The River Wall

by Randall Garrett

  “What about the Zantil?” somebody shouted.

  “Probably in the same shape,” Ligor answered. “But we’ll know soon enough if anybody can get through it.” Because he couldn’t ask Keeshah to crouch, he swung his leg across the cat’s back, and slid down beside me. The rubble gave a little, and I caught his arm to steady him. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “You want me to lead these folks?” he demanded in a whisper. I nodded. “Then give me room to do it my own way, son. If I need a sha’um to bring them into line, I ain’t going to lead them for long.”

  He moved cautiously around me, to stand in front of Keeshah and face the crowd. “This here is Rikardon,” he said.

  I groaned inwardly, closed my eyes, and laid my head against Keeshah’s side.

  “I know you know the name, because Worfit would have moved the Walls to find this man and kill him. Worfit found Rikardon,” Ligor said, and paused for emphasis, “in the Zantro Pass. Worfit’s dead—as dead as the past of Chizan. I tell you that in case there’s somebody out there thinks Worfit’s reward still stands, and is stupid enough to value gold above water.

  “Rikardon and his sha’um have to go west, through the Zantil. He’ll be leaving just as soon as we quit this talking and start working to put things back together. If we see him again in a couple of days, we’ll know the Zantil’s blocked too. If we don’t, we’ll know it’s clear.

  “Now, you all understand that? Worfit’s dead, Rikardon and Keeshah are leaving, and I’m staying. My name’s Ligor.”

  The way he said his name, it was a blatant challenge, and it was a sure bet somebody would take him up on it. From close to the front of the crowd, a man shouldered his way out into the open. He was a big man, hard, with a sword scar where his right eye should have been.

  “What makes you think you deserve to say what’s what in Chizan?” he said. “Seems like one of our own ought to be the one who gives the orders.”

  “Seems to me one of your own should have been doing it already,” he said, and stared the man down. For a heart-stopping few seconds, I thought the man was going to attack Ligor, but just as his arm twitched toward his sword, a scream rang out from the back of the crowd.

  “Help, please help!” the voice cried. “My little boy—I found him, but he’s trapped under all that brick. Somebody help me, please!”

  Ligor looked at the man and pointed in the direction of the voice.

  “There’s your first assignment,” he said. “Pick six men, tell them each to find five others, and spread your teams over the city to search the rubble for people who may still be trapped.” The man hesitated, and the distraught mother wailed again. “What’s your name?” Ligor asked.

  “Hiben,” the man growled.

  “Do it, Hiben,” Ligor said. “You got a quarrel with me, we’ll settle it when things are back in order.”

  Hiben decided. He slapped his half-drawn sword back through his baldric, turned, and marched through the crowd, calling names as he went. The crowd closed in behind him and the men he took with him, and people came forward eagerly, asking for help or direction. In the space of a bare half hour, Ligor set up teams to build a water reservoir, locate and gather food, set up a first-aid station, corral the vleks, and begin clearing streets. Then he told the rest of the people to go to their own homes, salvage what they could, and come back in two hours to take a turn on one of the teams.

  When everything had been set in motion, he turned to me. I reached out and took his hand in both mine. “I’m sorry to leave you like this, Ligor. There’s no telling what your resources are—”

  “We’ll manage,” he said. “And for what it’s worth, Rikardon—thanks for convincing me. Feels like I’m doing good here.”

  “Better than I could, my friend,” I said.

  He grinned. “I know better than that, my friend, but thank you all the same. Keep that wound clean, and take care of yourself.”

  14

  When Keeshah and I had escaped the revolting miasma of Chizan, I dismounted and rested while Keeshah did his own version of rounding up vleks. I lifted the water pouch beside me and wondered, suddenly, where Ligor had found water to fill the pouch on his earlier visit to Chizan.

  I didn’t see a single reservoir intact, I thought. But he must have found one, at least, not entirely shattered. I hefted the water pouch. I wouldn’t wonder that I have a majority of Chizan’s water supply with me, I thought, and felt a twinge of guilt. Then I saw Keeshah on a rise of land some hundred yards from me, running with a long, loping stride, stretching himself easily to cross a gap or mount a ridge in the rocky ground.

  He was scouting, not yet hunting, and the sight of him stirred a tactile memory in chest and thigh of being astride him while he ran. A deeper memory stirred, and I slipped into a daydream version of sharing such a run with the big cat, our minds blended so that I felt his strength and sureness, and my pleasure compounded his joy.

  I might have reached out for Keeshah then, for a true sharing rather than merely the memory, but I resisted. Instead, I cast my thoughts back to the time when I had been without him, when he had answered the call of his instincts and returned to the Valley to mate and continue his species. Until now, I had avoided any close examination of that time, for I remembered only a shadow of the pain—confusion, loss, grief, loneliness. I let it sweep over me to drive away the guilt, and prepare me for what, even at best, would be an ordeal.

  Of all the beautiful things in Gandalara, I thought, the exquisite glass, the gifts of the maufel and the Recorder, the intricate dancing, the detail of parquetry and mosaic, the simple and basic dignity of these people—of all these, there is nothing more precious than the partnership of a Gandalaran and a sha’um. Ricardo had much in common with these people, but the friendship I’ve found with Keeshah is outside Ricardo’s experience, unique to Gandalara.

  I’ve got the feeling in my gut that Tarani hasn’t seen the danger, even though she has Antonia’s memory and knowledge. If I can’t get to Thagorn, the sha’um in the Valley will die. The Riders linked to those sha’um will suffer worse than I suffered in Keeshah’s absence. Even though our link seemed broken to me, Keeshah had submerged that conscious connection under an overwhelming weight of animal instinct. The Riders will truly lose their sha’um—I shuddered. I don’t even want to think about it.

  Nor do I want to think about the other sha’um who will have no Valley and no families to return to—no females….

  I paused, stunned by a new and terrifying thought. There are two females outside the Valley, I reminded myself. Yayshah and Yoshah. How often have I felt—have Tarani and I discussed—the sense of destiny we feel about Yayshah coming out of the Valley with us? Don’t tell me—please, God, don’t tell me—that part of that destiny was to ensure the survival of the sha’um after this disaster.

  I reached out for Keeshah. I sensed a mood of satisfaction, an aftertaste of both the hunt and the vlek—not Keeshah’s favorite meal, but adequate when we both knew that food of any kind was the main necessity.

  *Ready soon,* he told me.

  I realized my heart was racing, and I was clenching the ground with my hands. I tried to relax.

  *Sorry,* I said. *I didn’t mean to rush you, Keeshah. I’m just …*

  *Worried,* the sha’um finished for me, when I hesitated. *For others like me. Why?*

  *The poison—* I began, then stopped to consider. Keeshah could, if he wished, share all my knowledge and understanding. Surely he knew what I feared, the consequences of the volcanic eruption so close to the Valley. *Why what?* I asked him.

  *Why worry about others?*

  I was still confused, so I went back to the beginning.

  *Keeshah, you know the sha’um in the Valley may be in danger?*

  *Know,* he answered, a little impatiently.

  *Then why aren’t you worried about them?*

  *Female, cubs—not in Valley.*

  *Wait a minute,* I exclaimed. *Is that what
you were asking me—why should I care about the other sha’um when you and your family are safe?*

  *Yes,* he answered simply, then paused for a moment. *Angry?* he asked. *Why?*

  *I’m not angry, Keeshah—I mean, of course I’m angry, you couldn’t be fooled about that, but I’m more surprised than anything. You share many of my thoughts and most of my emotions. I thought you would understand how I felt—why I feel that way—without asking.

  *No,* I corrected myself. *That’s wrong. What I thought—what I assumed—was that you feel the same way. But you don’t.*

  Somehow, that revelation hurt me terribly.

  *If you don’t care about the other sha’um,* I began, *why do you think I care about the other people? Why am I trying to keep Ferrathyn from hurting them?*

  *Don’t know,* he answered.

  I did feel anger rising then. I recognized that it was a useless and an unfair anger, that the betrayal I felt was nothing more than the truth shining through false conclusions, but I felt it just the same.

  *Then why have you helped me, carried me, followed me all this way?* I demanded.

  *You want it,* he answered. *I help.*

  *But you don’t care about what I’m doing?* I demanded. *You don’t believe that it is right, and necessary? You don’t feel that it’s our destiny to be doing this?*

  *You want it,* he repeated, sounding confused. He obviously sensed that I also wanted him to say something he could not say.

  I broke off our conversational contact and tried to calm the anger and indignation I felt. I struggled to set aside my misconceptions and see things from Keeshah’s viewpoint in an unbiased way. The first puzzle that came to mind was—why was I so upset?

  Keeshah hasn’t failed in his loyalty to me, I reminded myself. He has given me all the support I’ve asked for—far beyond what most sha’um are asked to give. What he hasn’t given me is his approval.

  Is it important for the general to have the approval of his troops? I wondered. Or is obedience far more important? Logic says the latter—but Ricardo remembers jungles and bullets and terror and death, and a churning despair over the value of it all.

  There was a turning point for Ricardo—me—in the early days of that war, a time when fear of the enemy outweighed fear of my own commanders. I had settled into a stinking piece of swamp with every intention of not moving until the war was over.

  A Lieutenant, a boy not much older than I, found me in my funk and pulled me out of it. He told me what the unit was doing, and why—how it fit into the strategy of this attack, the entire Pacific war. I understood for the first time that other troops, on other islands, depended on our performance there—on my active participation in this battle. I got up, and I followed that man.

  The area I had chosen for my stand had been overrun by the enemy less than an hour later. Had I stayed there, a bullet or a bayonet would have ended my indecision. No mere command could have moved me from that inertia, but the understanding given to me by that young officer was enough to get me going again. I followed him until a land mine killed him, and then I followed other officers. The vision he gave me of myself as a moving and important cog in the machine of strategy never left me.

  I guess that Lieutenant, I thought, has been sort of a model of leadership for me ever since. He may have been a kid, but he knew that men would fight harder, be less afraid, and be more likely to survive if they were treated like men instead of chess pieces.

  I think that’s what scared me when Dharak wanted to make me Captain of the Sharith, I realized. My image of good leadership is a man who knows, leading men who believe in and agree with him. At the “installation” ceremony, I felt that commitment from the Sharith with some embarrassment, because I had no clear purpose in accepting the position. Dharak would continue to perform the daily functions of leadership. I felt as if I were cheating and deceiving the Sharith. Even now, when my position makes it convenient for me to lead the Sharith against Ferrathyn, if necessary, I feel as if I would be using, not leading, them.

  It was like being struck by lightning.

  This is what it’s all about! I realized. Not Ferrathyn—or, at least, not only Ferrathyn. It’s the sha’um too. I’m meant to try to save them, I feel it as strongly as if someone had told me so.

  I looked up toward the Zantil, and remembered the falling rock and shaking ground from the Zantro.

  Try to save them, I repeated. Nature might have her own ideas.

  I could no longer see Keeshah, but I looked off in his direction, anyway.

  *Keeshah, do you remember the day we rode through the Hall, with the Sharith saluting us?*

  *Remember,* he confirmed.

  *I remember it too,* I said. *The people were calling out to me, but the sha’um were roaring for you. The sha’um were responding to the feelings of their Riders, but they were showing their respect for you, not for me. You felt it then; I want you to remember how it felt.*

  *Remember,* he said again. *Why?*

  *I’m trying to explain why I feel a commitment to do what I’ve been doing.*

  *Not need,* he said, puzzled, then repeated his earlier comment: *You want it*

  *It is necessary, Keeshah,* I insisted. *That’s part of the explanation, anyway, to show you why I feel you have to understand. Will you listen, and try?*

  *Yes,* he said, and I felt him decide to come back to me.

  *No, Keeshah, stay there.*

  *Why?*

  *Because this is something I want you to learn and decide about with only your mind. If you come back here, close, I won’t be able to keep from touching you, and then I’ll never be sure whether you were persuaded by my reasoning or my ear-scratching.*

  *Silly,* he said, but I sensed him settling to the ground on the other side of the low ridge that separated us.

  *Thank you, Keeshah. Now keep in mind what you felt in the Hall, all right?*

  *Yes.*

  *I want you to think back to Dyskornis the first time we were there. Ronar came up to you, lay down, and exposed his throat.*

  I felt the surge of savage joy that came to him with the memory.

  *Yes, you felt victorious then, didn’t you? Were you proud?*

  *Yes,* he said, without hesitation.

  *Did it feel the same as when the Sharith sha’um saluted you?*

  He hesitated. *Not same,* he said, after a moment.

  *What was the difference?* I asked.

  Keeshah was quiet for a long while, struggling with the task I had given him. I felt a moments fear that I was asking too much of him. His rationality had always expressed itself on a very real and literal level.

  *One sha’um,* he began at last, *was beaten. Keeshah won honor. Other sha’um gave honor.*

  *Very good, Keeshah,* I said, excited. *I’d say it a little differently, though. I’d say that the sha’um in the Hall did give you honor but that you won obedience from Ronar. Do you agree with that?*

  *Yes,* he said. *Says better.*

  Before this, he had been complying with my requests with a spirit of tolerance. I sensed from him now a genuine interest in what we were doing.

  *Let’s call what you felt with Ronar the pride of victory, and what you felt in the Hall in Thagorn the pride of respect. Okay?* He agreed. *Which kind of pride felt better?* I asked.

  *Both good,* he answered immediately.

  I groaned inwardly, and felt a desperate temptation to tell him the conclusions I was trying to make him find for himself. I resisted.

  *You can tell that there is a difference between them,* I said. *Try to explain the difference, and one may seem to be better than the other*

  He spent a few seconds in thought, then reached out for me again. *Pride of victory easier to get,* he said.

  It was my turn to be puzzled. I felt he was going in the right direction, but I’d lost track of the roadway.

  *I don’t understand what you mean,* I said.

  *Fought one sha’um,* Keeshah said. *Proved better. Other s
ha’um—no fight, respect anyway.*

  *That’s called faith, Keeshah. The sha’um in Thagorn respect you because they believe—without your having to fight them to prove it—that you deserve their respect.*

  *No,* he disagreed. *Respect me because Riders respect you.*

  I couldn’t argue with that. Instead, I went straight for the point I had been trying to make.

  *Do you respect me, Keeshah?* I asked. I was very pleased that he started to answer me with an “of course” kind of response, but then stopped to think about it more before he said anything.

  *I know you love me, Keeshah,* I said gently. *But its very important to me that you understand what I’m trying to do, and that you come with me because you believe in that—not just because you’re loyal to me. Let me put it this way: if you help me just because you love me, it’s like feeling the pride of victory, but if you help me because you believe in what I’m doing, it’s like feeling the pride of respect.*

  It was a lot to take in all at once, and I gave the cat some quiet time to consider. When Keeshah was ready, he spoke to me again. To my surprise, he challenged the analogy.

  *Riders respect you,* he said. *Riders not here, never with you. They know what you do?*

  *They know about it in concept, Keeshah, even though they haven’t been with me all the way, like you have.*

  *Concept,* he repeated, not referring to the word, but to the amalgam of impression and feeling that he got from me when I “spoke” the word to him. *What is concept?*

  I was suddenly conscious of my hurt leg feeling stiff and sore. It gave me both physical and psychological relief to stand up and begin to walk at a slow and limping pace. I marked a fairly level path around a clump of boulders, put one hand on them for safety’s sake, then put my body on “automatic” while I concentrated on Keeshah’s question.

  *Concept is a general idea for a specific thing,* I said, and searched for an analogy within the cat’s experience. *You and I can talk, mind to mind. That’s a specific thing. Because we can do it, we understand that other Riders can talk to their sha’um the same way. That’s a concept.*