The River Wall (2 page)

The struggling stopped, and some of the folks in back boosted themselves on others’ shoulders to watch as Yayshah herded the cubs—Koshah resisting to the last—away from the people and back toward us.

When Yayshah had rejoined us, Tarani put her hand on the female’s side. Yayshah crouched; Tarani mounted; Yayshah stood; Tarani sat up straight. From her sitting height, Tarani had a fair view of the crowd, and most of the people could see her.

The movement quieted almost instantly, and all the faces turned toward Tarani.

These people are curious, not angry
, I thought, surprised.
If six people had just decided who had the final word for thousands of people, and if that person were an absolute stranger to me and my city and my way of life, I think I’d be a little ticked off.

I tried to see Tarani through the eyes of an Eddartan, conscious that it was as difficult for Markasset, the native Gandalaran, as it was for Ricardo, the stranger to all Gandalaran society and custom. Markasset’s home city was ruled by a small group of people, but the Supervisors of Raithskar had nothing like the absolute power wielded by the Lords of Eddarta. The Supervisors were administrators who served their city out of dedication and a sense of privilege.

The Lords had decided, for themselves and for the populous city at the foot of the slope, that Tarani was now the High Lord, the leader of Lord City and, by default, the ruler of Lower Eddarta. The appointment had been made not from respect for her leadership skills—though I believe she had won that, after the fact, from the other Lords—but because she happened to have the right parents and seemed a less dangerous choice than her brother.

Yesterday, Lord City had held a Celebration Dance in Tarani’s honor. I found myself wondering if the lower city had been celebrating with as much fervor.

Tarani’s special, powerful voice rang out again across the quiet. “The sha’um will not harm you,” she repeated. She reached down and drew her hand along the jaw of the female she rode, unconsciously slipping into the tradition of the Sharith—another society she had joined smoothly. “This is Yayshah, and the young ones are Koshah and Yoshah. I have asked Yayshah if her cubs may greet you. Please move slowly around them, and touch them only gently.”

Tarani glanced at me, and I took the cue.

*
Your mother has agreed
,* I said, speaking to both the cubs, *
to let you say hello to the folks. Koshah, go toward the river and walk back toward the center. Yoshah, you start at the wall. They may want to touch you, but they don’t want to hurt you. If someone does hurt you, don’t react; just come back over here. Understand?*

*
Yes
,* said Yoshah, a sense of excitement trembling through the contact.

*Now? Soon? Hurry?*
was Koshah’s answer. He was shifting his weight back and forth, twisting his neck to look around at me.

*
Go
slowly,* I emphasized, as the cubs moved out in different directions.

There were times when I could blend with the minds of the sha’um. Those times involved a special, intense sharing of emotions and sensations. It had happened with Keeshah when our survival depended on our united action. It had happened with the cubs unpredictably, at first, and usually as a result of the wild emotional swings common to the young of all species. During the long, tiring trip across Gandalara to Eddarta, I had worked with the cubs to bring that ability to blend under some control.

I reached out to each of them now, only briefly, to get a glimpse of what they were feeling as hand after hand reached out from the wall of bodies to touch them. The crowd had seemed fairly quiet to me, but to the keener hearing of Koshah, each voice was separate and distinct. It was like hearing the individual notes of a symphony. Yoshah was concentrating on the odors—not just the scent of the people, but of their clothes, their work, what they had eaten for breakfast.

At the first touch, Koshah tensed up and Yoshah’s mind flinched. But the touch was light and rather pleasant, and it took only a moment for the cubs to relax and enjoy the attention.

The cubs—the first young sha’um ever to be born outside the isolated Valley of the Sha’um—had been a sensation everywhere, but never like this. In Raithskar, they had won the hearts of people mostly because Keeshah was their “resident sha’um” and the cubs were his children. In Thagorn, the Riders had been awed by more than the unique birth. Their feelings had been tied up with recognition of the historical significance of the entire situation: a female sha’um had chosen to leave the Valley; a Rider had formed the unique mind-to-mind bond with a sha’um while both were already adults; and the Rider in this case was a woman.

In both cities, the people had held a daily awareness of sha’um in some form or another. In Eddarta, sha’um were little more than a legend. In addition to being charming young animals, the cubs were almost mythic figures to the people of Eddarta.

When the cubs met in the center of our little clear space, I called them away from the crowd. They came, but only reluctantly.

“We’re spoiling them,” I said to myself, but Tarani heard and smiled back at me.

“In good cause,” she whispered, and turned back toward the waiting people.

The crowd was silent now, everyone watching Tarani expectantly.

“Forgive me, people of Eddarta, for not speaking to you before now. There has been much to do in a very short time. You know I am High Lord, but you do not yet know me. I give you this as a beginning: I shall always give the truth, and I demand it in return.”

She looked over the sea of faces.

“I would wish to speak to each of you individually, but that will not be possible. Is there one among you who will speak for all?”

The crowd rippled near the river, and a very old woman forced her way out into the clearing. She was nearly bald, and the skin of her face had shrunk up to emphasize the prominence of her supraorbital ridge. She was missing a couple of lower teeth, but the wide tusks—placed in the Gandalaran jaw where canine teeth grew in humans—were white and gleaming against her brownish skin. The old woman walked forward with a slow dignity, her back rounded, one hand lifting the hem of her long yellow tunic to keep it out from underfoot.

She walked to a spot halfway between the crowd and Tarani, and spoke up in a clear voice. “You may speak to me, High Lord,” she said, meeting Tarani’s gaze boldly. “But be warned that I will test your commitment to the truth. I am Shedo, the baker. The son of my brother is called Volitar, and I ask for news of my kinsman.”

A ripple of muscle up Tarani’s back was the only sign she gave of her surprise. The people in the crowd were less subtle—the news of who had stepped forward traveled backward in a wave of whispers.

After a moment of tense silence, Tarani said: “Volitar is dead now, Shedo. He died protecting me.”

And trying to make sure Tarani never set foot in Eddarta
, I thought.
That memory must be hard for Tarani right now.

The old woman nodded as if she had expected that answer. The crowd murmured, responding as much to Tarani’s obvious grief as to her announcement.

“We have been told,” Shedo said, “that you are Pylomel’s daughter. Now that I see you, I doubt it less.”

“Yet you do have some doubt,” Tarani said, “and justly. Physically, I am, indeed, the daughter of Pylomel. Zefra has sworn before the Lords that when she left Eddarta with Volitar, she already carried Pylomels child.” Tarani’s voice went flat and bitter. “Your former High Lord, my father, was fair in one respect: he would not accept rejection from
any
woman, Lord or Eddartan. Zefra hated Pylomel and opposed the marriage which he had arranged through the death of her father and uncle. In punishment for her dislike, Pylomel used his mindpower to force Zefra to his bed—before their marriage, and against her will.”

The crowd buzzed briefly, caught by the phrase “against her will.” In Gandalara, where there were no moral objections or health hazards attached to sex between mutually consenting adults, rape was more rare and even more abhorred than in Ricardo’s world. These people must have guessed at the fate of the women occasionally “chosen” from Eddarta as special servants to the High Lord. Tarani had just confirmed that suspicion, and her obvious distress forged a bond of empathy between her and Eddarta.

“In every other way, Shedo, Volitar
was
my father. He called himself my uncle, but he was the only parent I knew. It was he who taught me what ail children must learn: what is right; what is wrong.

“Volitar and I lived quietly in Dyskornis, and I knew nothing of Zefra until less than a year ago. When I first learned her name, I believed as you do, that I had been born of Volitar and Zefra. That belief brought me both comfort—that the man who had raised me with such love and goodness was truly my father—and mystery—why should he have claimed otherwise? It was partially in quest of the answer to that mystery that I first came to Eddarta.”

Only partially
, I thought, beginning to panic slightly.
She’s not going to tell them about the Ra’ira, is she? Of course not,
I assured myself.
I’m just uncomfortable because I’m useless. It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way since we came to Eddarta. I’ll have to remember to apologize to Tarani for never understanding, before now, what it’s like to follow someone in blind faith, with no idea of what will happen next.

It was no comfort that Shedo’s words seemed to come directly from my own frightened thoughts.

“Only partially?” Shedo asked. She took a step closer, bending back her head to look up at Tarani. “What of the rest of the answer, High Lord? Why
have
you come back to Eddarta?”

Koshah pressed his nose into the back of my right thigh, making the knee bend and nearly bringing me down.
*Can’t play right now
,* I told him, and absently reached down to scratch behind an ear. Yoshah came up on my left, and the cubs leaned against me, their heads tilted to get maximum benefit from the scratching.

I hardly knew what I was doing; like the rest of the people there, I was focused on Tarani. She had taken a deep breath, and was looking out over the crowd—not at the mass of them, but into individual faces. The people waited for her answer.

“Volitar,” she said at last, “did more than merely hate the Lords. He acted for change. Never mind that the effect of the change was small at the time—the nearly momentary disruption of Pylomel’s plans. When the opportunity appeared, he
acted.

“He took action, too, in everything he taught me. He never mentioned Eddarta in the way one might think he would—to feed and perpetuate his hatred. He taught me what he believed in—that power is merely a tool, and nothing to be feared in itself. I did not learn to hate the Lords, but I learned to despise the misuse of power. Volitar knew that I would have a strong mindgift. In this way, he
acted
to change the way one born Lord viewed her own power.

“In a way, my becoming High Lord is Volitar’s final action toward change. When I came to Eddarta, my vision was not warped by hatred or a lifetime of fear. I saw good and bad people on both sides of these walls,” she said, waving her arm toward the stone wall behind me.

“The power in Lord City is obvious and visible, and Pylomel wore his corruption with pride. Yet I see power in Eddarta, too, my friends—power which is no less corrupt because its misuse lies in its idleness.”

Tarani’s voice had begun to tremble slightly. I stopped petting the cubs and listened more closely. Tarani was saying things to the crowd she had never been able to say to me.

“Think of
me
as Lord City,” Tarani said, “and of Yayshah, this sha’um, as Eddarta. I choose a destination, and she carries me there. Yet we travel
together.
She carries me
willingly.
If she has needs that conflict with my wishes, she tells me, and I alter my plans in consideration of those needs. The alternative is leaving her and traveling alone—possible, but a dismal prospect, after having known her friendship.

“For generations, the Lords have been riding Eddarta further into corruption. Yet Eddarta has made no effort to divert them.”

A cry of protest began in the front ranks of the crowd and swelled. Tarani let it build for a moment, then raised her hand for attention again. Silence came quickly.

“Each of you sees power in the individual Lord to whom you pay tribute. You look, then, at yourself and see helplessness. Think—is there only one Lord who has built Lord City? No. It is their power
as a group
that rules Eddarta. And in Eddartans
as a group
lies the power to resist the demands of the Lords, and to guide the future, not only of Eddarta, but of Lord City.

“Eddarta’s power has never been used, and for one excellent reason. Until now, it has not been needed. While the demands of the Lords were reasonable, and they returned benefit to Eddarta through more profitable work and guided growth, Eddarta and Lord City moved willingly, and together, in the same direction. When the power was needed, Eddartans were trapped in the habit, built up over generations, of unquestioning cooperation with the Lords.

“That Volitar was a man of vision is proved by the fact that he saw beyond the habit and recognized the unfairness of what his Lord asked of him. Yet even he did not see the hidden power.” She smiled. “If he had seen it, you would have heard from him, years ago, what I have said today. He chose to act individually because Volitar, too, believed that he had no choice.

“I came to Eddarta with no history among you, no habits, no preconceptions. It was not my purpose to bring change to Eddarta or Lord City, but events made me the agent of change. It was not by my hand that Pylomel died, but partially on my account—and I felt regret only in the knowledge that Indomel exceeded our father in greed and corruption.”

Tarani paused to let the crowd accept what amounted to a confession. In that moment, she turned her head slightly, so that she could see me out of the corner of her eye.