The River Wall

by Randall Garrett

  I was truly amazed by the insight of that remark, and for a moment I just stared at Thymas.

  “What is wrong?” he asked, after a moment, with an unwelcome shadow of the sullen mood which used to be standard for him.

  “I’m realizing how little contact we have had these past weeks,” I said, “and how much I depend on you to handle the Sharith on your own. And I’m feeling very grateful that you’re here to do it.”

  He accepted that with more poise than he had ever exhibited before, but he said: “Zanek has helped.”

  “Speaking of Zanek,” the boy continued, “he asked me to come here today. Were you going to take me to him?”

  “What?” I said, momentarily confused. “Oh—no, he said whatever he needed could wait. I’ve come to ask you to get the Ra’ira for us. Bring it to Lord Hall in an hour—well, less, now that I’ve delayed the message. Is it close enough to get it here in that time?”

  The boy nodded, and gently disengaged the current rider from Ronar’s head. I expected tantrums and wailing when Thymas stopped the game, but all it took was Ronar standing up with Thymas on his back to send the children scampering backward.

  Thymus is right in one way, I thought. All children will have to acquire a passing acquaintance with sha’um. But I doubt they’ll ever stop being just a little bit afraid of them, unless they bond with one. And that’s good. It’s safer. Because I have good reason to know that even bonded sha’um never stop being just a little bit wild.

  Thymas walked into Lord Hall almost exactly at the appointed time. His step faltered briefly when he came into the room and saw Indomel and Zefra standing beside Tarani and Zanek, but he recovered, walked directly to the High Lord, and offered her a leather pouch.

  Indomel seemed to sway forward, and Tarani must have noticed the movement from the corner of her eye.

  “Thank you for coming so promptly, Thymas,” she said. “Please take the stone out of the pouch and place it on that post.” She pointed to one of several hip-high stone pillars that dotted this one area of the big room.

  Lord Hall was really a wide corridor that ran inside the octagonal walls of the Hall, surrounding the central chamber which was the official meeting place of the Lords. In the chamber stood the Bronze, the engraved message written by Zanek and recently quoted to Tarani. Behind the ceiling-high panel that held the Bronze was the treasure vault of the High Lords, the avenue by which Tarani and I first had entered Lord Hall.

  On that night, these pillars had been hidden by closely latticed wooden frames which had been positioned on the pillars, covered with cloths, and laden with food for the Celebration Dance. At the formal proclamation of Tarani’s becoming High Lord, sturdier frames had provided a platform to support Hollin and Tarani during the ceremony. Now, however, only one pillar was in use: it supported an oddly shaped blue stone.

  Tarani left Indomel and Zefra and walked around the pillar to stand beside me. Thymas had moved back, but I had the feeling he was still around, curious about what was going on.

  It’s only fair, I thought. He’s been involved since the beginning; he’s entitled to be here at what I hope will be the end of the Ra’ira.

  “Indomel, move this way a little; Mother, go the other way….”

  She guided everyone until the stone was surrounded by a square of people, Tarani and I together marking one corner of the square. We had not discussed how to go about this, not once since that conversation three months ago. It felt right that Tarani and I were together. She seemed to be a catalyst through which I could have some effect on the Ra’ira. Her closeness comforted me for another reason. The Ra’ira still frightened me terribly.

  No, that’s wrong, I realized suddenly. The stone doesn’t frighten me; what I could do with its power, what I can feel myself wanting to do with its power—that’s what frightens me. It’s not that the Ra’ira’s power is dangerous in the hands of evil men like Ferrathyn. The really scary thing is the temptation presented by that power. People with good intentions have little real use for something that can control and deceive other people. But people with good intentions are tempted. Everybody has at least a few flawed and ugly places hidden away inside themselves. Those places respond to the lure of the Ra’ira, and the person suddenly becomes aware of them.

  I’ve seen a few of mine. They are scary.

  When everyone was arranged to Tarani’s satisfaction, she said: “Rikardon, will you explain it?”

  Roused from my fixation on the Ra’ira, I did explain, as best I could, my theory about the way the Ra’ira actually worked. Before I had gone very far, Indomel figured it out.

  “You want us to destroy it!” he exclaimed. Zefra gasped, and Zanek raised his eyebrows.

  “Do you really think it can be done?” Zanek asked.

  It was Tarani who answered.

  “We have all been in contact through the Ra’ira before,” Tarani said, “but only at great distances. It is my hope and Rikardon’s that the four of us—I count Rikardon with me,” she said, taking my hand, “can shatter the stone at close range and with deliberate intent.”

  “I won’t do it!” Indomel said, his voice low and fierce.

  Tarani’s hand tensed, and she grew very still.

  “Indomel, I hoped you would cooperate in this without coercion,” she said.

  “Coercion?” he echoed. “Do you mean compulsion? I doubt you will do that, Sister, or that it would, in the end, work. While you are controlling me, some of your own power is diverted, so that the gain would be very little. And in any case, you have proved that you can control my mind, but my skill is a different matter altogether.”

  “Compulsion would, indeed, be profitless,” Tarani responded. “It is not what I meant. I will give you what you believe you want, Brother. I give you a taste of the Ra’ira’s power.”

  Now it was Tarani who leaned toward the stone, angling toward the thinnish, mean-spirited young man some ten feet away from her.

  “Would you use the stone to see the thoughts of others, Indomel? Then look into my mind. See my thoughts.”

  The boy’s eyes grew wide. His muscles went taut so suddenly that he staggered a step sideways, and groped blindly for one of the pillars for support.

  “It is not true,” he whispered. “No—stop it, please.”

  But Tarani had let loose something she had suppressed for a long time, and it snapped out of her with the force of a cracking whip.

  “Anger and hatred,” Tarani said. “I have seen you take pride in inspiring them, Indomel. But they are not so pleasant, are they, without a shield of distance? Imagine what it would be like to be surrounded by it, exposed to it like this every hour of every day. That is what the Ra’ira would bring you, my brother. Is it truly what you wish?”

  “I—no,” Indomel said, then seemed to recover a little. There was a stubborn certainty in his voice as he said: “This is not how it would be. You are doing this. If I used the Ra’ira, I could—I could—”

  He stumbled, and it occurred to me that, probably, Indomel had never quite defined what he wanted in seeking the enigmatic power of the stone.

  “You could look only for pleasant things,” Tarani said scornfully, “such as … the love of a mother for her son.”

  Zefra started, and had enough time to say a few words before she, too, went rigidly tense: “No—I beg you, do not let him see—”

  Whatever it was that Indomel and Zefra shared, it caused them both so much pain that both their voices blended in an anguished wail. The sound echoed in the big room, then stopped abruptly as Tarani released both Indomel and Zefra.

  We were all quiet for a moment, then Zefra said: “That was cruel, Daughter—a cruelty I would not have expected from you.”

  “Agreed,” Tarani said. “The Ra’ira encourages cruelty, Mother. It is because I find myself capable of doing such a thing that I am determined to see the stone destroyed. Listen, both of you,” she commanded.

  Indomel drew himself up straight and looke
d at Tarani. His face was haggard.

  “If we cannot destroy the gem, it will be hidden far away from here. I trust Zanek to leave it be for the remainder of this lifetime, for he has proved himself to be trustworthy. I trust myself only because I am not alone,” she said, squeezing my hand, “and someone of good sense has some control over my actions. But I know the Ra’ira will never cease to hold a fascination for the two of you, and I will be plagued constantly with worry that you will find a way to retrieve it.

  “Rikardon and Zanek and I have a great task before us, and it is one to which we must apply every possible energy. I will not let simple respect for our blood ties force me to endure such a distraction.”

  Zefra quailed. “Tarani. You would have us killed? Me? Because of this—?”

  Indomel said nothing, but the look in his eyes showed his absolute faith in Tarani’s willingness to destroy him.

  “The stones power must be neutralized,” Tarani said. “If it cannot be destroyed, then those who would use it must be destroyed. But—no, Zefra, I would not ‘have you killed.’ I bear you more regard than that, and I could not fairly assign that responsibility and guilt. I would kill you myself, with a sword or a dagger—cleanly, without the taint of the Ra’ira.”

  We all knew it was true.

  Zefra turned to her son.

  “Indomel, no matter what you saw in me, please believe this. I loved you as a child. I have hated what Pylomel made of you, but I would not, willingly, see you die. Do as Tarani asks; help her destroy the stone.”

  The boy stared at his mother without speaking, until Zefra could stand it no longer.

  “Are—are you thinking that I beg for my own life?”

  “No,” he said. “I am—Mother, I do believe you. I saw it when Tarani brought us together. The hatred—yes, that was a bitter hurt. But—I saw your love too. You not only felt it then, there is still some affection for me, in spite of what my father did, in spite of what I have done to you. How can that be?”

  “The quest for that answer,” Tarani interrupted, “will wait until another time. If the Ra’ira can be destroyed, there will be enough time for you and Zefra to truly begin to know one another.”

  Indomel nodded, stood up straight, and stepped forward. “I am ready, Tarani. I will give you whatever strength I can command.”

  “Come closer,” Tarani said, “and join hands.”

  I felt there was less logic in that command than a need for a physical confirmation of our united purpose. Zanek/Dharak’s hand was strong and warm in mine.

  No order was required from Tarani; we merely began, all of us, staring at the stone. A glow shimmered in its depths, and grew brighter. Even though I had associated the mindplane experience with communication across distances, as the feeling of power built, the room seemed to darken with the tangible nothingness of the mindplane, until I was seeing the room with all my senses. Zanek, Zefra, and Indomel were physically visible, but their bodies were cloaked in the auras of energy I had sensed before. Tarani’s was not visible because, as in every earlier instance, we were together.

  I felt that closeness now with hand and mind, and I had an awareness of the others. The room was pervaded with a sense of purpose that was as awesome as the force of mindpower at work.

  Rather than focusing that power through the Ra’ira, it was, itself, the object of all that power. If my theory were correct, and vibration within the stone transmitted and amplified that energy, the vibration should be doubly intense if no outlet were provided.

  The Ra’ira, too, had a double image. It shone with an ever brighter blue glow, and it struck my other senses as pulsing with the energy being applied to it. The effort we were making felt, to me, like applying steadily increasing pressure to a stone wall. I bore down, and I sensed the others pushing harder.

  The images of the Ra’ira blended, and the pulsing psychic radiance seemed to turn to blue light. The pulsing became slower and stronger, and impacted our mindsight like the sound of a booming bass drum impacts the ear. Slower … stronger … brighter …

  The radiance flared into an intolerable whiteness and vanished.

  Instantly, all the connections between us vanished, and we snapped apart as if we were sections of a taut rubber band, sliced through at four points simultaneously.

  Resting on the pillar was a tiny pile of lusterless blue chunks. I picked one up with a shaking hand, but I felt nothing from it. No tingle, no aura, nothing more meaningful than a shapeless and rather unattractive chunk of blue stuff.

  35

  Indomel and Zefra left Lord Hall together, caught up in a strained and uncertain silence. Only then did Thymas come forward from the corner he had sought while the rest of us were concentrating on the Ra’ira. He reached out toward the pile of fragments, but did not touch them.

  “Amazing,” he said. “The trouble that thing has caused, and now it is gone.”

  “I find only one sad thing in this,” Zanek said. “Without the physical image as a reminder of the stone, it will be soon forgotten, and along with it, the lessons it taught about strength and power.”

  “What?” Thymas said. “I do not believe that anyone who heard Tarani’s message, saw Rikardon’s vision, could forget it, Zanek.”

  “Not they, certainly,” Zanek agreed. “But their children will not have the experience. Their parents will recount these events, as is required in the rules we have set forth. But to children, they will be only stories. The movement up the River Wall—that will be real to them, and I do not doubt there will be a continued commitment to its purpose. But the Ra’ira will be far in the past by then.”

  “A legend,” I said, feeling troubled. “Like all the inaccurate legends I have run into these past months. The few people in Raithskar who knew about the Ra’ira believed that only the last, harmful Kings had possessed and used the stone. With Serkajon’s steel sword part of their everyday lives, carried by one of the Captain’s descendants, no one remembered that another steel sword had existed during the time of the Kingdom. Only in Eddarta, where the Lords had settled and passed down the story of the twin swords, was there any knowledge of that second sword.

  “It makes me wonder. There is still a lot to do, but I feel we have laid the foundation of a strong, shared vision. Each new generation will be instilled with a sense of responsibility to continue the climb. But when they get to the top, will anyone remember why it all happened?”

  “I have a more serious question than that, my friend,” Zanek said. “It had not occurred to me before now, but—how will that final generation know that they have reached the top?”

  The question sent a chill down my spine. Why haven’t I thought of that before? I wondered. Only Tarani and I have any knowledge of what the terrain will look like. That’s only a guess, but it’s more than anyone else has. By the time Gandalarans reach the rim of the basin, nomadic movement will have become a habit. Why should it matter that they start moving on level ground, rather than on an incline?

  That’s not what we intended, I thought. Gandalara’s culture has developed in a geographically static—though environmentally evolving—location. Our whole purpose is to preserve that culture. The idea is to take it up the Wall, find a suitable location, and settle down again.

  Aloud, I said: “You’re right, Zanek. We have put a lot of thought into starting the movement, and none at all into stopping it when it’s time.” I shrugged, feeling unhappy. “As of now, I don’t have any ideas.”

  “I have one,” Tarani said, “and I believe it will satisfy both those questions of accurate remembrance.”

  I turned around to face Tarani. She had picked up a few of the Ra’ira fragments in one hand, and was letting them drop, one by one, into her other hand.

  “You have seen only one side of the Recorder function,” Tarani said. “It is possible to add information to the All-Mind, as well as retrieve it.”

  In a long-ago conversation with Thanasset, this capability of the Recorders had been mentione
d. The information had come in the flood of confusion that had beset me before the integration of Ricardo and Markasset, and I had not thought of it again, until now.

  “Add a lifememory? Deliberately?” Zanek challenged, horrified.

  “I did say ‘information’ and not ‘memory,’” Tarani corrected gently. “It is a regular practice of all Recorders—and has been, since the first Recorder—to place in a specific location a description of each question asked by a Seeker, the search path and location of the answer, and what was discovered.”

  “An index?” I questioned, using Ricardo’s word for the concept.

  Tarani nodded. “It functions that way, yes,” she said, and frowned. “In terms of your vision of the All-Mind, Rikardon, it would seem to be an extraordinarily long cylinder of light, attached at only one end.”

  “I have been to the All-Mind three times,” I said. “Twice with you, once with Somil. Neither one of you touched something like that.”

  She smiled. “Do you recall the ritual of entry? The Recorder establishes the link with the All-Mind a few moments before the Seeker joins the Recorder. In that brief time, we consult the—index, as you name it.

  “I say that the skill has not been used for any other purpose,” Tarani continued. “That does not mean that it cannot have other uses. We have asked the people to tell their children of the events of these past weeks, and you have pointed out that, in the telling, the tale may become less real.

  “I propose that we attempt to do exactly what Zanek imagined: create a special Record which, essentially, contains the lifememory of a living man. It would not be a lifememory, you understand, or even memory at all. It will be one persons recounting of the basis for the journey.

  “I also propose that the education of our young include a Recorder as one of the teachers. We attempt a rigorous environmental change, and we are forced to expect that some of the adults will die during any given move. The lost ones may be of any craft, any skill, and not only their contribution will be lost, but the continuation of their skills through their children. By integrating Recorders into our regular education, we can guarantee that such lost skills can be partially replaced.