"Kurtz, Katherine - Deryni Archives" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

In actual practice, there are definite limitations to the extent of all these abilities, though most non-Deryni have wildly exaggerated notions of what those limitations are, if they even acknowledge their existence. And human fears are not reassured by the fact that some Deryni can tap into energies outside even their own understanding, consorting with powers that may defy God's will. Fear of what is not understood becomes a major theme, then, as the human and Deryni characters interact in the stories.
But humans did not always fear the Deryni as a race, though individual humans may have come to fear certain individual Deryni. For centuries before the Deryni Interregnum, especially under the consolidating rule of a succession of benevolent Haldane kings (some of whom made discreet interaction with a few highly ethical Deryni), Deryni were few enough and circumspect enough in their dealings with humans that the two races lived in relative harmony. The Deryni founded schools and religious institutions and orders, sharing their knowledge and healing talents with anyone in need, their own internal disciplines discouraging any gross abuse of the vast powers at their command. Certainly, there must have been occasional incidents, for the greater powers of the Deryni surely subjected them to greater temptations; but exclusively Deryni outrages must have been rare, for we find no evidence of general hostility toward Deryni before 822. In that year the Deryni Prince Festil, youngest son of the King of Torenth, invaded from the east and accomplished a sudden coup, massacring all the Haldane royal family except for the two-year-old Prince Aidan, who escaped.
We can blame the ensuing Festillic regime for much of the deterioration of human-Deryni relations after the invasion, for the Deryni followers of Festil I were largely landless younger sons, like himself, and quickly recognized the material gains to be had in the conquered kingdom by exploiting their Deryni advantages. Much was shrugged off or overlooked in the early years of the new dynasty, for any conqueror takes a while to consolidate his power and set up the apparatus for ruling his new kingdom. But Deryni excesses and abuse of power in high places became increasingly blatant, eventually leading, in 904, to the ouster of the last Festillic king by fellow Deryni and the restoration of the old human line in the person of Cinhil Haldane, grandson of the Prince Aidan who had escaped the butchery of the Festillic invaders.
Unfortunately, Deryni magic itself, and not the ill judgment and avarice of a few individuals, came to be blamed for the evils of the Interregnum. Nor, once the Restoration was accomplished, did the new regime waste overmuch time adopting the aims, if not the methods, of their former masters. After the death of the restored King Cinhil, regency councils dominated successive Haldane kings for more than twenty years, for Cinhil's sons were young and died young-within a decade-and the next heir was Cinhil's four-year-old grandson Owain.
Such an enticing opportunity to redistribute the spoils of the Restoration to their own benefit could hardly be overlooked by regents nursing memories of past injustices. With lands, titles, and offices in the offing, the Deryni role in the Restoration soon became eclipsed by more emotion-charged recollections of the Deryni abuses that had triggered the overthrow of Deryni overlords. In the space of only a few years, Deryni remaining in Gwynedd found themselves politically, socially, and religiously disenfranchised, the new masters using any conceivable pretext to seize the wealth and influence of the former rulers.
The religious hierarchy played its part as well. In the hands of a now human-dominated Church, political expedience shifted to philosophical justification in less than a generation, so that the Deryni soon came to be regarded as evil in and of themselves, the Devil's brood, possibly beyond the salvation even of the Church- for surely, no righteous and God-fearing person could do the things the Deryni did; therefore, the Deryni must be the agents of Satan. Only total renunciation of one's powers might permit a Deryni to survive, and then only under the most rigid of supervision.
None of this happened overnight, of course. But the Deryni had never been many; and with the great Deryni families gradually fallen from favor or destroyed, most individuals outside the immediate circles of political power, both temporal and spiritual, failed to realize how the balance was shifting until it was too late. The great anti-Deryni persecutions that followed the death of Cinhil Haldane reduced the already small Deryni population of Gwynedd by a full two-thirds. Some fled to the safety of other lands, where being openly Deryni did not carry an automatic death sentence, but many more perished. Only a few managed to go underground, keeping their true identities secret; and many who did go underground simply suppressed what they were, never telling their descendants of their once proud heritage.
This, then, is a very general background of the Deryni, much of which is woven into the stories in this volume; it is told in far greater detail in the novels of the three trilogies set in the Deryni universe. THE LEGENDS OF CAMBER OF CULDI-Camber of Culdi, Saint Camber, and Camber the Heretic-recount the overthrow of the last Festillic king by Camber and his children, and goes on to show what happened immediately after the death of King Cinhil Haldane, thirteen years later. THE CHRONICLES OF THE DERYNI-Deryni Rising, Deryni Checkmate, and High Deryni-take place nearly two hundred years later, when anti-Deryni feeling has begun to abate somewhat among the common folk, but not yet within the hierarchies of the Church. The HISTORIES OF KING KELSON-The Bishop's Heir, The King's Justice, and The Quest for Saint Camber-pick up the story after the CHRONICLES; and future novels will explore the centuries between the reigns of Cinhil's successors and the accession of Kelson Haldane.
The stories in this volume, except for the first one, all fall between the Camber and Deryni Trilogies, and constitute all but one of the shorter works written in the Deryni universe to date. It was felt that the omitted story really needed greater length for proper development-which it will receive in a future novel. Three stories were written specifically for this collection, and have never appeared in print before. At least one of the others has been out of print for some time, and several never got wide distribution. They are all canonical with respect to the novels-that is, what is told here is consistent with what appears in the novels.
Most of them elaborate on incidents or characters that are mentioned in the novels. And some, whatever else they may do, are designed to tantalize with hints of things to come in future novels.
Incidentally, before we move on to the stories, I probably should mention a few points about my approach to Deryni history. I've said that it's a rough parallel to real world history in terms of culture, level of technology, type of government, ecclesiastical involvement, and the like. However, readers have often commented that the stories read like history rather than fantasy. In fact, I've been accused, not entirely tongue-in-cheek, of simply recounting the real history of a world in some other dimension.
Well, I can't answer that. Part of that impression undoubtedly comes from the fact that I was trained as a historian and thus have a historian's eye for detail and a historian's background of real world history from which to draw.
But there are times when I have no idea where the material comes from-I simply know that things happened a particular way. When I'm asked what character A did after event B and I say that I don't know- the characters haven't told me yet-I really am not being facetious. Also, solidly conceived characters tend to do what they are going to do, whether or not that was how the author thought they would behave. And sometimes, the only thing I can say is, "I can't tell you why right now; I just know that it happened that way." Sometimes, it even seems to me that I'm just tapping into a stream of events that have already taken place, and all I have to do is sit back, observe, and report what I see. Every author does this to some extent, I suspect. But when readers comment on the illusion as much as readers have commented regarding the Deryni, one has to wonder, if only wistfully, whether there isn't at least a mythic truth to the speculation. (I suppose I could tell you about some of the times I've sensed Camber peering over my shoulder, agreeing or disagreeing with what I was typing, but that's whimsy- isn't it?)
So, these are tales of the Deryni and those who come into contact with them, as the characters have revealed them to me. I hope you enjoy your sojourn among them.
-Sun Valley, California June, 1985
catalyst fall, 888
Chronologically, "Catalyst" is the earliest of the Deryni stories written thus far, set some fifteen years before the opening of Camber of Culdi. It was written for a Festschrift in honor of Andre Norton's fiftieth year of publication. (A Festschrift is an anthology in celebration of an author, its stories written by fellow authors who have been influenced by the honoree and who wish to pay him or her tribute.) The major requirement was that the story be of the sort that Andre would enjoy reading.
And so, since I grew up on Andre's books about young people and animals and coming of age (Starman's Son was an early favorite), I decided that I ought to respond in kind. Camber's children seemed likely candidates, for at that time, I had not set any Deryni stories earlier than Camber of Culdi. A story about Joram, Rhys, and Evaine would also give me an opportunity to play a bit with the character of Cathan, Camber's eldest son, who had been killed off fairly early in the Camber series. In addition, since I had just lost my two elderly cats, Cimber and Gillie, from complications of age, the story could be my memorial to them-for as youngsters, Camber's children surely would have had cats around the castle at Caerrorie. (They would have had dogs, too, but I'm not really a dog person, so I've never gotten into doggy lore. With apologies to dog-lovers, I'm afraid the dogs in this story get rather short shrift.)
From there, it was a simple progression to have Rhys, in the course of discovering that he's going to be a Healer, do for his cat what I hadn't been able to do for my own in the real world. I changed Cimber's name to the soundalike Symber in the story, because Cimber looks too much like Camber on the printed page. The lines ascribed to Lady Jocelyn, describing Symber as "that damned stringbean" while in his gangly adolescence, were words my own mother used to describe my Cimber; but he, like Symber, grew into a magnificent cat. Gillie, who is the unnamed white cat sleeping at Cathan's feet, never did go through that awkward stage. Even as a kitten, she was a perfectly proportioned miniature cat who simply got bigger-and would have twitched her plume-tail in indignation at the mere thought that she was ever anything less than graceful and beautiful.
So this is for Cimber and Gillie, as well as for Andre. In addition, it is the favorite story of my son Cameron, who was the same age as Rhys and Joram when the story was written and who adores cats at least as much as I do. I think he also liked "Catalyst" because it shows that even Deryni children, with all their advantages, have the same kinds of problems growing up that any other children have.

Catalyst
Biting at his lip in concentration, eleven-year-old Rhys Thuryn stared at the red archer on the board between him and Joram MacRorie and wrapped his mind around it. Smoothly the little painted figure lifted across two squares to menace Joram's blue abbot.
The younger boy had turned to watch rain beginning to spatter against the lights of a tall, grey-glazed window beside them, but at the movement on the board, his blond head jerked back with a start.
"Oh no! Not my Michaeline you don't!" he cried, nearly overturning the board as he sprang to his feet to see better. "Rhys, that was a sneaky move! Cathan, what'll I do?"
Cathan, a bored and blasщ fifteen-year-old, looked up from his reading with a forebearing sigh, red-nosed and miserable with the cold that had kept him from going hunting with the rest of the household. The white cat napping against his feet did not stir, even when Rhys chortled with delight and knuckled exuberantly at already unruly red hair.
"Hoo! I've got him on the run! Look, Cathan! My archer's going to take his abbot!"
Cathan only blew his nose and huddled a little closer to the fire before burying himself in his scroll again, and Rhys' glee turned to consternation as Joram's war-duke floated unerringly across the entire board to take the red archer.
"On the run, eh?" Joram crowed, plopping back onto his stool with triumph in his grey eyes. "What are you going to do about that?"
Deflated, Rhys huddled down in his fur-lined tunic to re-evaluate the board. Where had that war-duke come from? What a stupid game!
He had half-expected the outcome, of course. Joram almost always beat him at Cardounet. Even though Rhys was a year older than Joram, and both of them were receiving identical instruction from the Michaelines at Saint Liam's, one of the finest abbey schools in all of Gwynedd, it was a fact that Rhys simply did not have the gift for military strategy that his foster brother did. Joram, at ten, had already announced that he was joining the Michaeline Order when he came of age, to become a Knight of Saint Michael and eventually a priest as well-to the dismay of his father, Earl Camber of Culdi.
Nor was it the priesthood Camber objected to-and Jocelyn, Joram's mother, was clearly pleased that one of her sons intended to become a priest. Indeed, Camber had often told the boys of the happy years he himself had spent in Holy Orders in his youth, until the death of his elder brother made him heir to their father's earldom and he was forced to come home and assume his family obligations. Barring further unforseen tragedy-for a fever had carried off a brother and sister only slightly older than Joram earlier in the year- Joram's brother Cathan would carry on the MacRorie name in this generation, leaving Joram free to pursue the religious vocation that had been denied Camber.
No, it was the Michaeline Order itself that gave Camber cause for concern-the Michaelines, whose militant warrior-priests were sometimes dangerously outspoken about the responsibilities they believed went along with the prerogatives that magic-wielding Deryni enjoyed. Camber, himself a powerful and highly trained Deryni, had no quarrel with the Michaelines' ethical stance in principle; he had always taught his children the duty that went along with privilege.
In practice, however, the Order's sometimes over-zealous attempts to enforce that philosophy had led more than once to disaster-for the Royal House of Gwynedd was Deryni, and some of its scions among the worst abusers of Deryni power. Thus far, royal ire had always been directed against the offending individuals; but if Joram became a Michaeline, and the King should one day turn his anger against the entire Order...
Still, Michaeline schools did provide the finest primary training for Deryni children that could be had, outside the highly specialized instruction given the rare Healer candidate; and even among the Deryni, a race blessed-or cursed, according to some-with a wide assortment of psychic and magical abilities, the Healing gift did not often appear. It was the abuse of power, sometimes in mere ignorance, that so often led to problems between Deryni and humans-or even Deryni and Deryni.
That was why Camber had sent Joram and the orphaned Rhys to attend Saint Liam's-and allowed them to continue attending, even when Joram began making starry-eyed plans to join the Michaelines. After all, the boy could not take even temporary vows until he turned fourteen. Much might change in four years. Perhaps Joram would outgrow his infatuation with the bold and dashing Knights of Saint Michael, with their distinctive deep blue habits and gleaming white knight's sashes, and come around to a more moderate choice of orders, if indeed he felt himself called to be a priest.
Rhys, on the other hand, felt no call to the religious life, though he was perfectly content taking his training in the religious atmosphere Saint Liam's provided. Nor had he any idea yet what he did want to do with his life.
He had no great prospects. His father, though gentle-born, had been only a second son, so he had inherited no title or fortune in his own right. Only his mother's close friendship with Camber's countess, the Lady Jocelyn, had ensured a place for the infant Rhys when both parents died in the great plague the year after he was born. He was clever with his hands, worked well with animals, like most Deryni, and had a head for figures-but none of those skills suggested an occupation for a young gentleman.
One thing was certain, Rhys thought, as he continued to survey the game board, considering and discarding a succession of possible but unprofitable moves: he was not cut out to be a soldier. The military strategy and tactics that were Joram's passion were like a foreign language to Rhys. With diligence, and because the subject intrigued Joram, who was his very closest friend, Rhys had mastered enough at least to get by in school and to appreciate that Joram had a natural flair for such things; but he would never be Joram's match, at least in this.
Rarely had he been so dismally aware of that fact as he continued staring at the game board, discarding yet another futile move. The rain hammering now on the window and the roof slates above only added to his depression. Even with the fire and the larger windows here in the solar, it had gotten colder and gloomier as the storm set in, though it was only just past noon.
Perversely, he hoped that Camber and Lady Jocelyn and the rest of the household were getting good and soaked, for having gone off hunting with the king and left them cooped up in the castle with only this dumb game to play! Cathan, who'd been grouchy and irritable all morning with his stupid cold, should be glad they'd made him stay at home, warm and dry and curled up with a fur-lined robe, a cat, and a good book.
As a matter of fact, maybe a book was a good idea. Rhys was bored with trying to beat Joram. He thought he might go find something to read, but before he could decide what, Evaine, the baby of the MacRorie family, came pattering purposefully into the room, flaxen braids coming undone and her black cat, Symber, in her arms. She had the cat just behind the front legs, its body and tail dangling almost to her knees. Oddly, the cat did not seem to mind.
"Cathan, Cathan, there's somebody sneaking around downstairs!" she whispered with six-year-old urgency, scuttling past Rhys and Joram to pause at her older brother's elbow.
Cathan gave a sigh and lowered his manuscript long enough to wipe his nose with a soggy handkerchief.
"I'm sure there is," he croaked hoarsely.
"Cathan, I'm not joking!" she persisted. "I heard them clunking things in the great hall."
"It's probably the dogs."
"The dogs don't make noises like that."
"Then it's the servants."
"It isn't the servants!" she replied, stamping a little foot. "Symber came running up the stairs. He was afraid. He doesn't run from the servants."