The River Wall Page 32

  “It will be necessary,” she said, turning to walk a few steps, turning back, “to seek out talented children to be trained as Recorders. A few have been sufficient until now; many more will be needed to make this plan effective. The teaching Recorders will serve to educate our children in their own history, and part of each child’s education will be the sharing of the constructed lifememory about the beginning of the journey. Children will learn the general background from their parents, but in sharing the knowledge, the conviction, the present awareness of one person who lived through this beginning, the children will recover the spirit which pervades us now, the certainty of disaster, the grand purpose, which is nothing less than survival.”

  We were all silent a moment, caught up in Tarani’s special vision. It was Thymas who finally spoke.

  “I see the value of the plan, Tarani,” he said. “But you have not spoken to Zanek’s concern. How can such a memory assist our people in identifying the final destination?”

  “It will serve that purpose, as well,” Tarani said, “if the lifememory is Rikardon’s.”

  I jumped, even though my mind instantly agreed with the logic of it. Another thought crossed my mind.

  “Is this what Livia asked you to ‘consider’?” I asked.

  “Livia’s visit was very helpful,” Tarani said. “I had conceived of the idea of the special Recording, and of everyone sharing those memories, but I had not foreseen the need for more Recorders, and their value in other areas. Livia made that suggestion, and its value was obvious.”

  “If you accepted that, then what were you considering?”

  Without fully realizing it, I had tensed up, and was leaning on one of the pillars, one hand on my hip. It was no wonder that Tarani reacted defensively.

  “Her comment has nothing to do with the plan we are discussing,” she snapped.

  “I have no quarrel with the plan,” I said. “I have some questions about its details, but I know they can be worked out. But this is the first time you’ve mentioned this plan to me, and I’d rather not be surprised by what else Livia suggested to you.”

  “If you must know,” Tarani fumed, “she asked that I make provision for at least one of our children to become a Recorder!”

  “Our … children?” I said.

  “She asked it as a favor, a replacement for my departure. I told her such a choice would be made by us both, and not before our second child is born.

  “Since you insist on discussing this now,” she continued angrily, “would you not also like to know what her parting remark meant?”

  “You mean, ‘That’s that,’ after I told her I … love you?” Suddenly I felt embarrassed that such a small thing had almost built to a quarrel. I relaxed from my aggressive stance, and smiled. “You must know, by now, that I have a lot more love than tact—or timing.”

  To my great relief, she laughed.

  “A highly pardonable failing, my love,” she said. “So I shall tell you what Livia meant. I had told her that I shall be the Recorder who enters that special Record, and she had assumed I meant to take on the formal appearance and behavior of a Recorder—including a private, separate residence. I fear,” Tarani said with a wry smile, “that I was rather blunt in my refusal.”

  “Good for you,” I said. “She struck me as a tough old lady; I’m sure the bluntness didn’t hurt her.”

  “As a matter of fact, she countered me with a wise caution against Recording while I carried a child, and used that as an argument for at least a temporary withdrawal until the Record was complete.”

  “I fear I do not understand the wisdom in that restriction,” Zanek said. “Why should it matter if a woman were pregnant?”

  “Only that the bodies of a child and its mother are in intimate contact,” Tarani said, “and that no one can tell if their minds, too, are touching. It is possible that the child would suffer the strain imposed on the Recorder. I agreed to Livia’s counsel willingly, but shared with her one of the tenets we are asking all of Gandalara to accept. A high birth rate is essential, to replenish our strength as we climb.

  “The Record will be a difficult task for both of us, my love,” she said, coming toward me with her hands outstretched. “We will need several sessions, I think, and considerable distance in time between those sessions.” I took her hands. “My own desires, as well as our need to set an example, will not permit postponing our family.”

  I pulled her into my arms and hugged her, for the moment too moved to speak. After a moment, I stepped back.

  “What solution have you found, then?” I asked. “To select someone else to create the Record?”

  “Ah, no!” she exclaimed. “It is a privilege I claim for myself, and a task to which I believe my slightly different skills are particularly suited. I propose a compromise solution: that I shall not attempt to Record during pregnancy—which will certainly prolong the time it will take to complete the Record—and that, for several days before a session, I shall withdraw to solitude to achieve the tranquillity of mind and body which will, I believe, be necessary. Understand, Rikardon, for the purpose of the Record I shall have to abandon my other duties entirely for a time, and take on the formal aspect of a Recorder.” She laughed. “That is, what I understand to be a traditional Recorder—not Somil.”

  I laughed too. “I can live with that,” I said. “What did Livia say?”

  “She acknowledged the fact that I had already decided, and she could not change my mind. But she refused to offer her support unless she could be convinced that my feelings for you were returned. Actually, the phrase she used was ‘Is he worth all this concern?’”

  Tarani smiled, but looked down at the floor as she said: “Obviously, your answer convinced her.”

  I touched her arm, and she looked up at me.

  “The whole plan is inspired, Tarani. I support it fully, and I’m grateful for your ‘concern’—for me and for our children. I think the Record should begin with my arrival here, and continue through these planning stages, don’t you?”

  I looked around at the others too. They all nodded.

  “Then you are no longer angry that I made these plans independently?” Tarani asked.

  “I was never angry, Tarani, and I think I trust your judgment even more than my own. I feel sure there will be occasion for each of us to make independent decisions in the coming years, even though we are, essentially, a ruling council of four.”

  “Rikardon,” Zanek said, “may I interrupt a moment?”

  “Of course,” I said, turning to him.

  “We have told the people that, when everyone who is coming has gathered here, they will be asked to approve an administration system which we have not yet thoroughly designed. I would ask a gift from you, my friends.”

  “After all you have done for us, Zanek,” I said, “I’m sure I speak for Tarani and Thymas in saying you may ask anything of us.”

  Zanek smiled. “A rash statement, Rikardon, but I shall hold you to it. I would like to leave now.”

  “Well, certainly,” I said. “The Ra’ira’s destroyed—”

  “Don’t be such a vlek, Captain,” Thymas interrupted. “He means to leave Dharak’s body, not this hall.”

  36

  “What?” I stammered, staring at Thymas.

  “Zanek was kind enough to ask me about it a few days ago,” Thymas said, “since, for me, he feared it would be like losing my father twice.” He turned to Zanek. “I will say, before them, what I said to you then. It is your loss I’ll feel, Zanek, but I would not hold you here for my sake. Dharak and I have been honored by your visit.”

  Zanek put his hand on my shoulder. “Do not look so horrified, Rikardon. In Thagorn, you merely assumed I would share the burden of leadership, but if you think back, I never promised such a thing.”

  He smiled, and though it still looked like Dharak’s face to me, I knew it was Zanek who smiled. He looked sad, and tired. “I have done this before, you know—restructured the world.
If you think to benefit from my experience, consider the final products of my work. They were hardly lasting successes. It could be argued that you will be better off without my advice.”

  “Do not say that,” Tarani said. “Had you not established the Kingdom as Zanek, and then destroyed it as Serkajon, there would be nothing here today worth saving.”

  “She’s right, Zanek,” I said. “And though it causes me pain to say it, so are you. You have done more than your share already. You—you have my consent, if you feel you need it.”

  “I do need it,” he said sincerely, “for without it, I would feel as if I am betraying you, and I could not go.” His eyes went out of focus. “I have said there is no memory of that place in me, but there is a longing for it. It may be that I am being called. Tarani? Will you, too, give me your good wishes?”

  Tarani moved past me and put her arms around Dharak/Zanek. Over her shoulder, I saw his eyes close as his arms tightened around her.

  “If I feel any lack of contentment in that other place,” Zanek said as Tarani withdrew, her breath coming in the sharp gasps that was Gandalaran sobbing, “it shall be because I miss you, my friends.”

  “Before you go, Zanek,” Tarani said, “can you tell us if we will succeed? The abrupt ending of the All-Mind—has it changed?”

  Zanek laughed heartily, and it was that action that finally freed me of the worst of my grief. He had not been so lighthearted in months, and I felt sure it was the prospect of leaving—with our blessings—that cheered him so.

  “I shall have that answer soon,” he said. “But, of course, I shall not be able to tell you. Perhaps that is best, for the continued uncertainty will demand your best effort—and I feel sure it is only that which can change the dead future I saw from that other place.”

  Thymas put his hand on Zanek’s arm.

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” he said, and looked around the stark, empty hall. “Don’t leave Dharak’s body in here.”

  “I’d say we could all use some air,” I said, and Zanek nodded.

  *Come, Keeshah,* I called.

  Tarani paused at the pillar and swept the blue fragments into her pouch. Then we walked unhurriedly to the gates of Lord City. Ronar and Keeshah were there.

  “I did not call Yayshah,” Tarani said. “Will Keeshah mind carrying two?”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  She and I mounted Keeshah, and Thymas and Zanek mounted Ronar. The two sha’um kept a close pace as we left Lord City and climbed the green hillside above it. Thymas seemed to be leading the way; we climbed to one of the stairstep levels of ground that kept the Tashal River from being one continuous waterfall.

  We all dismounted, and Zanek stroked Ronar with unmistakable affection. He turned, with us, to look down at Gandalara.

  Far to our left was the beginning of our first encampment. The Sharith had begun it; in the next few months the few hastily constructed tents would swell to hundreds, thousands. These first shelters would be little more than resting places for people who tilled land or tended crops at a higher level until their lungs burned. The people who moved to that level and began the next would really be taking the first step up the River Wall. The first action step was to leave everything behind and turn our faces upward.

  It would begin soon.

  It was intimidating.

  It was intoxicating.

  It was, simply, our destiny.

  The man who had set it all in motion drew a deep breath and said: “Captain, perhaps you and the Lieutenant would be kind enough to spare Dharak’s body the indignity of falling?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Thymas and I each took one of the old mans arms. Zanek smiled once more, his face seeming to beam with a special radiance. Then Thymas and I caught the weight of Dharak’s empty body.

  Thymas shrugged off my hands and lifted his fathers body in his arms, cradling the head on his shoulder. The boy was short, but strong; the old man was not an excessive burden for him.

  “I’ll miss him terribly,” I said. “But he was right in thinking I would have leaned on him heavily, had he stayed. I am grateful to have both of you.”

  Thymas looked surprised. “Surely you don’t think I’m going to be much help?”

  “Of course I think so,” I said. “The three of us—”

  The boy was shaking his head. “I am Lieutenant of the Sharith,” he said. “That’s plenty to keep me busy. I finally believe I can handle it, Rikardon, but it’s all I can handle. Call on me for advice in that area, if you like, but don’t ask me to make decisions for anyone else.”

  Tarani spoke up, then. “I, too, will be concerned with special projects, my love. I did promise Livia to coordinate the new structure for Recorder schools, and I feel a special responsibility toward the Lords and Eddartans who will provide so much material and support for the rest of Gandalara during these first stages.”

  I stared from one to the other of them.

  “Are you telling me that I am the administration plan we’ll present to the people?” I asked.

  “I believe we have already discussed the need to divide the people into distinct groups of some sort,” Tarani said. “Whether those groups are to be skill-based, or structured around the source cities of the people, remains to be decided. Each separate group will have a leader or leaders, but someone must provide coordination among those leaders. Someone must have ultimate authority.”

  “From the beginning,” Thymas said, “we have been guided by your vision, Rikardon. I see no reason to stop now.”

  I thought about that for a long minute. “All right,” I said, at last. “As long as everybody understands that the decision of the ‘ultimate authority’ may be to put an issue to a vote, either among the leaders or the people themselves, and abide by the majority decision.”

  ‘That comment, Captain,” Thymas said, “only confirms your value in that position. I—may I see to Dharak now?”

  “Of course,” I said. “If there is to be a ceremony—”

  “There will,” he said. “I will let you know when; it would dishonor Dharak’s memory if you and Tarani were not present.”

  “Wait a moment, Thymas,” Tarani said. She opened one of Thymas’s hands, and placed the pouch full of Ra’ira fragments in his palm. “These are dead, as well. Perhaps Dharak’s body will not mind sharing the ceremony.”

  Tarani and I and Keeshah lingered on the hillside. Eddarta had grown to nearly twice its size. To the east, west, and south there were clusters of people, makeshift corrals filled with vleks or glith, and piles of supplies. Sha’um with Riders appeared frequently, working as short-distance messengers.

  Keeshah lay crouched between us, and Tarani and I absently stroked his fur.

  “Why didn’t you call Yayshah?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I wanted to ride Keeshah with you one more time,” she said. “This seemed the right time. Also—I am truly sad to lose Zanek. I think I needed to be close to you.”

  I nodded, understanding.

  I shielded my eyes and looked up into the gray cloud cover, seeking the brighter spot that was the sun.

  “I’ve thought about the need to adapt to lower air pressure,” I said, “but we must also consider the effect of less-shielded sunlight.”

  “Yes, eyes and skin must both be protected to some extent at each new stage,” Tarani agreed.

  We stopped and looked at one another.

  “There is so much to think about,” I said. “So much to do.”

  “It cannot all be considered or accomplished at one time,” she said. “Deal with one thing at a time.”

  I smiled and reached for her hand.

  “No matter what our ‘official’ roles are, Tarani, will you promise always to be my personal advisor?”

  “Except as needed for the Record, I promise, my love.”

  “Ah—the Record. When would you like to begin?”

  I felt a sudden tension in her hand, and I turned to face her.
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  “We cannot begin for at least nine moons,” she said.

  It took me a second, and then I felt my knees go weak.

  “A baby?” I whispered. “Our child?”

  “A son,” she said, with knowledge born of the Gandalaran inner awareness. “The night of Livia’s visit, I knew I was fertile. It was unfair not to ask you, Rikardon, but I wanted it so badly. Are you angry?”

  “Angry?” I echoed. “Angry? I’m—” I laughed aloud, rose to my knees, and stretched across Keeshah’s back to kiss her. “I’m delirious, that’s what I am,” I said. “A son, you say?”

  *Keeshah, did you hear that? I’m going to have a son!*

  I felt a strange wash of feeling from him: gladness that I was so happy, mingled with an uncertainty drawn from experience.

  *Cubs fun,* he said. *Also nuisance. Nothing the same again. But good.*

  I pulled away from Tarani, and saw a glow in her that was born of nothing more dangerous than a mother’s joy.

  I took her hand and settled back down. After a time, Yayshah joined us, stretching out beside Tarani, seemingly unresentful of Keeshah. Still later, Koshah and Yoshah sought us out, and curled up against their parents.

  Tarani and I sat there until the light vanished, watching the future of Gandalara begin.

  END PROCEEDINGS:

  INPUT SESSION SEVEN

  —I am withdrawing our minds from the All-Mind … and now your mind is separate from mine. Are you well, my love?

  —Physically very weak, Tarani, but food and time will ease that. In spirit, however, I feel stronger for knowing the Record is complete.

  —It is only one of the many good things you have accomplished in the passing years. Did you find the younger Rikardon to be so different from the man you are now?

  —Before I answer that, you promised you would give me your opinion.

  —Very well. I believe that experience has made you stronger and more sure in your role, and that has made you a better man, not a lesser one. In your comments at the beginning of this session, I saw the same fear which was so clear in this Record: the fear that you would misuse the power the people have given you. As long as the fear exists, the possibility of misuse does not. And now … your judgment?