendara women are too prim for this wild and ancient mountain dance.