The Search for Kä

by Randall Garrett

“Aye,” was all he said, nodding vigorously while he and his sha’um … “escaped” is the only word that really fits.

  As soon as the boy was gone, I slid down from Keeshah’s back—and was met by a frontal assault by Tarani.

  “Did I hear the ‘Captain’ of the Sharith ask for shelter among people who owe him allegiance?”

  Challenge sounded in her voice and emanated from the tense lines of her body as she faced me. I bristled, but caught my anger just in time. She doesn’t know what I went through in accepting that “allegiance,” I reminded myself. The doubts I felt, the responsibility I shouldered, the … totalness of feeling during the ceremony. It’s not an “I say, you do” kind of situation; it’s bigger than that. But I can’t explain all that to her—not now, when her every thought and emotion is taken up with Yayshah’s welfare.

  “You heard the Captain of the Sharith admit that there is no existing protocol for our present situation, and invite a committee discussion for establishing some.”

  “Protocol?” she echoed, then relaxed a little. She even smiled a little. “I think I see,” she said. “The boy was startled by seeing a woman riding a female sha’um. You wish to give the others more warning. Is that not it?”

  “Yes,” I agreed, lying by implication and breathing a sigh of relief when Tarani accepted that answer and turned away.

  In point of fact, she had pinpointed only part of the reason I had, on impulse, moved our “official” meeting with the Sharith away from the wall which contained and protected the valley which contained Thagorn. The rest of it would have been less comfortable to explain to Tarani.

  It had taken seeing that boy’s face to remind me that the entire body of Sharith had not ridden with us, desperate for our lives, back into the Valley of the Sha’um with Keeshah, that they had not witnessed, participated in, agonized over Yayshah’s choice to leave the Valley. Their understanding of the situation would be based, at first, on merely visual evidence—that a woman had brought a female out of the Valley, a pregnant female, at that.

  I couldn’t project what their reactions would be because, in spite of my title, I wasn’t part of their tradition-centered society. Neither Ricardo Carillo of twentieth-century Earth nor Markasset of Raithskar could identify closely enough with the Sharith to have any insight as to whether their view of a woman rider would be respect or contempt, awe or outrage.

  My only prior experience with their attitudes had occurred through Thymas, who had been willing to let the woman he loved be bounced and dragged in an uncomfortable cargo net, slung between two Riders, rather than consider the possibility of Tarani riding second on his sha’um. Yet there had come a time, after that, when Thymas would have invited Tarani to join him, if his sha’um had been capable of carrying double. Time—and exposure to the real Tarani—had been all it took to break him out of his attitudes.

  That’s really what I’m doing, I thought, buying time. If there’s going to be a confrontation, I want it out here, away from public view, where we’ll have time to explain, negotiate, whatever it takes to make Thymas and Dharak see the real situation.

  It took only one look at Tarani to tell me that, far from my having deceived her with my “easy answer,” she had simply not required any further explanation. If her silence and the grim set of her jaw weren’t evidence enough that her logic had followed my thinking, Yayshah’s restlessness would have expressed Tarani’s mood.

  The female settled down only to grumble to her feet and paw at the ground in another location, tearing new growth and scattering dead leaves and digging a shallow trench to accommodate the bulging curve of her belly. In contrast, Tarani stood dead still in the center of the clearing, her arms crossed, waiting.

  Keeshah tried to help Yayshah with her bedmaking, and got a clawless swat across his nose for his trouble. He snarled and retreated and, for once wise, I followed him. I found a smooth-sided rock half-buried in the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing and used it as a backrest. Keeshah sprawled out beside me, stretching his neck to lay his head across my legs. I scratched behind the ear I could reach, and we drifted off into a communion of contentment.

  Keeshah’s head lifted suddenly, startling me awake—and making me aware that I had dozed off. The clearing looked the same, except that it was Yayshah who was still and Tarani who paced.

  The female sha’um had dug and crawled her way into the thick underbrush; it wasn’t until I caught the reflective glow of her eyes that I could look for and distinguish the silhouette of her body against the green-black of the shadows.

  As I struggled to my feet, dusting off what passed for my clothes, Tarani stopped her pacing and looked southward, shading her eyes against the bright sky with her hand.

  “Yayshah tells me another sha’um is approaching—but only one. Can it be the scout returning?”

  “It could be,” I said, “but it isn’t. Keeshah recognizes the scent. It’s Ronar.”

  Tarani snapped around to face me. “Thymas?” she asked. “Alone?”

  “That’s how it looks,” I agreed, suddenly torn with indecision. I shouldn’t say this, I thought, then said it anyway. “Would you—um, would you like to be alone when he arrives?”

  She stared at me several heartbeats longer than I thought I could stand. Finally she sighed, and some of the tenseness seemed to drain out of her stiff shoulders. “If I were not so concerned about Yayshah,” Tarani said, “that remark might have made me very angry—as yet it may, when I do have will and energy to spare. What will it take, my love, to put Thymas in your past as well as mine?”

  I hoped I would have said something sensible in response to that, like an apology for being stupid and insensitive—but movement in the southerly brush drew our attention. A smallish, tan-colored sha’um stepped into the clearing, nearly carrying a smallish, good-looking young man.

  I had no difficulty recognizing Thymas, for three reasons. First, even if I hadn’t remembered Ronar myself, Keeshah’s mindvoice acknowledged the other sha’um with wordless caution—the initial antagonism between Thymas and me had stimulated a lasting lack of trust between our sha’um.

  Second, the twisted tip of a dakathrenil branch caught at the wide brim of the boy’s uniform hat and dragged it back, revealing the startling pale headfur that provided such a handsome contrast to his brown-toned skin. The short, bristly-but-soft headfur of most Gandalarans started out anywhere from blondish to golden brown and darkened with age. The light color and extraordinary thickness of Thymas’s headfur was a family trait; it made his appearance distinct.

  Lastly, as the hat caught on the branch, the bead-tightened string that fastened under the chin dragged the boy backward, half off the back of the sha’um—and the snarl of frustration we heard from this Sharith marked him unmistakably as Thymas.

  I tried to control a smile, but Tarani didn’t bother. She laughed out loud.

  “Hello, Thymas,” she said.

  The boy’s body and voice stilled for a moment, then he let himself fall off the other side of the sha’um. He scrambled out through the space under the belly of the cat, who lifted one front paw and watched him curiously. He was hatless; he whooped with delight and came at us, catching each of us in a one-armed hug.

  I was touched and startled by his uncontrolled display of gladness, and I returned his quick, hard-muscled hug with a surge of fondness for the boy.

  Man, I corrected myself. And while I’m at it, I’d best remember who he is—probably the next leader of the Sharith—and that we’ve fought and ridden together. It’s not fair to him to define him only in terms of what he once was to Tarani. We had a rocky start, but he’s my friend now, too.

  I felt slightly ashamed that I couldn’t hold back the familiar afterthought, always present when I considered Thymas in action or motive: I think.

  He let us go, saying: “It took you two long enough to get here. I have had our scouts riding triple distance, watching for you, ever since I got back. When you have rested, you must tell me
…”

  He seemed to really see us for the first time. His pleasure at our meeting had given his face an unaccustomed look of openness and youth. I watched it change, return to its normal intent seriousness as he absorbed the significance of Tarani’s thinness and the tattered rags we were wearing.

  “I should have stayed with you,” he said at last. “What happened?”

  It had never occurred to me to wonder what our fate might have been if Thymas had remained with us, and I paused now to let speculation sweep through me.

  Ronar couldn’t have carried the three of us, even had he been willing, I thought. And I can’t see that I’d have acted any differently with him there—I would still have been stubbornly, compulsively, insanely possessive of the Ra’ira. It’s possible Thymas and Tarani, together, might have knocked me out and Thymas could have gotten away with the stone. It’s also possible that Obilin and his dralda would have caught all of us, and the presence of a sha’um would have made the “cover” story I gave Indomel less acceptable, so that we would never have had the opportunity to escape again.

  Hindsight is next to useless, anyway, I sighed to myself. Thymas, Tarani and I each did exactly and only what seemed right at the time. The boy doesn’t need to feel any responsibility for something he couldn’t control.

  While I was thinking all this out logically, Tarani reached out a hand to Thymas’s shoulder and squeezed it. “You would only have put yourself into danger, as well—which would have gained nothing,” she assured him softly. Her thumb traced the scar left on the boy’s neck by the vineh who had attacked us on our way to Eddarta.

  Thymas caught his breath at her touch, and grabbed her hand. “The wound had healed,” he said bitterly. “I left you because—”

  Because three’s a crowd, I finished the thought for him. Because you knew Tarani cared for me. In your place, loving her, not wanting to hurt her, knowing her affection had changed—I’d have been mighty uncomfortable.

  Tarani finished the thought aloud, with a less personal answer. “Because it was time for you to leave us,” she said. “There is no purpose or value to restructuring the past, Thymas.”

  “What did happen?” he demanded. He dropped Tarani’s hand, paced away from us and turned back, every muscle tense. “The Ra’ira?”

  He was asking me, and I had to remind myself of Tarani’s words in order to fend off the guilt that bounced up from a not-too-well-hidden corner of my mind. In spite of all my effort, the idea of admitting failure to Thymas made me feel like a truant schoolboy, and hard on the heels of guilt came resentment that the boy had such power over me.

  I choked on that flood of emotion, and managed not to express any of it. Once more, Tarani answered in my place.

  “Indomel has the Ra’ira,” she said. “But he has had ill luck learning its use. It will be ours again soon.”

  “Soon?” Thymas gasped. “What does that mean, ‘soon?’ We went all the way across to Eddarta, we had it in our hands—what happened?“

  “Do not speak to me in that tone,” Tarani said.

  Quietly.

  Thymas took a step backward.

  “It will be easier on all of us,” I said, “if we only have to tell this story once. Will the Lieutenant be joining us here, or shall we ride to Thagorn to meet him?”

  Nobody missed the message hidden in those words: You’re second banana, boy. Take us to your leader. Thymas bristled and turned to me, obviously more comfortable with the familiar challenge I represented.

  “My father doesn’t know you’re here,” Thymas said.

  “But Raden—surely the scout reported—”

  “To me,” Thymas said. “It’s the way things are done, now. And he made no sense, with his chatter. I decided to check it out for myself before I troubled Dharak.”

  I resisted asking how important information could “trouble” the Sharith leader. I also had some questions about “the way things are done, now” according to Thymas’s interpretation, but I held them back. I even tried hard to sound civil.

  “Then let’s confirm Raden’s ‘chatter.’ Tarani, would you like to introduce Thymas to our new friend?”

  “Yayshah,” Tarani called quietly.

  The female sha’um had remained absolutely still since the entry of the strange sha’um into the clearing. Ronar had to have been aware of the female’s scent, but he had, apparently, been too occupied with recognizing and keeping an eye on Keeshah to inform his rider of her presence.

  Thymas jumped as the bushes behind me shook and the massive form of the darkly brindled female materialized from the shadows. Yayshah moved cautiously, her gracefulness only slightly impaired by her bulk, to stand between Tarani and me.

  “Thymas, this is Yayshah,” Tarani said, reaching up under the cat’s throat to draw her hand along the left side of Yayshah’s jaw. “As you can see, she carries cubs. She and I seek the shelter of Thagorn, so that her cubs may be born among their own kind.”

  “So it is true,” Thymas breathed, staring with shining eyes at the female. “Raden will have my apology—as do you, Tarani, for … for my doubts,” the boy said, with a slight but deferential from-the-waist bow. “May I greet Yayshah?”

  “We will be honored,” Tarani said.

  Thymas stepped toward the female, his hand extended to touch her cheek.

  Yayshah stood still, but her neckfur lifted.

  Keeshah, still behind me, stepped closer, a soft warning vibrating from his throat.

  An equally soft answer came from Ronar, who tensed and crept toward us from behind Thymas.

  Thymas looked around at both the males, puzzlement clearly written on his face.

  “Yayshah’s cubs are also Keeshah’s cubs,” I said. “I’ve told Keeshah you mean his mate no harm.” I was doing just that through my mindlink with the sha’um as I spoke to Thymas. “Keeshah left the Valley early; it will take some time for him and Yayshah to be comfortable with other people around.”

  “Yayshah is Keeshah’s mate?” Thymas asked. I nodded. The boy sighed. “As I should have known,” he said and, to my amazement, bowed to me in exactly the same manner in which he had bowed to Tarani. “It is still my wish to greet Yayshah. Will Keeshah permit it?”

  If Tarani had been blessed with neckfur, I would have been able to hear it snap to attention. For once, though, I was ahead of her—because my reaction to Thymas’s question was identical to hers. “The choice is solely Yayshah’s,” I snapped.

  “Yayshah will greet you willingly now,” Tarani said, stroking the female’s neck in a soothing gesture.

  I could see by the look she threw me that Tarani was struggling to keep her thoughts calm. Thymas looked at me for confirmation of her permission; I became interested in a pebble beside my right boot. From the corner of my eye, I watched Thymas move in toward Yayshah, hesitate once as the female twitched her head into a slightly different position, and finally stroke the fur under her chin.

  After a few seconds under Thymas’s touch, the female’s ears came forward and her eyes closed. Everybody relaxed. A little. Thymas stepped back finally, his face glowing with pleasure.

  “Thagorn is honored that Yayshah has chosen to come here to shelter her cubs,” Thymas said. “On behalf of the Sharith, I …”

  “Only the Lieutenant may speak for the Sharith,” I interrupted.

  Thymas whirled on me, struggled for a moment against his anger, then gave up. “What you mean is, I have no right to speak for the Sharith,” he snarled.

  “I mean that, no matter what you say, we won’t ride into Thagorn without Dharak’s consent.”

  “Rikardon, can you think that Dharak would serve us differently than Thymas?” Tarani asked.

  “No. I just want—”

  “You just want to remind me that you are the leader of the Sharith, not I. Well, Captain, why bother Dharak at all with so small a matter as the first female sha’um who has ever left the Valley, and the first woman … Rider?”

  The word shocke
d us all, coming from Thymas. Tarani came around Yayshah to take the boy’s hands.

  “I am not yet all that is implied by that honored title,” she said. “But I am deeply moved that you can accept … what has happened for Yayshah and me.”

  “But there, you see, is the answer,” Thymas said, smiling as he held Tarani’s hands in his. “You have done this thing; therefore it must be right.”

  That kid’s moods are as reliable as venetian blinds, I thought. Snap—light. Snap again—dark. Smile at her, snarl at me.

  Just a minute, though, I reminded myself. Wasn’t I treated to an elegant bow of respect just a moment ago? But that wasn’t the “Captain”—oh, no. That was the Rider of the mate of the one and only female sha’um ever to leave the Valley, with Tarani, who can do no wrong!

  I realized I was working myself into a four-star snit, and I stopped and took three deep breaths. The breathing helped. What didn’t help was that Tarani and Thymas were still hands-on, eye to eye and nobody had noticed my extraordinary display of self-control.

  What the hell’s the matter with me? I wondered. Isn’t this what we wanted—for Tarani and Yayshah to be greeted and accepted as part of the Sharith?

  That’s what I wanted from Dharak and the rest of the Sharith, I reminded myself. But Thymas is different. There’s a lot of emotional history tied up with Thymas. His relationship with Tarani has to be part of it, but there’s more to it, I know. Maybe the rest of the Sharith didn’t really count. Maybe what I wanted was for Thymas to accept Tarani because I am “his” Captain.

  I closed my eyes against the scene of closeness between Thymas and Tarani.

  You idiot! I scolded myself. You’re going to make a real mess of things if you don’t sort Tarani from Thymas—her love from his respect, his feelings for Tarani from his feelings for you, and your reaction to both.

  While you’re at it, work on recognizing the Rikardon/Tarani team as something different from the Keeshah/Yayshah bonding. Because of the nature of the link between man—check that—Gandalaran and sha’um, the feelings of the four of us for one another are all intertwined. It would be easy, but dangerous as hell, to assume the Gandalaran emotional link is exactly parallel to the one between the sha’um. Yayshah and Keeshah are committed to one another in a natural, instinctual way. You and Tarani have chosen one another—“destiny” notwithstanding. As far as I can tell, “destiny” has brought us together to fight together—loving one another was our own idea.