A Circus of Hells by Poul Anderson. Part four

from time to time and individual to individual, ever made its existence

doubtful. Today we can identify it when it occurs.

“Whatever happened in these last experiments of ours, you are not

becoming a telepathic receiver. An influence of that general nature was

present, true. The meters registered it, barely over threshold level.

But analysis shows you were not calling the signs I dealt with

above-random accuracy. Instead, I was not dealing them completely at

random.

“Somehow, slightly, unconsciously, you were influencing me toward

turning up the signs you guessed I would be turning up.”

“I wanted to reach you,” Djana mumbled.

Ydwyr said sternly: “I repeat, we have entered realms where I am not fit

to conduct you. The dangers are too great–principally to you, possibly

to me. At a later date, maybe, Aycharaych–for the present, we stop. You

shall return to the flesh world, Djana. No more magic. Tomorrow we set

you to gymnastics and flogging, exhausting, uninspiring work with Eriau.

That should bring you back.”

He on the throne: “For that they have sinned beyond redemption, the sin

that may not be forgiven, which is to blaspheme against the Holy Spirit,

no more are they My people.

“Behold, I cast them from Me; and I will raise against them a new people

under a new sun; and their name shall be Strength.

“Open now the book of the seven thunders.”

Talwin’s short autumn was closing when the ship came from headquarters.

That was not Merseia. No domain like the Roidhunate could be governed

from a single planet, even had the Race been interested in trying.

However, she did bear a direct word from the Protector.

She stood on the field, slim, sleek, a destroyer with guns

whippet-wicked against the sky, making a pair of counterparts from

Morioch’s command that were likewise in port look outmoded and a little

foolish. The captured Terran scoutboat hunched in a corner, pathetic.

Few trees showed above the stockade. Early frosts had split their flimsy

trunks and brought them down, already to crumble back into the soil. The

air was cool and moist. Mists coiled about Merseians working outdoors;

but overhead heaven reached clear, deep blue, and what clouds there were

shone dazzling white beneath Siekh.

Djana was not invited to the welcoming ceremonies, nor had she

anticipated it. Ydwyr gave her a quick intercom call–“Have no fears, I

am authorized to handle your case, as I requested in my dispatch”–and

wasn’t that wonderful of him? She went for a walk, a real tramp,

kilometers along the bluffs above the Golden River and back through what

had been enclosing jungle and was becoming open tundra, space, freedom,

full lungs and taut muscles, for hour after hour until she turned home

of her own desire.

I’ve changed, she thought. I still don’t know how much.

The weeks under Ydwyr’s–tutelage?–were vague in her recollection,

often difficult or impossible to separate from the dreams of that time.

Later she had gradually regained herself. But it was no longer the same

self. Old Djana was scarred, frightened, greedy with the greed that

tries to fill inner emptiness, lonely with the loneliness that dares not

love. New Djana was … well, she was trying to find out. She was

someone who would go for a hike and stop to savor the scarlet of a

late-blooming flower. She was someone who, in honest animal wise, hoped

Nicky would soon finish with his expedition, and daydreamed about

something between him and her that would last, but did not feel she

needed him or anybody to guard her from monsters.

Maybe none existed. Dangers, of course, but dangers can’t do worse than

kill you, and they said in the Vachs, “He cannot respect life who does

not respect death.” No, wait, she had met monsters, back in the Empire.

Though she no longer quailed at the remembrance of them, she could see

they must be crushed underfoot before they poisoned the good beings like

Ydwyr and Nicky and Ulfangryf and Avalrik and, well, yes, all right, in

his fashion, Morioch …

Wind lulled, tossing her hair, caressing her skin, which wore less

clothes than she would formerly have required on this kind of day.

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