Authors: Randall Garrett
But even by Zanek’s time, the All-Mind had become an accessible but indirect source of information, and the knowledge contained in it (Rikardon might speak of it analogously as a data base) had grown too large for comprehension by any single individual. I suspected it had been too large almost at once, but that the connection between individuals and All-Mind had been stronger when the survival of the race had depended on the ability of one to share the knowledge of the others.
The All-Mind still played a part in Gandalaran life. I felt sure that the “inner awareness” available to every person was an extension of the common experience in the All-Mind. But conscious contact with the phenomenon was limited to those with the proper training, called Recorders. I had worked with two very recently: Somil in Omergol, the capable, quite colorful, “rogue” Recorder who had introduced me to Zanek and found the general location of Kä for me; and the woman whose weight rested pleasantly against my back.
Almost as if she had felt me thinking about her, she stirred. Her hands tightened on my shoulders as she braced her legs higher on Keeshah’s hips. Hands and legs remained tensed, holding on. Her mind went to sleep, a fact I could detect clearly by the softness of her body. I made the same kind of preparation, willed my muscles to hold on, and drifted off to sleep myself. We woke when Keeshah’s movement altered; he was slowing down.
*Rest,*
he told me.
He stopped, and we dismounted gingerly, stretching the muscles of our legs slowly, so that they would not cramp up on us.
“Water, Keeshah?” I said aloud, projecting with my mind, as well.
*Yes,*
he said, and lapped up the water Tarani poured into my cupped hands. When the long, pinkish-gray tongue had rasped across my palms, taking the last drop of water, the big cat moved several feet away from us and relieved himself. The power of suggestion, added to natural pressures, was too much for us; Tarani and I separated, seeking the scant cover of the scrubby desert bushes.
The three of us met again where we had stopped—it was a piece of desert indistinguishable from any other. Keeshah came over to me and nuzzled my chest. I braced myself as he turned his head and rubbed his nose and forehead across my torso. He was panting lightly from the exertion of the run.
*
Thank you for carrying both of us, Keeshah,
* I told him. *
Soon we will be home, and you can have a long rest
*
*
Ask woman,
* his mindvoice said. *
Female, cubs
—
well?
*
“He’s asking about Yayshah and the cubs,” I told Tarani, who was scuffing sand about with her booted foot, creating a hollow in which to rest. She smiled and joined us, stroking back the fur at Keeshah’s neck.
“Keeshah’s family is doing very well,” she said, “though I cannot say the same for Thanasset’s garden.”
I laughed, then passed the information along to Keeshah.
*Thank woman,*
he said, and poked his nose gently at Tarani’s midriff in his own gesture of gratitude. Then he left us and curled up in the sand, his back against two of the short, grayish bushes. I was sure that, if we had not been so close, the cat’s tan-and-gray coloring would have made him very hard to spot.
“Keeshah says thank you,” I told Tarani.
A strange look passed over her face.
“What is it?” I asked.
She put her hand on my arm as if to steady herself, though she showed no signs of dizziness. I covered her hand with my own.
“Is something wrong, Tarani?”
“Not wrong,” she said uncertainly. “Only … different. I think—I believe—” She broke off with a small laugh. I was relieved to hear it sound normal and real, not bitter or strained. “I am getting to know Antonia,” she said, in a firmer voice. “To be more precise, I am learning what she knew, and seeing things as she saw them.”
We had both napped while Keeshah ran, and I wasn’t feeling excessively tired. “Let’s allow Keeshah his rest, shall we?” I asked, and took her hand. We walked away slowly, in the direction of the blue line against the horizon that marked the Great Wall. The movement was more pleasant than I had expected; I realized we must have had a long run this time, for me to be so stiff.
We were silent for the first few moments. Her darkfurred head was facing the horizon, but her eyes were not seeing it. I couldn’t tell if she were in rapport with Yayshah or merely looking into Antonia’s world. I reached for words to help or comfort her.
“It must be startling,” I said at last, “to begin to question what you have taken for granted all your life.”
Her head turned toward me. “Surely you faced this, too?” she asked.
I shook my head. “It wasn’t the same for me,” I explained. “I am basically a man from a different world; I’ve always seen the differences first. It took conscious effort to use Markasset’s memories for me to be comfortable here.”
“And I am essentially Gandalaran, with the memory and viewpoint of an”—she had to search for a word—“a stranger to disrupt my acceptance of the world I have always known.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “What was it that disturbed you a moment ago?”
She looked at the ground. The tan leather of our boots was even paler for the coating of sand garnered from three days in the Kapiral Desert.
“I was wondering what lay beyond the Great Wall,” she said.
It was simple statement, a simple thought—to a human. A Gandalaran was never out of sight of the boundaries of the “world,” and the night sky was almost continually hidden by the thick cloud cover. Gandalarans had never learned the concept of a planet.
She looked up at me. “Do you know?”
“I wish I did,” I said, and felt the tremendous relief of being able to discuss the questions that had plagued me since I had arrived in Gandalara. Tarani listened intently while I talked, not even blinking when I couldn’t find a Gandalaran word for the concepts and used the Italian. The language felt strange and very musical in the Gandalaran throat.
When I was talked out, Tarani walked away from me and stared at the Great Wall, her hands braced against her hips. “Antonia remembers nothing like the Great Wall in her home world,” Tarani said. “But the sight of the Wall from this distance—it stirs something, Rikardon.” She stared for a moment, then shrugged and came back to me. “A memory—a thought—it will come in its own time.”
“Are you sure it is Antonia who remembers?” I asked. “Your link to the All-Mind is so strong, Tarani—might you not be subconsciously sharing memory with your own ancestors, who might have stood here and wondered about the strip of blue on the horizon?”
She considered. “It may be that, yes,” she said, and sighed heavily. “Mysteries within mysteries.” She put her hand on my cheek and caressed it. “I see the burden this has been for you, Rikardon. I see, too, that you were right to keep silence about Antonia. Because of her, I
know
now, I can accept awareness of your strange world. Had you spoken earlier, while I lacked that understanding, my fear of the strangeness would have forced me to deny your truth—possibly even to deny you.”
Her fingers glided down my cheek to my neck, played there with a light touch that sent my blood singing. But Tarani wasn’t aware of the effect she was creating; she was turned inward, thinking.
“How?” she asked softly. “Why?”
I held her upper arms in my hands, drawing her attention back to my face. “We may never know
how
,” I said. “But haven’t we been working for
why
for a long time now?”
“You mean the Ra’ira?” she asked. “That might explain why we are here,” she said, “but why is it
we
and not two other people with human minds that are not subject to the Ra’ira’s power? That is—I mean to say, why were you brought here?”
I’m sure my mouth dropped open. “Do you mean to say that you know why
you
were brought here—Antonia, that is?”
“I—well, of course not. I only suggest there may have been a certain logic to choosing Antonia. Her memories show it clearly: she was to die within a few moons of an incurable internal infection.”
The wave of grief took me by surprise, so that I staggered back from Tarani. She followed me, concerned. “It’s ridiculous,” I said, “but I am stunned and sorry—she was so
young,
Tarani, not at all like me.”
“Like you?” she said.
“I had heard my own deathbell toll. But I was older, and my life had been full. It could not hurt me so much as it must have hurt her.”
Tarani was silent for a moment, reaching into the well of strange memory. “More and more,” she said, “I come to admire this woman. She was hurt, yes, but not beaten. She put the knowledge aside and resolved to live her life as normally as possible, asking for no pity, allowing no regrets. She had pride and strength, this one.”
“As does this one,” I said, taking her face in my hands and leaning forward to kiss it.
Keeshah ran another long session, covering the miles with amazing speed. At other times, I had guided his run/rest cycle to coordinate with ours, or to conserve his strength. This time, however, I owed him a long rest when we got to Raithskar. I let him set his own pace, knowing he would not extend himself past his capabilities. Tarani and I clung to his back, allowing ourselves to be lulled by the flowing front-to-back rocking motion, at least as much as the need to hang on would allow.
When Keeshah stopped again, the grayish bushes had a touch of green in their scrawny leaves. He was panting heavily.
*Need sleep
,* he told me, apologizing.
The concept of “sleep,” as opposed to “rest,” and the tone of apology I sensed from him told me something I didn’t want to know. I moved along his side, combing sand out of his fur with my hands.
*
Keeshah, you’ve pushed yourself too hard. And there’s only one reason why you’d do that
—
because you thought I wanted it.
*
*
You want home,
* he said.
I felt a twisting jolt of guilt. It wasn’t the first time Keeshah had read my feelings more accurately than I could. It
was
the first time it had resulted in possible harm to the big cat. Keeshah had not eaten in three days. That would hardly kill him; he had a capacity for storing food and water that matched the size of his body. But now was not the time to be pushing him hard, when his reserves were low.
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
*
Thank you, Keeshah,
* I said. *
We’ll take it easy from here on out, all right? Want some water?
*
I gave him another double handful of water, which left Tarani and me with barely a day’s ration. She didn’t object. She came up to us after Keeshah had lain down, while I finished combing the exposed side.
“He is weary,” she said. “Will he let me help?”
I asked Keeshah. *
Will you let Tarani help you sleep deeply?
*
*
Yes,*
he replied, lifting his head to look at Tarani.
*Grateful*
I nodded, and stepped away as Tarani took my place beside Keeshah. The sha’um pressed the side of his face against Tarani’s hand, then lay his head on the ground and closed his eyes. Tarani settled herself in a kneeling position. Her hands stroked the big cat, and her voice rose and fell in a gentle, tuneless hum. I felt myself following the sound of it, letting it carry my thoughts into a soothing pattern which slowed gradually… .
I had to move away from them before I also fell into the deep, healing sleep Tarani’s hypnotic power could engender. When Keeshah was out, Tarani joined me and we stretched out among some bushes.
“It is not like Keeshah to overtire himself,” Tarani said. “He must be very eager to reach Yayshah.” She must have felt me tense up, because she asked: “What is wrong?”
“I’ve been pushing him,” I admitted. “Without meaning to—but pushing him, just the same.”
I didn’t need to do any more explaining than that. Tarani had been throne to point out to Thymas and me that she could read our true feelings through the actions of our sha’um. She was quiet for a long time.
“We have had a moment for ourselves,” she said at last. “But I have felt it myself—the need to be active again, to continue with this task that has been so strangely set for us.” She touched the hilt of the King’s sword. “I must take this to Eddarta, as soon as Yayshah and the cubs can make the trip.”
“Have you any idea when that will be?” I asked, perhaps a little too sharply.
“Has Yayshah not endured enough hardship for our sakes?” she said. “Displaced from the Valley, deprived of a den, and forced to travel throughout her pregnancy? I will not ask her to move again until she assures me she is willing.”
I bit back another sharp remark and tried to understand her feelings. “I don’t mean to push you, love,” I said. “It’s only that I have been thinking of the vineh. Because the Council controlled them and bred them for city workers, there are many more of them close to Raithskar than a natural colony would have produced. Free of the Ra’ira’s control, they’re reverting to their wild state. You remember what they were like outside of Sulis.”
She nodded and shuddered slightly. Two sha’um and three people against twenty disagreeable, adult male vineh. We had won—barely. Thymas and Ronar, his sha’um, already weakened, had taken the worst damage and had been quite some time recovering, even with the help of Tarani’s healing sleep.
“These aren’t quite that bad—they’re out of the habit of being nasty. The ones we ran into on the way out of town were easier to deal with than the Sulis group. But it won’t take much time before they’re a real threat to the safety of the people in and around Raithskar.”
“I understand that you feel a loyalty to your people,” Tarani said.
Something in her tone made me say, “They are your people now, too.”
“I have no
people
in that sense,” she said. “Volitar trained me to a life view that allows me nothing in common with Zefra and Indomel, my true family—for which I can only be grateful. Knowledge of my heritage and this present task prevents me from accepting the comfort of Thanasset’s home as my own. I have you, and Yayshah, and now this sword.”