The River Wall

by Randall Garrett

  Zanek followed it, picked it up, and went over to the group of men hovering in confusion nearby.

  “You are what remains of the Council of Supervisors of Raithskar,” he said to them. “In the past, your families have known me as Zanek, and as Serkajon. Do you accept that?”

  They nodded—ready, I felt sure, to believe anything after the events of the past few minutes.

  “As Serkajon, I gave the Council charge to keep the Ra’ira idle,” he said, “and you have failed that charge. Take the stone now, and do what you can to mend the error. Stop the fighting. Send the vineh west, to a land where they can learn to live naturally again, at least for all the time that is left to them.”

  The men hovered around Zanek’s outstretched hand. Impatiently, Zanek took one man’s hand and put the Ra’ira in it—but he kept his own hand closed around it too.

  “I have no skill with the vineh,” he said scornfully. “This is yours to do, and every moment you fail to act is costing lives.”

  The man Zanek was touching swallowed and nodded, and the Supervisors formed a group around Zanek. Around the city, the noise of battle underwent a subtle change, but did not stop.

  “Thymas,” I said, but the boy was already mounting Ronar.

  “There has been death enough even to satisfy the sha’um,” he said. “I will call them back, and let the vineh go.” Ronar carried him off toward the main gate of the city.

  Tarani’s trembling had stilled, finally, and she pushed at me. I let her pull away, and was glad to see that the deep lines in her face had smoothed. She continued to seem troubled, but not in that strained, unnatural, half-hysterical way.

  “I do not believe that will happen again, Rikardon,” she said. “It was only—” She shivered. “What I felt, it was the way Ferrathyn lived. It was his mind I first touched through the Ra’ira, and the shock of it—” She shivered again, then looked off to the east. “How ironic that we feared Thymas so bitterly,” she said, “when it was Indomel whom Ferrathyn chose to corrupt through Gharlas. What Ferrathyn said of Eddarta—it is true. I saw it in his mind.”

  “He believed it was true,” I said. “He knew Indomel is working toward that ruin. But it may not be fact, not yet.”

  She looked back at me. “What do you know of this?” she asked. I pulled out Naddam’s letter and handed it to her.

  “I don’t think Ferrathyn made any allowance for a continuing loyalty to you,” I said. “The date on this letter tells me that Eddarta may still be holding fast against chaos. So there is still time.”

  “To reach Eddarta?” she asked. “We have no idea if the Chizan crossings are passable—” She caught her breath, then crumpled the letter in her fist and stared at the bricks underfoot. “You mean for me to use the Ra’ira.”

  “It ought to work,” I said awkwardly. “Even if the connection between you wasn’t formed originally with the assistance of the Ra’ira, your mind has touched both Indomel and Zefra.”

  I let my voice trail off, but the silence was unbearable, and I stumbled along again.

  “Ferrathyn wanted a civil war in Eddarta that would destroy everything,” I said. “The city, the buildings—they’re dispensable; they’d have to be abandoned, anyway. But the crops, the livestock, the wrought goods—Eddarta has to bear the brunt of support for the first stage of the journey, Tarani. Gandalara can’t afford to lose those supplies.”

  She nodded, still staring at the pavement, and I wanted to hold her again, but I kept my place.

  This must be what she felt for me when Keeshah left us, I thought. I would suffer this for her, if I could.

  Zanek walked up, and was surprised when Tarani held out her hand for the Ra’ira. But he gave it to her readily. Because she flinched when it neared her skin, the stone dropped a few inches before her hand caught it. Zanek would have walked away, but Tarani stopped him.

  “Stay with me, Zanek,” she said. “I must reach to Eddarta, but the Ra’ira continues to frighten me. I shall do this alone,” she said firmly, “but your presence will be a comfort to me.”

  “I will stay, gladly,” he said, “and I offer you this much advice, High Lord. Find a place of comfort before you begin; it will cost you great effort.”

  “Come home, Tarani,” I said. “It would please Thanasset, and I—I need to tell Milda.”

  “Tell her what?” Tarani asked, and I am sure she had no need of the Ra’ira to see what I was thinking. “No,” she said. “Oh, no, not Thanasset. And the last words he heard from me were so harsh, Rikardon.”

  “Your words shocked him, and helped him look at things differently,” I said. “At the last, he understood.”

  She put her hand on my arm. “Thank you for saying that,” she said. “Yes, I would like to go … home.”

  The sha’um settled happily around Keeshah’s house, alternately competing for and peacefully sharing space in its shaded interior. Milda was unsurprised by the news of Thanasset’s death. She claimed she had sensed it when it happened.

  The people of Ricardo’s world would have called that “intuition.” Gandalarans would have explained it in terms of the All-Mind, saying Milda had sensed Thanasset’s arrival there through her own connection with it. It was the same phenomenon, no matter how it seemed to work; people who care deeply for one another establish connections, and can sense when those connections are severed.

  By the time we reached the house, Milda had suffered through the first rush of grief and was ready for the distraction of preparing refreshments. Zanek, Tarani, and I ate Milda’s dinner gratefully, then Tarani insisted on using the sitting room at the front of the house as the place from which she would try to extend her consciousness toward Eddarta. The four of us—Tarani asked Milda to stay, too—arranged ourselves in the armchairs, and Tarani held the Ra’ira in both hands, laid her hands in her lap, and sort of slumped down.

  After a moment, she opened her eyes.

  “I feel nothing,” she said, and turned to Zanek. “In trying to shut off that rush of thought, have I destroyed my ability to use the stone?”

  “That is unlikely,” Zanek said. “Perhaps the difficulty lies in the distance involved, and you have too little practice with shorter distances. Reach out to someone closer, first.”

  “I—who? It is an … invasion. Who could I …?”

  “You will see,” Zanek said, “that it is less intimate, and more controlled, than what you felt before. Do not choose one of us, simply because your concern for our privacy may hold you back. Reach for someone else, someone you know—and only see what they see.”

  “I will try,” she said, a little uncertainly, and closed her eyes again.

  We all waited a moment, then Milda, who was sitting opposite Tarani, jumped out of her chair. “Zaddorn,” she scolded, “you scared me out of my tusks. I didn’t hear you—oh!”

  Milda’s outburst had drawn our attention to the area of the room behind Tarani’s chair. I had only a glimpse of a transparent figure—the image of Zaddorn—before Tarani’s eyes snapped open and the image faded.

  “I—that—it was Zaddorn. He was real,” Milda said. “Wasn’t he?”

  “He was one of Tarani’s illusions,” I said. “He looked solid to you, I’m sure, but I could see through him.”

  Zanek looked shaken. “The mindskills have certainly changed since my time,” he said. “Tarani—what did you see?”

  “As you suggested,” she said, “I tried to look through his eyes. He has been released, and is reorganizing the Peace and Security forces. Just now, he is supervising the disposition of the dead vineh which virtually surround the city.”

  Her face brightened. “You were right, Zanek—this touching of minds can be as deep or as limited as one wishes. This time, it was similar to what I have felt as a Recorder. Contact with the thoughts, but not necessarily the person.”

  “Were you seeking Zaddorn, in particular?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I thought I might find him still in his cell; I could not rem
ember anyone specifically ordering his release.”

  “I expect he did that for himself, once he realized what was going on,” I said.

  “The important thing is,” Zanek said, “you found him because you knew him. I believe it will work the same way for the people in Eddarta, Tarani, though it may require considerably more effort.”

  “I will try again,” Tarani said, then smiled at Milda. “I’m sorry to have frightened you,” she said. “I did not consciously cast Zaddorn’s image, but I was aware of it. I believe it helped me locate him. There may be others, as I make this search.”

  “I’ll keep quiet this time,” Milda said. “It just surprised me, is all.”

  Once again, Tarani’s head slumped slowly forward over her folded hands. She was the only one who seemed relaxed, in spite of the effort we knew she was applying. The rest of us were leaning forward in our chairs, tense and anxious.

  For just a moment, there was a change in the air behind Tarani, but it was no more than a flash of white, and it was gone. Tarani sighed, and stretched out her arms and legs, rolling her head to unkink her neck. “I believe I found Indomel,” she said. “But I could not hold him. The distance is too far.”

  She put the Ra’ira down on the small table beside the chair and stood up, stretching and bending at the waist. “It is indeed an effort,” she said. “Zanek, we used the Ra’ira together against Ferrathyn. Can you help me in this?”

  “I might be able to help,” he said thoughtfully, “but you must remember that only today, out of three different lives, have I shared the use of the Ra’ira. As I have no experience from which to draw, I must advise you out of logic.

  “I think you would do better to ask the aid of someone who also knows the one you seek. You would have not only the extra … reach, for want of a better word, but greater chance of forming that bond.

  “I see, also, that you are already weary, Tarani, and I would advise only one more effort. If the matter is as urgent as it seems, then in order to give that effort the highest possible likelihood of success, I would suggest you and Rikardon work together.”

  “Rikardon?”

  “Me?”

  Tarani and I had spoken at the same time, with the same air of disbelief. I had jumped to my feet in shock, and now I walked over to the tall, latticed windows, and looked out at the sha’um. Yayshah was cleaning herself in front of the house, and Keeshah had claimed the roof for his own. “I haven’t a grain of mindpower,” I said, “and the non-Gandalaran half of me won’t connect with mindpower. It’s what makes me half-immune to compulsion.”

  “Did it keep you from seeking out my lifememory in the All-Mind?” Zanek asked. “Did it prevent you from forming your own bond with Keeshah? Does it make you totally blind to Tarani’s illusions?”

  “No, but those are different—” I began.

  “It may work,” Tarani interrupted excitedly. “Think, Rikardon—I can help you heal, when you allow it. As Zanek says, you are able to enter the All-Mind easily. You need only wish it, and we may be able to reach together to Eddarta. It would be fitting, as well, for us both—Captain and High Lord—to speak.”

  “But—” I protested, and they waited.

  “But—” I said again, and they only looked at me expectantly.

  “But—the Ra’ira scares me blind,” I admitted at last. “I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want to be able to use it.” I could not look at Tarani. “I know it’s not fair.”

  Milda’s voice cut into the silence.

  “I thought Markasset was dead.”

  “What?” I asked, turning to look at her.

  “You heard me,” she said. “You sound just like Markasset. He wanted to be a Supervisor, but he didn’t want to learn anything or work at anything or take any responsibility for anything. He just wanted people to look up to him.”

  “Now that,” I said, gritting my teeth, “is not fair. I’ve done nothing for the past months but work and worry and do things that frightened me.”

  “And done them how well?” Milda challenged, standing up and putting her fists on her hips. “Zanek and I had a talk before dinner, and he told me that he’s the one who brought the Sharith today, directly disobeying the orders of the ‘Captain.’ If the ‘Captain’ had brought the Sharith with him, maybe Thanasset would still be alive.”

  “And maybe,” I shouted, stepping toward her to lean on the back of the armchair, “this entire city would be torn up and ruined because Ferrathyn would have been ready, instead of distracted by the need to kill Tarani and me and Thanasset.” I did not even try to hold in the anger. “How can you stand there, Milda—you who have been in Raithskar while I’ve been enslaved and insane and forced into responsibilities I never wanted—and tell me that I made the wrong decision?”

  “And how can you stand there,” Milda shouted back, “you who have been through so much already, and imagine that you’re not strong enough to use the Ra’ira without being hurt by it?”

  I was ready to yell at the old woman again when the meaning of her words sank in. I gaped at her, opened and closed my mouth a couple of times, and finally said: “You could have done that more gently, Milda.”

  “Would you have listened?”

  I shook my head, sat down in the armchair again, and gingerly picked up the Ra’ira. I realized that the reproductions Volitar had made for Gharlas had been true works of art—by sight, they had been identical to this stone, even down to the uneven lines deep inside it, the merest suggestion of a crystalline formation. The color, pale blue when you looked through the edge, deeper as you looked into the center of the gem, had been perfect.

  There was, however, a tactile difference between the Ra’ira and its replicas. The surface was as smooth and cool, the shape as irregular, as the duplicates. But this stone, the true Ra’ira, had slightly more weight and a—a sensation to it. I felt from it the same odd tingling as when I had touched Tarani earlier. I really wanted to drop the thing, but I closed my hand around it.

  “You’ll have to tell me what to do,” I said.

  30

  It was an experience not unlike my visits to the All-Mind. Tarani was the one who actually planned and executed what we did together, and I was merely present, like a passenger in an automobile. There was a similarity, too, in the spirit of seeking with which we began. But there were other, significant differences.

  The All-Mind imagery of the interlocking cylinders or tubes of golden energy, each tube representing the lifememory of a single individual, was not there. Instead, Indomel’s consciousness was only one among uncountable, separate sparks, and Tarani sought the spark which was uniquely his.

  In the All-Mind there had been some sense of distance, because we had arrived near the outer arc of the sphere and moved toward the center. We had been aware that our bodies’ energy was being used to maintain the link with the All-Mind, but there had been no sensation of effort. We had been concerned with how “far” we went only as it related to how long it would take us to get back to our entry point and, ultimately, to our physical bodies.

  Now we felt the distance across which our consciousness stretched. I had halfway expected a visual overview of the land itself, but it was nothing so understandable. Where the All-Mind had seemed to me to be a sphere, the—for want of a better term, I thought of it as the “mind level”—was a flat plane, with sparks scattered throughout it. We did not have a visual overview of the mind level, because we were imbedded in it. Yet we could “see” it all in some sense, as if a map and a marking on the map were, in concept, the exact same thing.

  Where there were cities in the physical world, there were clusters of sparks on the mind level. Just as Raithskar and Eddarta were at opposite corners of the Walled World, we knew we would find Indomel on the far side of the mind level. The direction and distance seemed very clear, but not the pathway. The All-Mind had been a pathway in itself; on the mind level, the sparks seemed isolated in empty darkness.

  But Tarani’s u
nsuccessful attempts had taught her that there lay, invisible within the darkness, a network of interlocking lines of force which could be sensed—with effort—and crossed—with effort. She had exerted the small effort of reaching out to me, had enveloped my mindpresence, and eased it free of my physical presence. The first touch had been alarming, a more pure version of the tingle my body had felt when I had touched the Ra’ira. But once established, the contact between Tarani’s mind and mine was as effortless and comfortable as the experience we had shared in the All-Mind.

  Tarani set out across the dark void between us and the Eddartan minds very carefully, and there was a definite feeling of pushing ourselves off from our physical anchors. She never became confident, even though it was clear to us both that there was no risk of “falling through” the plane; we were inextricably part of it. The risk lay in misjudging the path and wasting energy by backtracking. The risk lay in not being able to find our way back, or in not having sufficient strength left to come back.

  The risk lay in the possibility of being lost and stranded on this plane until our bodies died. Then, presumably, our memories would join the All-Mind, and we—well, we would see for ourselves what Zanek had not been able to remember.

  “Tarani, if I had known you were taking this kind of chance, I—”

  “You would have been more concerned,” she interrupted. “You would not have prevented it, Rikardon. The risk is the price of the power, and the power is necessary, for now. Please allow me to concentrate.”

  I kept silent as she guided us through the darkness. In some way, she had linked us so that she was using my strength equally with her own, and the drain was less for both of us. Yet we both felt the cost of the effort by the time—subjective time; I had no idea how much real time had passed—we approached Eddarta. Only then did I speak again.

  “How will you recognize Indomel?” I asked her. “Every one of these—minds—looks identical to me.”