creature beat its white wings and screamed, then as the wind gusted launched out into the air and made its way heavily off between the branches and the driving clouds.
"A stormbringer." Agat spoke, standing on the path a few yards behind her. "They're supposed to bring the blizzards."
The great silver creature had driven all her wits away. The little rush of tears that accompanied all strong feelings in her race bunded her a moment. She had meant to stand and mock him, to jeer at him, having seen the resentment under his easy arrogance when people in Tevar slighted him, treated him as what he was, a being of a lower kind. But the white creature, the stormbringer, had frightened her and she broke out, staring straight at him as she had at it, "I hate you, you're not a man, I hate you!"
Then her tears stopped, she looked away, and they both stood there in silence for quite a while.
"Rolery," said the quiet voice, "look at me."
She did not. He came forward, and she drew back crying, "Don't touch me!" hi a voice like the stormbringer's scream, her face distorted. "Get hold of yourself," he said. "Here—take my hand, take it!" He caught her as she struggled to break away, and held both her wrists. Again they stood without moving.
"Let me go," she said at last in her normal voice. He released her at once.
She drew a long breath.
"You spoke—I heard you speak inside me. Down there on the sands. Can you do that again?"
He was watching her, alert and quiet. He nodded. "Yes. But I told you then that I never would."
"I still hear it. I feel your voice." She put her hands over her ears.
"I know ... I'm sorry. I didn't know you were a hilf— a Tevaran, when I called you. It's against the law. And anyhow it shouldn't have worked ..."
"What's a hilf?"
"What we call you."
"What do you call yourselves?"
"Men." She looked around them at the groaning twilit woods, gray aisles, writhing cloud-roof. This gray world in motion was very strange, but she was no longer scared. His touch, his actual hand's touch canceling the insistent impalpable sense of his presence, had given her calm, which grew as they spoke together. She saw now that she had been half out of her mind this last day and night.
"Can all your people do that... speak that way?"
"Some can. It's a skill one can learn. Takes practice. Come here, sit down a while. You've had it rough." He was always harsh and yet there was an edge, a hint of something quite different in his voice now: as if the urgency with which he had called to her on the sands were transmuted into an infinitely restrained, unconscious appeal, a reaching out. They sat down on a fallen basuk-tree a couple of yards off the path. She noticed how differently he moved and sat than a man of her race; the schooling of his body, the sum of his gestures, was very slightly, but completely, unfamiliar.
She was particularly aware of his dark-skinned hands, clasped together between his knees. He went on, "Your people could learn mindspeech if they wanted to. But they never have, they call it witchcraft, I think ... Our books say that we ourselves learned it from another race, long ago, on a world called Rokanan. It's a skill as well as a gift."
"Can you hear my mind when you want?"
"That is forbidden," he said with such finality that her fears on that score were quite disposed of.
"Teach me the skill," she said with suddea childishness.
"It would take all Winter."
"It took you all fall?"
"And part of Summer too." He grinned slightly.
"What does hilf mean?"
"It's a word from our old language. It means 'Highly intelligent life-form.'"
"Where is another world?" "Well—there are a lot of them. Out there. Beyond sun and moon."
"Then you did fall out of the sky? What for? How did you get from behind the sun to the seacoast here?"
"I'll tell you if you want to hear, but it's not just a tale, Rolery. There's a lot we don't understand, but what we do know of our history is true."
"I hear," she whispered in
"A stormbringer." Agat spoke, standing on the path a few yards behind her. "They're supposed to bring the blizzards."
The great silver creature had driven all her wits away. The little rush of tears that accompanied all strong feelings in her race bunded her a moment. She had meant to stand and mock him, to jeer at him, having seen the resentment under his easy arrogance when people in Tevar slighted him, treated him as what he was, a being of a lower kind. But the white creature, the stormbringer, had frightened her and she broke out, staring straight at him as she had at it, "I hate you, you're not a man, I hate you!"
Then her tears stopped, she looked away, and they both stood there in silence for quite a while.
"Rolery," said the quiet voice, "look at me."
She did not. He came forward, and she drew back crying, "Don't touch me!" hi a voice like the stormbringer's scream, her face distorted. "Get hold of yourself," he said. "Here—take my hand, take it!" He caught her as she struggled to break away, and held both her wrists. Again they stood without moving.
"Let me go," she said at last in her normal voice. He released her at once.
She drew a long breath.
"You spoke—I heard you speak inside me. Down there on the sands. Can you do that again?"
He was watching her, alert and quiet. He nodded. "Yes. But I told you then that I never would."
"I still hear it. I feel your voice." She put her hands over her ears.
"I know ... I'm sorry. I didn't know you were a hilf— a Tevaran, when I called you. It's against the law. And anyhow it shouldn't have worked ..."
"What's a hilf?"
"What we call you."
"What do you call yourselves?"
"Men." She looked around them at the groaning twilit woods, gray aisles, writhing cloud-roof. This gray world in motion was very strange, but she was no longer scared. His touch, his actual hand's touch canceling the insistent impalpable sense of his presence, had given her calm, which grew as they spoke together. She saw now that she had been half out of her mind this last day and night.
"Can all your people do that... speak that way?"
"Some can. It's a skill one can learn. Takes practice. Come here, sit down a while. You've had it rough." He was always harsh and yet there was an edge, a hint of something quite different in his voice now: as if the urgency with which he had called to her on the sands were transmuted into an infinitely restrained, unconscious appeal, a reaching out. They sat down on a fallen basuk-tree a couple of yards off the path. She noticed how differently he moved and sat than a man of her race; the schooling of his body, the sum of his gestures, was very slightly, but completely, unfamiliar.
She was particularly aware of his dark-skinned hands, clasped together between his knees. He went on, "Your people could learn mindspeech if they wanted to. But they never have, they call it witchcraft, I think ... Our books say that we ourselves learned it from another race, long ago, on a world called Rokanan. It's a skill as well as a gift."
"Can you hear my mind when you want?"
"That is forbidden," he said with such finality that her fears on that score were quite disposed of.
"Teach me the skill," she said with suddea childishness.
"It would take all Winter."
"It took you all fall?"
"And part of Summer too." He grinned slightly.
"What does hilf mean?"
"It's a word from our old language. It means 'Highly intelligent life-form.'"
"Where is another world?" "Well—there are a lot of them. Out there. Beyond sun and moon."
"Then you did fall out of the sky? What for? How did you get from behind the sun to the seacoast here?"
"I'll tell you if you want to hear, but it's not just a tale, Rolery. There's a lot we don't understand, but what we do know of our history is true."
"I hear," she whispered in
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