The Search for Kä

by Randall Garrett

  We ran straight to Thagorn, taking frequent but very short rests. The shock of Thymas’s news had driven out the fatigue I had felt on returning from the All-Mind, but it caught up with me quickly, so that I spent the greater part of the trip in an unsatisfying half-doze. At midmorning of the next day, a shout from Thymas opened Thagorn’s gates for us, and Ronar delivered us to the door of Dharak’s house.

  We slid to the ground from the sha’um’s back as Shola came running out the front door. As anxious as Thymas was to get some answers, he took a moment to caress the panting cat in gratitude for his effort. Then he turned to meet his mother and hold her tenderly until the spasm of sobbing passed.

  Tarani waited in the doorway, greeting me with a nod and a sad smile. Shola took Thymas’s hand and led him into the house, Tarani moving ahead of them. I followed.

  Dharak was in a corner of the room that served as a parlor. He was sitting very still and looking out the lattice-paned window at the river. What he was seeing was beyond our guessing. His face was smooth and blank. Only the slight, regular, usually unnoticed movements of breathing told us he was alive.

  Thymas went slowly to kneel by his father. He touched the thick white hair, so like his own, smoothing it back from the pointed window’s peak in the center of Dharak’s forehead. He pressed the old man’s hand and spoke his name. There was no response.

  Without moving from his father’s side, Thymas whispered: “What happened?”

  Shola clasped her hands tightly. “He flew into a mad rage,” she said. “He blundered about the house, striking walls and tables—not intending damage, I think, but simply not caring what was in his way. He went to his desk and wrote that note to you, then screamed for Bareff until he came. After he had given orders for the letter to be sent, he … faded to the way you see him now.

  “He goes where he is led, eats and relieves himself when directed, sleeps—or, at least, lies quietly abed—when he is told.” Her hands began to twist together, as if they were doing it without her knowledge. “I am so glad you have returned, Thymas. It has never been like this before—terrible, yes, but not like this.”

  “Before?” I echoed. “This has happened before?”

  “Not this precisely,” Shola answered. “But yes, of course—this is not the first time Doran has left for the Valley of the Sha’um.”

  Thymas jumped to his feet. “Doran gone? But it is too soon. I remember the last time—it was only five years ago, was it not, mother?”

  She nodded, and burst into sobs again. Tarani moved to her and put an arm around her shoulders; the older woman leaned gratefully against her.

  A gnawing feeling had attacked my stomach and was working its way toward my toes and fingers. I ignored it, in full confidence that it would have its say soon.

  “You yourself told me,” I said to Thymas, “that the sha’um don’t make their visits to the Valley on an absolutely predictable schedule. There is no calling Doran back. Take this,” I said, pulling the many folded letter from my belt and giving it to him, “and find Bareff. You’ll need to make plans.”

  The boy took the paper, nodded grimly, and left the room.

  “The letter,” Shola said, “I could not see what was in it before Dharak gave it to Bareff. What was in it?”

  “Dharak named Thymas Lieutenant,” I said gently. She gasped with surprise, and I touched her hand. “He may have meant the appointment to be permanent,” I said, “but I doubt it. It sounds to me as though he knew he was not going to be able to function, and he wanted to give Thymas a sign of his confidence in him. When Doran returns, so will Dharak.”

  She caught my hand and clung to it. Her face showed the strain of her grief and fear; her eyes seemed to have sunk even farther under her prominent supraorbital ridge, and there was a grayish cast to her skin. “I am grateful you are here, Captain,” she said, and went across the room to sit quietly by her husband.

  Thymas burst into the room, Bareff hard on his heels. “I met Bareff coming to report to me,” Thymas explained. He looked into my face and narrowed his eyes. “I think you have guessed the news he brings.”

  I sighed. “A lot of sha’um have left for the Valley in the past few days, right? Some of them much earlier than expected? Most of them older, sha’um who have been to the Valley at least once before?”

  It was Bareff who answered. “The men were in all divisions, so it took us some time to notice the coincidence.” He shrugged. “Figuring out why was the easy part.”

  Tarani moved into the center of the group, her manner defiant. It was clear to me that she had figured out what was happening, and had been preparing for this moment. “Yayshah was promised shelter until her cubs are delivered,” she said, facing Thymas. “He spoke for the Sharith; we expect you to honor his word.”

  Before Thymas could answer, I asked Tarani: “When will the cubs be born?”

  She hesitated a moment, and did not turn around when she answered. “I cannot say for certain.”

  “Two days?” I pressed. “A seven-day? A moon?”

  She whirled on me then. “As long as it must be,” she snapped, “we shall stay in Thagorn.”

  “Bareff,” I asked, “how many sha’um are gone?”

  He spent a second or two in thought, then answered. “Twenty-two.”

  “That’s more than a fifth of all the sha’um in Thagorn, Tarani,” I said. I gestured at Dharak. “More than a fifth of all Riders—disabled from their duty, disturbed and miserable. What’s more,” I added, unsure whether either Thymas or Bareff had considered this, but needing to make my point with Tarani, “the season is wrong for their going. The females are bearing now; they won’t tolerate mating for several moons. That means the sha’um will be gone for a longer time than usual, and there is a greater chance they won’t return.”

  “Is Yayshah to be blamed for that?”

  “Not ‘blamed,’” I said. “But I believe her presence here caused it, by stimulating the physical need of the sha’um to seek out mates. So far, only those who have felt it before have been susceptible. The first to go would have been those who were closest to their regular time but, as you heard, Doran might have waited two more years, but for Yayshah. The longer we stay, the more the normal pattern will be skewed.”

  Thymas spoke up. “My father understood, when he granted the shelter you requested, that the effect of a female sha’um in Thagorn could not be predicted.” He reached out, touched Tarani’s arm, dropped his hand. “You and Yayshah are Sharith now, and must consider the good of all. I will support Dharak’s word, if you require it, at whatever risk to the rest of us. But I ask you to release us from his promise, and take Yayshah away from here.”

  Tarani seemed to consider his request for a moment, then she shook her head. “Nothing is worth the cost of Yayshah’s cubs—to force her to travel now would be dangerous for all of them.” There was an odd trembling in her voice.

  “Then it is settled,” Thymas said, his shoulders slumping. He looked at his father with pity and fear. “Yayshah shall stay.”

  “For one more day,” I said. “We will depart Thagorn tomorrow morning.”

  I did not give Tarani a chance to voice the protest she obviously intended.

  “You said that asking Yayshah to move ‘might’ be dangerous for her cubs, Tarani. That possibility must be weighed against the certainty of further disruption of Thagorn. The promise of shelter here was mine, as well, but I’m Captain and responsible to and for the Sharith. Tell Yayshah we have to go.”

  “She cannot move,” Tarani said flatly, her anger barely controlled.

  *Keeshah,* I called. *I need to see what you see.*

  *Yes,* he agreed.

  I reached out to him and blended into the closeness that was so sweet and pure and stirring that we could share it only for brief moments. For a few seconds, I was part of him, receiving the same sensory input, feeling the complicated blend of pride and contentment and good-natured grumpiness the presence of his mate stirred
in him.

  I saw Yayshah. She had torn and smashed and otherwise cleared away the ground cover and low bushes in a small area, to hollow out a sleeping nest. It was an obvious—and obviously unsatisfactory—imitation of the den in the Valley, where the taller, denser growth had provided a cavelike shelter. Keeshah was in the den, looking up as Yayshah lumbered through the opening. She was huge now, and she walked with a rocking motion to compensate for the balance shift caused by her swaying belly.

  She came into the den, crouched awkwardly to rub her cheek and ear along Keeshah’s shoulder, and flopped down on her side with her head across his hind legs. Keeshah stretched and yawned, kneaded her back gently with his forepaws, and relaxed again.

  I broke the contact, both saddened and encouraged by what I had seen and warmed, as always, by the moment of closeness with Keeshah.

  “Yayshah can walk,” I said. “We will move slowly, both of us riding Keeshah, and stop frequently to let Keeshah hunt. If Yayshah’s time comes, you will stop wherever we are, and care for her. But we leave Thagorn as soon as possible.”

  “She will not go,” Tarani said again, trembling.

  “She will go if you are convinced it is necessary,” I replied. “Tarani, consider how deeply her wishes are affecting you. Her instincts demand a den—but if her instincts were all-powerful, she would never have left the Valley. Look beyond what she wants and try to see what she needs. Moving will make her unhappy, but I think the three of us can keep her—and the cubs—safe.”

  I had taken Tarani’s hands in mine, trying desperately to convince her. I felt a deep and very personal commitment to the Sharith. I had been through, too recently, the abandonment of sha’um to be the cause of it for even one more Rider. I had put off our departure until morning out of a simple need for rest and for giving the sha’um a chance to get used to the idea.

  I waited for Tarani to decide. If she refused to lead Yayshah out of Thagorn, there was only one other recourse—ask Thymas and the other riders to drive her out. I was not sure I could ask them to do that. I was not sure they would do it. I was sure that, no matter how I felt about the matter, Keeshah would defend her.

  Please, Tarami, I begged silently. Please understand.

  Her answer surprised me. She straightened her shoulders, withdrew her hands from mine, and said: “As Thymas said, I am Sharith now; as Captain you have the right to command this, and I will do as you say.” She turned and walked out of the room and the house.

  That will get us moving, I thought, but this trip may be more uncomfortable for me than for Yayshah.

  “On behalf of the Sharith, I thank you, Rikardon,” Thymas said, with more feeling than might be expected from the formal words. “I hope you will have not cause to regret your choice. We will, of course, provide whatever you need for your journey. Where will you go?”

  “Toward Raithskar,” I answered. “It may be possible to get there before the cubs arrive.” I glanced at Dharak, thinking of Thanasset and looking forward to seeing “my” father again. “Shola, Thymas—I am sorry.”

  Thymas smiled—a little shakily at first, but finally with a glimmer of true good humor. “‘You made a sincere and reasoned judgment that happened to be a mistake,” Thymas said. “Learn the lesson you tried to teach us, and do not accept more blame than you deserve.”

  “And please,” added Shola, “remember the good you have done, as well.” She stroked her husband’s arm. “Dharak will come back to us when Doran returns,” she said, projecting—or pretending—absolute sureness. “Thymas will be a better leader in the meantime, because you showed him his father’s confidence in him.”

  Thymas’s mother stood up and held out her arms to me. I embraced her; she stretched upward to kiss my cheek.

  “You and Thymas have had a hurried and tiring trip back from Omergol. Rest now,” she said. “I will see that food is packed for your journey.”

  13

  I would not care to relive the hour, just after dawn of the following day, in which Tarani and I convinced Yayshah and Keeshah to leave their den. Keeshah came outside readily, but with questions and dread in his mind.

  *Why go?* he complained. *Comfortable. Cubs? Female? Safe?*

  *I think so, Keeshah,* I said. *We’ll take every care we can*

  *Female unhappy,* he predicted, with admirable understatement, and added, with a sense of resignation and forbearance: *All unhappy *

  Yayshah had stayed inside, and Tarani and I stepped through the opening. The interior of the den was dim, but the outline of the female was clear and huge, her eyes shining with reflected light.

  Yahshah backed away from Tarani, pressing against the deepest wall of the enclosure. Her teeth were bared and her ears flat against her head.

  “You see her eagerness,” Tarani said sarcastically, then focused her attention on the sha’um. She walked forward slowly, making a low and melodious sound. Yayshah growled. I checked my impulse to reach out and drag Tarani back.

  I might have questioned the quality of the link between Tarani and Yayshah, and wondered whether the cat’s protective maternal instinct might override that special bond, so new to both of them. But I recalled other situations in which I had asked Tarani to face danger—now, as then, I reminded myself that she had accepted the task, and I had no choice but to let her accomplish it in her own way.

  All the reasoning in the world could not keep me from crossing my fingers as the woman approached the sha’um and extended her hand toward the cat’s muzzle.

  Tarani’s voice grew louder, and I detected the vibrancy that was always present when she used hypnotic, soothing sounds to assist the effectiveness of her illusions. Tarani was trying to calm Yayshah and ease the trauma of leaving her carefully prepared den, but she wasn’t trying to force her will on the sha’um.

  Nobody forced a sha’um to do anything.

  The female hissed and raised a paw. I tensed and grabbed the hilt of my sword, but the paw only touched Tarani’s shoulder and rested there. The girl swayed from its weight, then steadied, and put both her hands underneath the sha’um’s jaw, stroking backward. Her voice never ceased its humming as she moved closer, brought her other shoulder under the cat’s chin, lifted her arms to embrace the thick, furred neck. The glittering of Yayshah’s eyes vanished, and I caught the movement as her ears pricked forward.

  Cat and woman released one another, and Tarani backed toward the opening, still humming, inviting and drawing Yayshah with her outstretched hands. I retreated to make way for them. When Yaysha’s head appeared in the rounded, green-bordered entryway and her eyes caught the sun, she balked. She lifted her head and made a sound that lifted the fur on my arms and neck, a shrieking roar that was unmistakably mournful, and vanished from the doorway.

  A growl sounded right behind me, and Keeshah shouldered me aside. He was more gentle with Tarani, nudging her with the flat of his forehead, but he pushed her out of the way, too, and went into the den.

  *I will bring,* Keeshah said.

  Tarani looked at me, her face grim and sad. “She is so afraid, Rikardon.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Keeshah will bring her out.”

  I reached for her hand, but it lay unresponsively in mine as we peeked into the den. It was crowded, with both sha’um standing, but Keeshah had moved around until he stood beside the female, pressing against her. He turned his body until she was between him and the door, and started edging toward us. The cub-laden female may have outweighed Keeshah, but she was confused and frightened; he was basically bigger than she, and he had a definite purpose. In a few seconds, she had no choice but to come out into the open.

  We gave Yayshah time for her eyes to adjust to the light, then Tarani and I walked to Thagorn’s gate. Keeshah stayed near his mate, often with his side pressed tightly to hers for comfort, as we left the city.

  The whole contingent of Sharith had massed in the barracks yards, and watched us come down the hillside. Thymas offered his hand. I gripped it and sq
ueezed his shoulder, unable to spare much attention from the sha’um and knowing that he would understand. Tarani was totally preoccupied with Yayshah, whose irregular step and quick starts displayed her continued nervousness.

  Shola and Thymas walked beside us the last few steps toward the gate. Tarani led the sha’um on through, but I paused.

  Shola handed me the filled travel bags, which I slung over my shoulder. “Give Tarani my thanks and good wishes, Captain,” she said, “and tell her my home and … and my heart are open to her.”

  I hugged her. “This comes from both of us,” I said. “I know your message will please her.”

  “With all that has happened,” Thymas said, “I have not heard what you found out about Kä.”

  “I know where to start looking,” I said. “There was more—it will make a good story for the next time we meet.”

  “I hope it will be soon, Captain,” the boy said.

  “As soon as possible,” I agreed. “Goodbye, Lieutenant.”

  I passsed out through the gate, trotting to catch up with Tarani. We led the sha’um along the road, over the hill toward Omergol. After an hour or so, we stopped to rest. When Yayshah had flopped down and slipped into a light nap, Tarani sighed and sagged down to sit on the ground. Keeshah nosed around restlessly, and silence stretched over the roadside clearing.

  “I had to make this choice,” I said, at last.

  “I see that,” Tarani answered. “But you were correct about Yayshah’s effect on me. I wanted that den as fiercely as she did. I will need some time, Rikardon, to reconcile the Tightness and the pain of your choice.”

  “That’s only fair,” I said, and turned my attention to planning the trip.

  Yayshah’s ravenous appetite and unquenchable thirst required us to stay out of the desert, which left us with only one possible route. We followed the caravan road around the tip of the Morkadahls and stayed in the hillside country all the way north, past Alkhum to the low hills from which the Great Wall loomed upward. Our travel pattern was simple, too—we moved until Yayshah stopped, started again when she was refreshed.