"Nor as good at aught else, from what thou sayest." Magnus added.
"Thus it seemed to himself, too. He died feeling that his life had been full and enjoyable, but insignificant."
"Papa hath said that all folk must find and know their limitations," Gregory said, "then seek to transcend them."
"It was Dar Mandra who first enunciated that aphorism, Gregory; it has been passed down from generation to generation of your family. But the operative word is seek. The attempt will surely result in better work than you would otherwise do, and may result in greater accomplishments—but may still fall short of your goal."
Gregory's eyes lost focus as he tried to digest that statement, but Geoffrey was still frowning. "Did the founder of our house, then, accomplish nothing with his life?"
"That depends on your definition of the term 'accomplish.' With his wife, he built a major company within the Maxima conglomerate, raised three children to become excellent citizens, and formed an enduring marriage that gained substance as it aged."
"Yet he did not create anything in his own right, nor invent or discover it."
"Only in that he had not found the answer to the question he had formulated, and did not realize that no answer may be an indicator of the correct answer. His son Limner, though, took that question and likewise tried to answer it: 'Why can physical objects be mapped into seven-dimensional space, when electromagnetic waves cannot?' He, too, failed to discover its solution, just as Dar had—but took the lack of an answer as an indicator."
Gregory asked, "What did Limner think it did indicate?"
"That perhaps electromagnetic waves could be mapped into seven dimensions; they only needed a different technique. Just as electromagnetic radiation was its own medium, the transmitter had to be its own isomorpher.''
Magnus looked up. "Yet 'twas Dar's thoughts, and the question they led to, that enabled Limner to discover that principle."
"That is so, yes."
"Then," Magnus demanded, "how can he be said to have failed?"
"He had not, of course—yet he felt that he had."
Geoffrey squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a shake. "A moment, I prithee—thou dost say he succeeded in some measure, but knew it not?"
"Precisely. Dar's feelings of failure were due to a fundamental misunderstanding of his own nature—he was not an engineer, like Lona, but a research scientist.''
"Oh, the poor ancestor!" Tears brimmed Cordelia's eyes. "To die feeling so, when 'twas not true!"
"Oh, do not pity him, Cordelia. He recognized his true success as a husband, a father, and a stalwart member of the community. In his old age, he counted accomplishments in scholarship and commerce to be relatively inconsequential, as indeed they were."
Gregory stared, scandalized. "Why! How canst thou say the discovery of new knowledge is of no consequence!"
"Only relatively, Gregory, only relatively. For Dar's measure of worth was in adding to the happiness of other people—and in that, he had succeeded enormously. Now hush, children. It is time to sleep. Tomorrow, we will begin to solve the mystery of the castle."
Chapter 6
The rain came down, and it hit with thunder. Rod jolted awake wide-eyed, lurching up on one elbow to stare at the ceiling. The only light was the soft glow of the will-o'-the-wisp Gwen had lit on Fess's saddle before they settled down. Rain roared on the tent.
"How long has it been going on, Fess?" Rod murmured.
"It began only ten minutes ago, Rod."
Then the whole tent-top turned bright with lightning, barely gone before thunder bellowed. Rod turned and looked down at his youngest, and sure enough, the little boy lay rigid, eyes wide, scared witless by the thunder but too proud to cry out.
"You know there's nothing to be scared of, don't you?" Rod said conversationally.
"Aye, Papa." Gregory relaxed a little. "The lightning will not hurt us, nor will a tree fall on us—we pitched our tent far from the branches."
"And lightning bolts are much more likely to strike a higher object, such as a tree or the castle. Yes." But Rod reached out a hand anyway, and Gregory's fingers seized on his like a little vise.
"Oh! 'Tis glorious," Cordelia breathed.
The whole tent flashed bright again as thunder slammed down at them. It showed Magnus and Geoffrey halfway to the door. Darkness struck, and Rod could just barely hear Geoffrey say, "I do so love a storm!"
" 'Tis grand," Magnus agreed. The gloom lightened, and the sound of the rain became even louder.
" 'Ware the rain." Gwen was sitting up beside Rod, facing the door. "Doth it come toward thee?"
"No, Mama, 'tis at the tent's back." Lightning flared with a thunder blast, and Rod saw the boys hunkered belly-down with their chins on their fists, gazing out, and Cordelia wriggling up between them.
" 'Tis right atop us," Gregory murmured. "There is no delay 'twixt lightning flash and thunder."
Rod smiled; ever the scientist! Well, if it let the boy share his siblings' pleasure, what harm? "Don't you want to look at it, too?"
Gregory looked up at him, then smiled. "Aye!" He turned and crawled toward the door.
Rod caught Gwen's hand and squeezed a little. She returned the pressure and murmured, "Why should they have the sight to themselves, my lord?"
"Hey, the family .ought to stay together, right?" Rod rolled up to his hands and knees. "After you, dear."
"What, durst I trust thee so?"
"Sure, the kids are awake. But let's go side by side, if you doubt me."
Gwen giggled and they rubbed elbows as they came to their feet and stepped over to join their offsprings. Lightning blazed as they came to the doorway, thunder crashing down around their heads. Rod looked up in time to catch the last sight of the tower tops in silhouette—and stiffened.
"Hist!" Geoffrey cried.
They all fell totally silent, ears straining.
" 'Twas not the last boom of the thunder alone," Magnus said.
"I hear a lass wailing," Cordelia answered.
Rod started to say what he'd heard, then bit his tongue and stared up at the unseen tower with narrowed eyes. Gwen's hand tightened on his arm.
Gregory said it for him. "I do hear a man's laughter."
"Aye, and 'tis as wicked and foul a laugh as ever I've heard," Magnus agreed.
"I, too, hear it, my lord," Gwen murmured.
"He's gloating," Rod said softly. "I don't know what about…"
"The maid?" Cordelia guessed. "Doth he rejoice at having made her weep?"
"I mislike this castle," Magnus said, his voice hard.
Thunder tore at the stones, bleached white by the lightning.
When it quieted, Gregory asked, "Ought we go home, then?"
"Nay." Magnus said it even faster than Rod. "Whatever is here, we must face and banish it."
Thunder blasted them again, the next lightning flash following so hard on the first that it seemed one long, unbroken instant of light with only a flicker between. Then it died, and the afterimage danced before Rod's eye, confirming what he'd thought he had seen.
As the thunder faded, Cordelia gasped, "Was it a lass?"
"Mayhap." Geoffrey's voice hardened. "Whatsoe'er 'twas, it was long-haired and cloaked."
"Yet why did it plummet head-first toward the ground?" Gregory wondered.
"Because it was pushed, brother," Geoffrey answered.
"Or did it throw itself down?" Cordelia wondered.
"Whate'er 'twas, it was the fruit of wickedness," Magnus answered.
Rod could hear the anger in his voice, and said quickly, "Was, Magnus. Remember the was. Whatever happened there, however cruel or vicious, it was done two hundred years ago, not tonight."
"But how evil must it have been," Cordelia cried, "that the spirit must live through it again, and again and again, for two hundred years!"
"Then 'tis time it was finished." Magnus's voice was grim, with a determination Rod had never heard in it before. "Whatever lies within that stone pile, 'tis a fell, foul evil, and we must not let it stand."