The Doors Of The Universe Read Online Free PDF Page A

skilled psychiatrist, Stefred knew all young Scholars’ deepest feelings; he had guided them through the ordeals of inquisition, enlightenment and recantation. He had aided their adjustment to the status they’d neither sought nor welcomed. He’d been their first friend in the Inner City and remained, to all, a warm one. But though he’d want to help, he was uncompromisingly honest—he would not try to argue away grief.
    Yet neither would he ignore it. Could he be tied up with urgent Council business? Noren had not entered the Hall of Scholars for two days; he had heard none of the current rumors about the City’s affairs. Abruptly, it occurred to him that these affairs had not halted, that little as they now mattered to him, they would go right on. The effort to fulfill the Prophecy would go on, hopeless though it was. He had committed himself to participation. For a time he’d had faith that it was worthwhile. Had that been only for the child’s sake?
    He’d thought such faith, once discovered, would be permanent. But perhaps it had never been valid at all; perhaps it had been a mere feeling, no better founded than this unexpected feeling that Talyra’s true self still lived on.
    “. . . so may the spirit of the Star be with her, and with us all.” Brek stopped speaking; there was a long silence. Gradually Noren became aware that men stood ready to lift the shroud, that they were waiting for his signal.
    Stepping forward, he dropped his eyes. There was nothing to be seen, of course, but dazzling white cloth; wherever Talyra was, she could not be there. Nor could the child—the boy, he’d been told—in whom they’d taken such joy. Oh, Talyra , he thought, it wasn’t the way we imagined. The wilderness gave us death after all .
    *   *   *
    When it was over, Brek took him to the refectory, persuaded him to eat. “Stefred sent a message,” he said. “He’d like you to stop by his study—”
    “I don’t need to do that.”
    “You and your starcursed pride,” murmured Brek. “I should have known better than to say it that way. I know you don’t need therapy from Stefred. So does he. But after all, his own wife died—and he still mourns her; he’s never looked at anyone else. It’s no wonder if he’s sorry he couldn’t be at the service and wants to tell you so personally. You owe him the chance, when he’s so troubled right now himself.”
    “Troubled? Why?”
    “You haven’t heard? Everyone’s mystified. We don’t know what the problem is, except that he’s working with a heretic who’s been reacting badly to the dreams. Apparently he doesn’t dare leave her.”
    “Not at all?” The testing and enlightenment of a Scholar candidate took several weeks of intensive therapy, but not all phases demanded Stefred’s presence. There were rest periods, and some of the machine-induced dreams could be controlled by assistants.
    “Well, he won’t leave his suite at all; he’s having his meals brought to him. And he’s monitoring the entire dream sequence personally. As far as that goes, he handled the inquisition personally after the first hour or so—the observers were sent out. I don’t suppose we’ll ever hear what happened.”
    “No,” agreed Noren, “but it must have been rough for them both.” Any candidate experiencing the dreams had been judged trustworthy. That meant she had stood up to Stefred despite real terror, which in Technicians—and most female heretics had been born to that caste—could sometimes be hard to induce. Technicians weren’t overwhelmed by City surroundings, as villagers were; stress had to be artificially applied. Stefred knew how to do it harmlessly, and when necessary he could be ruthless. It was for the candidate’s own benefit: no one unsure of his or her inner strength could endure the outwardly degrading recantation ceremony, or accept the “rewards” that came after. One must be certain in one’s own mind that one hadn’t sold out. If