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"Well, Alexandra, what have you to say for yourself?" asked the Mother Baba.
It was near sunset at Castle Eser on the day of Alexei's ordeal. The two women were alone in Alexandra's morning room while Alexei waited in the adjoining soundproofed Meditation Cloister.
Alexandra stood facing the south windows. She saw and yet did not see the evening's banked colors across meadow and river. She heard and yet did not hear the Mother Baba's question.
There had been another ordeal once---so many years ago. A skinny girl with hair the color of bronze, her body tortured by the winds of puberty, had entered the study of the Mother Bab Petronia Maria Mustonen of the Bala Garrasaid school on Fyodorov IX. Alexandra looked down at her right hand, flexed the fingers, remembering the pain, the terror, the anger.
"Poor Alexei," she whispered.
"I asked you a question, Alexandra!" The old crone's voice was snappish, demanding.
"What? Oh....." Alexandra ripped her attention away from the past, faced the Mother Baba, who sat back to the stone wall between the two west windows. "What do you want me to say?"
"What do I want you to say?! What do I want you to say?!" The old voice carried a tone of cruel mimicry.
"I had a son!" Alexandra flared. And she knew she was being goaded into this anger on purpose.
"You were told to bear only daughters to the Romanovs."
"It meant so much to him," Alexandra pleaded.
"And in your pride thought you could bear the Sokratit' Puti!"
Alexandra lifted her chin. "I sensed the possibility."
"You thought only of your Duke's desire for a son," the old crone snapped. "In politics his desires are irrelevant. A Romanov daughter could've been wed to a Seppanen heir and ushered in peace. You've hopelessly complicated matters, as we may lose both bloodlines now."
'You're not infallible," Alexandra said. She braved the steady stare from the old eyes.
Presently, the old crone muttered. "What's done is done."
"I vowed never to regret my choice," Alexandra said.
"How noble," the Mother Baba sneered. "No regrets. We shall see when you're a fugitive with a price on your hand and every man's hand turned against you to seek your life and the life of your son."
Alexandra paled. "Is there no alternative?"
"Alternative? What kind of Bala Garrasaid are you to ask me that?"
"I ask only what you see in the future with your superior abilities."
"I see in the future what I've seen in the past. You well know the pattern of our affairs, Alexandra. The race knows its own mortality and fears stagnation in its heredity. It's in the bloodstream---the urge to mix genetic strains without a plan. The Imperium, the CCOAM Company, all the Great Houses, they are but bits of flotsam in the path of the flood."
"CCOAM," Alexandra muttered. "I suppose it's already decided how they'll redistribute the wealth of Dyuna."
"What is CCOAM but the weathervane of our times," the old woman said. "The Sultan and his cronies now command fifty-nine point six-five percent of the CCOAM directorship's votes. Of course, they sense profits, and as likely as others smell those same profits his voting strength will increase. This is the pattern of history, woman."
"Just what I need right now," said Alexandra. "A history lesson."
"Don't be facetious, girl! You know as well as I do what forces surround us. We've got a 3-point civilization: the Imperial Household balanced against the Unified Great Houses of the Paarlement, and between them, the Gild, with its damnable monopoly on interstellar travel. In politics, the tripod is the least stable of all structures. It'd be bad enough without the complication of a feudal trade culture that turns its back on most science."
Alexandra spoke bitterly: "Logs in the path of the flood---and this log here, this is the Duke Alexander, and this one's his son, and this one's...."
"Silence, wench! You entered this with full knowledge of the tightrope you walked."
" 'I am a Bala Garrasaid: Service is my only reason for existence,'" Alexandra quoted.
"Truth," the old crone said. "And all we can hopeful now is to prevent this from erupting into general conflagration, to salvage what we can of the key bloodlines."
Alexandra closed her eyes, feeling tears press out beneath the lids. She fought down the inner trembling, the outer trembling, the uneven breathing, the ragged pulse, the sweating of the palms. Presently, she said, "I'll pay for my own mistake."
"Your son will pay with you."
"I'll shield him as best I can."
"Shield!" the old crone snapped. "You well know the problem with that! Shield your son too much, Alexandra, and he'll not grow strong enough to fulfill any destiny."
Alexandra turned away, looked at the window at the falling darkness. "Is it really that horrible, this planet called Dyuna?"
"It's bad enough, but not all bad. The Bala Garrasaid has been in there and softened it somewhat." The Mother Baba heaved herself to her feet, straightened a fold in her gown. "Call the boy in here. I must be leaving soon."
"Must you?"
The old crone's voice softened. "Alexandra, girl, I wish I could stand in your place and take your sufferings. But each of us must make her own path."
"Agreed."
"You're as precious to me as any of my own natural daughters, but I cannot let that interfere with duty."
"I understand...the need."
"What you did, Alexandra, and why you did it...we both know. But kindness forces me to tell you there's little chance your lad will be the Bala Garrasaid Totality. You mustn't let yourself hope too much."
Alexandra shook tears from the corners of her eyes. It was an angry gesture. "You make me feel like a little girl again---reciting my first lesson." She forced out the words: " 'Humans must never submit to animals.'" A dry sob shook her. In a low voice, she said: "I've been so lonely."
"It should be one of the tests," the old lady said. "Humans are almost always lonely. Now summon the boy. He's had a long, frightening day. But he's had time to think and remember, and I must ask the other questions about these dreams of his."
Alexandra nodded, went to the door of the Meditation Cloister, opened it. "Alexei, come in now, please."
Alexei emerged with a stubborn slowness. He stared at his mother as if she a stranger. Wariness veiled his eyes when he glanced at the Mother Baba, but this time he nodded to her, the nod one gives an equal. He heard his mother close the door behind him.
"Young man," the old woman said, "let's return to this dream business."
"What do you want to know?"
"Do you dream every night?"
"Not dreams worth remembering. I can remember every dream, but some are worth remembering and some are not."
"How do you know the difference?"
"I just do."
The old crone glanced at Alexandra, then back to Alexei. "What did you dream last night? Was it worth remembering?"
"Yes." Alexei closed his eyes. "I dreamed of a cavern...and water...and a girl there...very skinny with big eyes. Her eyes are all blue, no whites in them. I talk to her and tell her about you, about seeing the Mother Baba on Eser." Alexei opened his eyes.
"And the thing you tell this strange girl about seeing me, did it happen today?"
Alexei thought about this, then: "Yes, I tell the girl you came and put a stamp of strangeness on me."
"Stamp of strangeness," the old crone breathed, and again she shot a glance at Alexandra, returned er attention to Alexei. "Tell me truly now, Alexei, do you often have dreams of things that happen afterward just as you dreamed them?"
"Yes. I've dreamed about the girl before."
"Oh? Do you know her?"
"I will know her."
"Tell me about her."
Again, Alexei closed his eyes. "We're in a little place in some rocks where it's sheltered. It's almost night, but it's hot and I can see patches of sand out of an opening in the rocks. We're---waiting for something...for me to go meet some people. And she's scared but trying to hide it from me, and I'm excited. And she says: 'Tell me about the waters of your homeworld, Niaeb'D'd."
"Is there more to this dream?" Alexandra prompted.
"Yes. But maybe she was calling me Niaeb'D'd," Alexei said. "I just thought of that." Again he closed his eyes. She askes me to tell her about the waters. And I take her hand. And I say I'll tell her a poem. And I tell her the poem, but I have to explain some of the words---like beach and surf and seaweed and seagulls."
"What poem?" the Mother Baba asked.
Alexei opened his eyes. "It's just one of Gustav Vasa's tone poems for sad times."
Behind Alexei, Alexandra began to recite:
"I remember salt smoke from a beach fire184Please respect copyright.PENANAHfF0ERYysq
And shadows 'neath the pines...184Please respect copyright.PENANAt4udJo08Nh
Sweet, clean---fixed---184Please respect copyright.PENANAIZUgmyBvY9
Seagulls roost at the land's tip184Please respect copyright.PENANAjyLLa7ADXQ
Green 'pon white...184Please respect copyright.PENANA2TPriKaJTc
And a wind whistles through the pines.184Please respect copyright.PENANAjociUr9hqn
Swaying the shadows;184Please respect copyright.PENANAQLpw2KPcGQ
The seagulls spread their wings,184Please respect copyright.PENANAza1J8JpTCV
Lift184Please respect copyright.PENANAKX6mu4jmZT
And fill the sky with screeches.184Please respect copyright.PENANAcQ5NVohGYQ
Lo!184Please respect copyright.PENANA3gq8TgLi4S
I hear the wind184Please respect copyright.PENANAxPdNvO5lnk
Blowing across our beach,184Please respect copyright.PENANADDsQtla4eB
Lo!184Please respect copyright.PENANAaWMmRGcky2
The surf,184Please respect copyright.PENANAMLgn255vs1
And I see that our fire184Please respect copyright.PENANAJCVKBsuuU1
Hath scorched the seaweed."
And shadows 'neath the pines...184Please respect copyright.PENANAt4udJo08Nh
Sweet, clean---fixed---184Please respect copyright.PENANAIZUgmyBvY9
Seagulls roost at the land's tip184Please respect copyright.PENANAjyLLa7ADXQ
Green 'pon white...184Please respect copyright.PENANA2TPriKaJTc
And a wind whistles through the pines.184Please respect copyright.PENANAjociUr9hqn
Swaying the shadows;184Please respect copyright.PENANAQLpw2KPcGQ
The seagulls spread their wings,184Please respect copyright.PENANAza1J8JpTCV
Lift184Please respect copyright.PENANAKX6mu4jmZT
And fill the sky with screeches.184Please respect copyright.PENANAcQ5NVohGYQ
Lo!184Please respect copyright.PENANA3gq8TgLi4S
I hear the wind184Please respect copyright.PENANAxPdNvO5lnk
Blowing across our beach,184Please respect copyright.PENANADDsQtla4eB
Lo!184Please respect copyright.PENANAaWMmRGcky2
The surf,184Please respect copyright.PENANAMLgn255vs1
And I see that our fire184Please respect copyright.PENANAJCVKBsuuU1
Hath scorched the seaweed."
"That's the one," Alexei said.
The old crone stared at Alexei, then: "Youn man, as a Protector of the Bala Garrasaid, I seek the Sokratit' Puti, the man who truly can be one of us. Your mother sees this possibility in you, but she sees with the eyes of a mother. Possibly I see, too, but no more."
She fell silent and Alexei saw that she wanted him to speak. He waited her out.
Presently, she said: "By your will, then. You've got depths in you; that much I will grant."
"May I go now?" he asked.
"Do you not want to hear what the Mother Baba can tell you about the Sokratit' Puti?" Alexandra asked.
"She said those who tried for it died."
"But I can help you with a few hints at why they failed," the Mother Baba said.
She speaks of hints, Alexei thought. She doesn't really know anything. And he said: "Hint then."
"And be damned to me?" She smiled wryly, a crisscross of wrinkles in the old face. "All right: 'That which submits rules.'"
He felt astonishment: she spoke of such basic things as tension without meaning. Did she think his mother had taught him nothing at all?"
"That's a hint?" he asked.
"We're not here to bandy words or argue about what they mean," the old crone said. "The willow submits to the wind and prospers until one day it is many willows.... a wall against the wind. This is the willow's purpose."
Alexei stared at her. She said purpose and he felt the word buffet him, reinfecting him with horrible purpose. He experienced a sudden anger at her: fatuous old bitch with her mouth full of platitudes!
"You think I could be this Sokratit' Puti," he said. "You talk about me, but you haven't said one thing about what we can do to help my father. I've heard you speaking to my mother as if my father were dead. Well, he's not!"
"If there were anything to be done for him, we'd have done it," the old crone growled. "We may be able to salvage you. Doubtful, but possible. But for your father, nothing. When you've learned to accept that as a fact, you've learned a real Bala Garrasaid lesson."
Alexei saw how the words shook up his mother. He glared at the old crone. How could she say such a thing about his father? What made her so sure. His mind seethed with resentment.
The Mother Baba looked upon Alexandra. "You've been training him in The Ways---I've seen the signs of it. I'd have done the same in your shoes and Hell take the Rules."
Alexandra nodded.
"Now, I caution you," said the old crone, "to ignore the regular order of training. His own safety requires The Voice. He already has a good start in it, but we goth know how much more he needs....and that desperately." She stepped close to Alexei, stared down at him. "Until we meet again, young human. I hope you make it. But if you don't---well, we shall yet succeed."
Once more she looked at Alexandra. A flicker of understanding passed between them. Then the old lady swept from the room, her robes hissing with not another backwards glance. The room and its occupants were already banished from her thoughts.
But Alexandra had caught one glimpse of the Mother Baba's face as she turned away. There had been tears on the seamed cheeks. The tears were more unnerving than any other word or sign that had passed between them this day.
184Please respect copyright.PENANADLMkNR2hZ0
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