The River Wall Page 13

  I rushed on, in anticipation of the very literal cats next question.

  *It can work the other way too,* I said. *Thanasset taught Markasset the concept of the Rider-sha’um link before Markasset had actually experienced it. Markasset had the concept and went to the Valley to get the specific thing.*

  He was silent.

  *Can you think of another example?* I asked.

  *Went to Valley wanting any female,* he answered promptly, surprising me. *Concept. Found female, cubs born. Specific thing*

  *Exactly right,* I said, excited by sharing Keeshah’s struggle to master some very difficult ideas.

  *Riders know concept of what you do, not specific things,* he said. *Keeshah knows specific things, not concept. Must learn,* he said emphatically, but I was not sure whether he meant he was insatiably curious about it, or he was rephrasing what I had said—that I needed for him to understand. *What is concept of what you do?*

  Oboy, I thought. I asked for this.

  *When you went back to the Valley, Keeshah,* I began, *you felt a drive to find a female, mate, produce young sha’um.*

  *True,* he acknowledged.

  *That’s something called ‘instinct,’* I explained. * Every creature has it, an inborn need to continue his own species. He doesn’t think about it or plan it, he doesn’t make a decision that his kind is worth preserving—the instinct is just there, and he follows it. He preserves the existence of his species.

  *Among men, there is another level of existence—not just living, but a way of living together. It’s called ‘society.’*

  My foot came down on a slant-topped rock and slipped. I caught myself, cursed inwardly at the pain, but hardly noticed what I was doing.

  *Most of the time, a man doesn’t choose his society, any more than he chooses that he will be born a man and not a sha’um. As he grows, he learns about his society and how to survive in it. It is an important part of his life—so important, in fact, that he begins to feel something like his instinct to preserve his species. The continuation of his society is almost as important to him—with a difference.

  *Birth is the only way to continue a species,* I said to Keeshah, sensing that his attention was still totally focused on the effort to understand. *But society is a complex, intricate structure, formed and preserved by mutual need and human choice.

  *A man may look at the society into which he was born, and decide that the best way to preserve it is to change it. If other people agree, the society changes. If they do not agree, a man either learns to live with it, or leaves that society for a different one. That is another way of change, but it works only for that one man. I believe that every man has a right to be part of a society, and an obligation to think about it and try to change it if he thinks it needs changing.*

  I paused. *Keeshah, are you understanding this?*

  *Think so,* he replied. *Keeshah left Valley with Markasset. Did last thing.*

  Keeshah’s already using example and analogy like a pro, I thought. As much as I respect and admire him, I think I’ve been underestimating his intelligence. The thought sent a thrill of hope through me. Maybe the sha’um in the Valley really do have a chance.

  *That’s right, Keeshah,* I encouraged him. *The sha’um have a society too. It’s centered around the instinctive need to preserve the species. You and Yayshah both made the choice to leave sha’um society and join ours—for which Tarani and I are very, very grateful.*

  *Glad too,* he said. *You want to change society?*

  Back to the original question, I thought. What the hell am I really trying to do?

  I discovered my leg was hurting, so I leaned against one of the boulders and let myself slide down it into a sitting position, sighing as I went.

  *This part is harder to explain, Keeshah,* I said. *A man in Raithskar is trying to change society, and I don’t agree with the change he wants to make. I’m trying to stop him, to keep things as they are *

  Not precisely correct, I realized. Tarani and I have already wrought considerable change. But—for the purpose of this discussion—close enough.

  *Said any man can change,* Keeshah reminded me. *Why not him?*

  *This is where the faith comes in, Keeshah,* I said. *When I talked about changing society before, I meant a man telling people his ideas, getting them to agree with him and to work with him to change things. Any man has the right to expose people to new ideas and invite them to choose his idea over another one.

  *The man in Raithskar isn’t offering people any choice, Keeshah. He is using a special power to force people to make the changes he wants, to trick them into thinking they have chosen his way over their own. I think that’s wrong, and I think the changes he wants to make are wrong. Everything I have done—even though I didn’t know it myself for a long time—has been aimed at preserving for the people of Gandalara the right to choose their own society.

  *The Sharith didn’t know that when they agreed to follow me,* I admitted. *But they knew that some kind of change was beginning to happen, and not knowing what it was made them nervous. I was already investigating that change, and they essentially said, “Do it for us too.” They have faith that whatever I’ve done or plan to do is something they will agree with.*

  Just expressing that to Keeshah made me feel the complicated mixture of pride and humility I had felt on the day the Riders had acclaimed me Captain.

  *Pride of respect,* Keeshah said, as much responding to the feelings he had sensed in me as to the logical connection throughout our conversation.

  *Understand what you do for men,* Keeshah said. *Sha’um not your society. Why worried?*

  *You are a part of my society,* I said. *You, and all the other sha’um in Thagorn, have chosen the society of men over that of sha’um. You and Yayshah have proved that sha’um can survive entirely in the society of men, but right now you have the Valley, and the sha’um there, as an alternative society if you want it.

  *Consider, Keeshah—if all the sha’um in the Valley are destroyed, Yayshah and Yoshah will be the only female sha’um alive. Your species will survive, through them—but two societies will suffer. The sha’um will lose their first society, the one they were born to and still feel called to. The Riders will lose the sha’um.

  *Now any Sharith boy of a certain age who wants to, can try to find a sha’um friend, as Markasset found you, because many cubs are born each year. If the Valley sha’um are destroyed, there will be no new cubs until Yayshah has more and Yoshah is of mating age.

  *The Sharith have built their society around the sha’um, Keeshah,* I said. *And the Sharith society is part of the greater society of Gandalara. I know how much a man gains by sharing his life with a sha’um. I want to make sure other men have a chance at this special kind of friendship.*

  *Sha’um need too,* Keeshah said. *Society of men different. More. Friendship good.* He thought a moment. *Sha’um stay in Valley. Society dies,* he said. *Take sha’um from Valley. Society dies too*

  *You’re probably right,* I said. *Part of the basis for the society in the Valley is its isolation, plentiful hunting, and probably, after so long a habit, the periodic return of the Thagorn sha’um. There is no other place like the Valley in Gandalara. Moving the sha’um may save the individuals, but it will change the society, and effectively destroy the society of the sha’um.

  *So, why not direct that change toward something we already know is good, and workable? I want to take the sha’um to Thagorn, Keeshah. Family units can settle in the hills around Thagorn, if there isn’t enough room in the Valley with the Sharith. The two sha’um societies can blend into one, and the Sharith can be part of it.

  *But I do need your help, Keeshah. Not just getting me to Thagorn in time to help the sha’um, but understanding and agreeing. It’s not fair for a man to make a decision for the sha’um.

  *You were right when you said the Thagorn sha’um honored you because their Riders were honoring me. I happen to know that you deserve that respect on your o
wn merits, but I can’t say for sure that they understand that. But no matter how it got started, the fact remains that those sha’um do feel a special respect for you. In my book, that makes you Captain of the sha’um, and gives you the same kind of decision power and approval that I have.

  *On behalf of the society of men in Thagorn, I want to save the sha’um in the Valley. I know that, as my friend, you would take me to the Valley and let me try. I can’t accept that, because I have no right to make that decision alone. The only way this will work is if you, on behalf of the society of sha’um in Thagorn, go with me to the Valley and help me because you believe we’re doing the right thing*

  I felt exhausted. I wasn’t this tired after running across the Strofaan Desert, I thought. Thinking is hard work.

  *Well, Keeshah?* I prompted, feeling a tremor of fear. *What do you think?*

  I heard the scratch of claws against rock above me, and the boulder against which I was sitting vibrated slightly. That was the only warning I had that Keeshah was so close before he jumped down to the ground in front of me. Was it my imagination, or was there a new expression on his furred muzzle, a difference in the way he held his head? I would have sworn that the gold-flecked gray eyes held a new depth, a more expressive warmth.

  *Save Valley sha’um,* he said, lowering his lean but massive body into the mounting crouch. *Hurry.*

  15

  The trip through the Zantil was a nightmare of pain and frustration. Like the Zantro, it had been split in half, and rock had rained down from the walls into rubbly mounds that needed to be climbed or cleared away. The wind picked up the smallest rocks to make the scouring sand more potent. The footing was unrelievedly treacherous, the wind blinding, the clearing work exhausting in the thin air.

  I rode when the pain in my leg demanded it, but I was always fearful that Keeshah would misjudge his footing and hurt himself falling into the rubble. So I walked as much as I could, testing the mounds for stability myself before I would allow Keeshah to follow me. He resented my caution, but acceded when I pointed out that he could carry me if I got hurt.

  It was a long, long eighteen hours before we reached Relenor, the Refreshment House that rested at the foot of the western entrance to the Zantil. I could not even call out the formal request for shelter, but I discovered I had no need to. Tarani had asked the Fa’aldu to watch for me. The cloth barrier had fallen, and the Elder and several young men were rushing out the gate, before I had even let myself roll off Keeshah’s back to the ground. Strong hands caught me up; concerned faces swam before my draining consciousness. I had time to say only one thing: “Don’t let me sleep more than four hours.” Then I let myself pass out.

  When I first became aware of Lussim’s hand on my shoulder, my inner awareness told me that the Elder had followed my instructions; it was just four hours since I had arrived. I knew by the feel of the pallet beneath me that I was in the part of the Refreshment House reserved for the Fa’aldu themselves. Something was different, though—and I finally identified what it was. It did not feel as cool as usual.

  Lussim’s hand shook me again, and I opened my eyes. Part of the roof was missing, and heat streamed into the room, diminishing the insulation provided by the salt-block walls of the compound.

  “Forgive me, Rikardon,” he said as he helped me sit up, “but you did say—”

  “I know, Lussim. Thank you.” I looked at him closely. He seemed older, and very tired. “Was there much damage?” I asked.

  “This room,” he said, “is the only one with any roof remaining. Some of the walls have fallen too. But we are managing,” he said, and reached behind him to a small table. He handed me a ceramic bowl, its workmanship damaged by ugly chips but its contents giving off the wonderful smell of rafel, the porridgelike stew that was a staple Gandalaran dish. “Eat, my friend,” he said, even as I was taking the bowl from him. An eating utensil—a cross between a fork and a spoon—was standing in the thick stew, and I began to eat hungrily. Lussim turned back to the table, unstoppered a pitcher, and poured water into a drinking cup. He set the filled cup back on the table, out of my easy reach, and put the pitcher down beside it, looking embarrassed.

  “I hesitate to ask, Rikardon, for I know your need is great, but I would ask that you take no more water than you truly need. Our reserve of water is lost, and our production slow.”

  “Of course, Lussim,” I agreed. “I would ask Keeshah the same,” I said, smiling, “but it is never his habit to take more than he needs.”

  “His need was so great that he accepted water from us,” the Elder said. “He sleeps now in the shadow of the gate.” He took something from his pocket, and laid it beside the drinking cup. “From the lady Tarani,” he said. “It came with her warning to watch carefully for you.” Then he turned and left the room.

  He was barely out the door before I snatched up the folded paper and opened it. It was scrawled, written hurriedly. It said:

  Rikardon—

  If you read this in good health, then I beg you to come to Thagorn as quickly as you can. The Riders are plagued by an illness which finds no cure in my healing skills. Thymas is leading the Sharith toward restoring the fallen buildings, but is helpless against this strange malady.

  You are needed here, my love, for the sake of the Sharith and for the comfort of the High Lord. I shall not rest well until I know that you have survived this calamity.

  Love,

  Tarani

  The note both warmed and chilled me. Tarani’s expression of concern was like a caress, and I became conscious of every single one of the days which had passed since we last had been together. Her brief mention of Thymas brought me relief from a worry I had not recognized. I was glad to know he had not been hurt by the upheaval, and more glad to hear that he had taken charge in Thagorn.

  Taking charge was the duty of the leader of the Sharith, but Thymas had come only lately to the role of Lieutenant, and in a somewhat unnatural way. His father, Dharak, had been shocked into a catatonic state by the early, unexpected departure of his sha’um, Doral, for the Valley. I felt some responsibility for Thymas’s position because Doral’s leaving had been stimulated by the presence of Yayshah in Thagorn.

  Though Thymas was young, and he and I had started out with enmity between us, I had come to respect his strength and basic goodness. Yet I knew he had private doubts about his own ability to lead, and the knowledge had translated into a subconscious fear that he would collapse in the crisis of the earthquake.

  I felt better knowing he was handling the normal by-products—damage, confusion, shock—of the earthquake.

  I felt worse knowing that all the by-products were not normal. Illness? I wondered. And she said, specifically, “Riders”—not “Sharith.” It has to be connected to the sha’um.

  Ah, Tarani, forgive me for feeling smug, in the past, over my bond to Yoshah and Koshah. I’d give the world, right now, if they could speak to you, too, so that we could talk to each other through them.

  There was no sense in wishing for something I could not change, so I finished the bowl of food, drank only the cup of water Lussim had poured for me, then stood up and tested my leg. The Fa’aldu had cleaned and dressed the wound while I slept, and had left me wearing only a pair of the drawstring undershorts. Fresh clothes were laid out for me on a shelf, however, and resting on the floor were my own soft leather boots, dusted and brushed. Putting on the clean clothes helped to dispel the deep weariness that had settled in my shoulders and back, and I left the room feeling more refreshed than I would have thought possible.

  This room, like the one Tarani and I had occupied at Iribos, opened directly into the family courtyard. I stepped out into the light, and stopped, staring. I had always been aware that the walls of a Refreshment House encompassed much more area than I had seen from inside, and I had always understood, implicitly, that the area hidden from me contained the secret of the Fa’aldu, the way they produced water, seemingly from the desert itself. The shaking eart
h had destroyed three rooms in the center of the innermost courtyard wall, and through the gap I saw their closely guarded secret.

  I saw flashes of movement as men passed across the breached wall, stretching and tying a huge, semirigid sheet made of tanned and closely stitched hide. It filled an area nearly as large as the courtyard itself, and formed a tentlike structure, slanting from a rounded high point about ceiling-high to salt-block anchors the height of a man’s waist.

  Well, I’ll be damned, I thought. A still. That explains a lot of things. Why the Fa’aldu compounds, both the family and the visitor courtyards, are always so clean. The vlek waste gets dumped into the bottom of that still with all the Gandalaran-produced garbage—and body waste, too, I’d imagine. The last drop of moisture is baked out of it, rises with the hot air into that domed area, condenses, and drips into some kind of cistern. Slow—but steady enough, I guess. Lomir said they had reserves set aside, so they must gain back slightly more water from their visitors than they serve.

  A man moved away from the opening in the wall, and a flash of pale green caught my eye. Grain? I wondered. In the middle of the desert? Oh—of course, that dehydrated waste would be perfect compost. After years of tilling and mixing, the once-sandy ground around the still is probably ideal growing soil by now. They give the grain just enough water to grow, grow and harvest just enough grain to feed the family, and then contribute the husks and stalks to the still. Neat, I thought, appreciating the cleanness and wastelessness of the cycle.

  A hand touched my shoulder, and I turned to find Lussim beside me. He peered at me narrowly. “I believe you understand what you are seeing, Rikardon.” There seemed little point in denying it, so I nodded. “I—I would like—May I know?”

  He was struggling mightily against the ages-long, mind-your-own-business tradition of the Fa’aldu, but he was losing the battle. I helped him as best I could.

  “No Fa’aldu has shared your secret with me, Lussim,” I answered his unspoken question. “You know that I …” It was my turn to hesitate, but he only watched me expectantly. For some reason, I was reluctant to speak the lie again that I was a Visitor from an earlier time in this world. Yet I was not ready to confront this crisis-weary man with the truth, either. “I have not always lived in this time,” I said, finally. “I have memories, and knowledge that I can’t quite account for.”