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I stopped for a bite to eat around midday. Sitting on a large rock, munching on some bread, I let the red sunlight bathe over me and found I was not alone. A rabbithorn, a young one, was nearby, also sunning itself on a warm rock. While wary, it did not flee until I stood up to continue my journey.
About an hour before sunset, I reached a small village, not even a crossroads, nothing more than a place where two muddy trails joined. A handful of adults and about six children were milling around, working on planting some root crops. As I neared them, I was sure that they would distrust such a tattered stranger approaching on foot. Instead, I was greeted warmly, especially by the children. Curious about the outside world, the villagers thirsted for stories of who I was and where I had been. I must confess, I told them nothing of the Aldaran episode. Instead, I regaled them with tales from Nevarsin, which to them had almost a mythical reputation.
One family invited me to share a place by their hearth on the condition that I would tell them more stories. This I gladly did. But a curious thing happened while I sat on the dirt floor of that thatched hut. Instead of me telling stories and the local folk passively listening, we began to engage in a lively discourse. In spite of their isolation and poverty, I found the people, both young and old, had excellent minds and quick wits. After months of stifling conversation among the Comyn, I was refreshed by their outlook on life and felt comfortable. For the first time in months, I was in touch with the real Darkover.
Then it struck me: what a terrible waste! This planet throws away its human resources shamelessly. These productive, thoughtful people will never see their lot in life change. While they are content, they are also limited by the Darkovan feudal system. These children, who have the potential to grow up as informed citizens of the Empire, who could make a real contribution to the body of knowledge on this planet, are kept from any kind of education. These charming folks never had any choice but to live as their ancestors did, tilling the soil in a centuries-old manner. Their descendants will see no change.
No, they are not laran gifted. But they do have something to give this world that goes beyond subsistence farming. As I go to sleep tonight by the dying embers of the fireside, I think to myself how unjust the world is that these people, who could accomplish so much, have so little resources available to them while some foppish scion of a noble house lives in luxury in the lowlands because he was lucky in his birth. More and more I become convinced that this is what is wrong in Darkovan society. The Domain system is rotten to its core. Too much human potential is being wasted, not just among the Comyn, but within the lives of the ordinary people who are the true inhabitants of this world. Tomorrow I leave this place, but the memory of this unnamed hamlet will burn brightly within me for a long time to come.
Read Entry #6: At Dalereuth Tower
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