The River Wall (37 page)

I heard Zanek speak from the other side of Tarani. “Lie quietly, please—you have used too much energy. It will take you quite some time to recover.”

“Successful,” Tarani said, her rich voice thick now with fatigue.

“We know,” Milda’s voice said, sounding none too steady. “Your … illusions—we saw it all, heard it all.” Suddenly the old voice broke. “I wish Thanasset had been here.”

Tarani’s hand crept across the space between us and pressed weakly on my arm. “It was a … special experience,” she said.

“Well, rest now,” Zanek said, and Milda came around to me and began to touch my face with a dampened cloth. “When you are feeling stronger, food will help. Just rest now.”

We stayed on the parlor floor for several hours, and were finally able to struggle to a sitting position. Milda descended on us with an enormous spread of food, and we ate voraciously. From there, we staggered upstairs to share Markasset’s bedroom and sleep, exhausted, for nearly a full day. Then we rose, and bathed, and visited the sha’um. Finally, we felt ready to be in touch with the world again.

Neither one of us had worried about the Ra’ira, and we were not surprised to find that Zanek had ordered the glass display case moved from the government house to Thanasset’s mid-hall, and had stored the gem in plain sight of anyone who came into the house. It made sense and seemed an appropriate reaction against the way the stone had been handled for so many centuries. Secrecy had not really been a protection; perhaps public awareness would do more to keep the stone’s power controlled.

When Tarani and I came in from our baths, Zaddorn was standing near the case, staring at the stone. He turned around when we entered, produced a smile which, I was glad to see, had a faint echo of his old wryness, and gallantly bowed to us both. In contrast to the efficient, elegant gray outfit he had worn on our first meeting, he wore a ragtag mess of torn but clean clothes, and he looked weary. Yet the composure and presence which had always impressed me were still there.

“The outskirts of the city have been cleaned up, and the vineh show few signs of continuing interest in Raithskar,” he said. “Work parties have been organized to clean up the city’s interior, and that project is progressing. Having put all this in motion, the Council of Supervisors has voluntarily—with some relief and a lot of embarrassment, to my view—dissolved. As much as Raithskar has a government now, my friend, you two are its government. I have come to report progress and get further instructions.”

I went over to Zaddorn and clapped my hand on his shoulder. “I think that ‘honor’ goes to you, my friend, at least for as long as Raithskar continues. Tarani and I will rely on you to keep things organized here, and to supervise preparations for the move.”

“What?” he demanded, his face darkening. “What move?”

Tarani came up and took Zaddorn’s hands. “Come and sit down,” she invited. “When you understand, I think you will agree.”

He did, but it took a lot of talking. Finally, he said: “All right, I believe you. But remember that I
know
you—as much as you
can
be known by a … Gandalaran. The citizens of this city are already feeling betrayed and bewildered. They have just reclaimed Raithskar; I doubt they will abandon it readily, and then their agreement will depend on being
convinced
that what you’ve just told me is true. Will you spend this much time talking to each citizen of Raithskar?”

Tarani and I looked at one another uncertainly. It was a phase of our planning we had not thought through clearly.

Milda came into the parlor just then. She greeted Zaddorn warmly, then handed us several messages which the maufel had just delivered. Tarani had three from Eddarta. One was from the Rusal Lord, confirming that everything was being handled according to her instructions. Zefra’s note thanked Tarani for freeing her from Indomel’s compulsion, but admitted that her own ambition had paved the way for it by not resisting too strongly. It was an apology, and what sounded like the first sincere expression of love for Tarani that Zefra had ever given her daughter. Tarani read that letter aloud, folded it, and tucked it inside her tunic, smiling to herself.

The third letter was from Indomel himself, its tone predictably defiant. It promised Tarani his cooperation and, in plain terms, acknowledged his defeat. And it asked a question similar to Zaddorn’s.

I had been present in Indomel’s body when he had heard Tarani speak of the upcoming disaster and the preparation required. Because of that, Indomel knew it was true. But he said that under Tarani’s instructions, the Lords were giving Lower Eddarta back to the people who lived there. How did Tarani expect to persuade them to give it up again?

I had a most welcome message from Ligor in Chizan, announcing that both passes were open again. Supplies were still very limited in the city, he warned, and anyone attempting to make the crossing should carry extra water. As Tarani had done with hers, I read the letter aloud—the final line with some surprise.
Give Milda my very best regards
, Ligor said,
and tell her I may be ready to settle down, finally, if she hasn’t made other plans.

I looked at Milda, whose face was blushing furiously.

“Ligor told me he saw a lot of Keeshah while he was barely a kitten,” I said. “Now I know Keeshah wasn’t the only attraction he found in Thanasset’s house.”

“The silly old rogue!” Milda exploded. “If he thinks I’ve waited all this time for him, well—well—” She shrugged, and smiled wryly. “Well, he may be right, is all. When it comes time to head for Chizan, Rikardon—I’d be obliged if I could travel with you.”

I got up and hugged her, laughing. “That’s one reunion I wouldn’t miss,” I said.

Zaddorn left shortly after that, and Tarani and I discussed the problem he had brought to us. It was later that evening, when we walked in Thanasset’s garden—now thoroughly ruined by the four large sha’um presences—that we stumbled on the answer.

“They will never believe,” Tarani said. “Their existence is too solidly tied with the value of water. How can we make them believe that water can be harmful—even if they would believe in the concept of the Pleth refilling?”

“I wish I knew,” I said fervently. “I wish we could give them what we feel, the sense of change, the certainty of the consequences, the awareness that we have to start to work together
now
to avoid disaster.”

She thought a moment. “But what
has
changed?” she asked. “I mean, physically, observably. The earthquake startled everyone, but the damage was done and people are already beginning to cope. Certainly there have been social changes, but none of them are directly a sign of the disaster to come.”

I stopped moving.

“What?” Tarani demanded. “What is it?”

“I think I know how to do it, Tarani.”

Some four weeks later, Keeshah and Yayshah were wet and miserable, and Tarani and I had to shout at each other in order to be heard. The sha’um, over their own substantial protests and in an act of pure loyalty to us, were picking their way fussily across the spray-slick surface of what had recently been a dry and rocky plain. For generations of Gandalarans, this place had been no more than a marking on a map: the Valley of Mists. Now it was growing—or shrinking, depending on one’s point of view—and it was creating the future of Gandalara—or destroying it, depending on one’s point of view.

Tarani and I had little to say to each other, even if we had been able to converse normally. We had made our plans before leaving Raithskar, and had reviewed them the night before, at our camp at the edge of the mists. We had wakened this morning soaked to the skin, with two very unhappy sha’um on our hands. Only the promise that we would complete our mission today and start back for Thagorn tomorrow appeased them.

In one sense, we had known what to expect when we penetrated the wall of fog. We knew that the rolling clouds of condensation were the product of spray from a waterfall meeting the hot, arid air of the Gandalaran desert.

The waterfall had been here throughout Gandalaran history. It was the product of the Atlantic Ocean pushing its way through what remained of the Gibraltar Straits, after a geological cataclysm had smashed the African continent into the edge of Europe. The volume of water had not been great enough to compensate for evaporation across the tremendous surface of the Mediterranean basin, and the sea—known to the Gandalarans as the Great and Lesser Pleth—had shrunk down until it was little more than a wide pool at the base of the Atlantic waterfall.

Knowing what to expect, and truly expecting it, are two very different things. The land masses had separated, and what had been a narrow waterfall now stretched a quarter mile wide and loomed impossibly high. The Skarkel Falls in Raithskar disappeared into the cloud cover, but here the force of rushing water generated a turbulence that drove Gandalara’s heat upward and dissipated the clouds—which, at least in part, must have been a phenomenon not unlike the wall of fog. Any rain or moisture which fell into the basin area became vapor when it encountered the tremendous heat radiating from the salt-sand floor of the basin.

Tarani and I urged the sha’um along the southern slope beside the waterfall, to a vantage point which was high enough that we were clear of the main force of spray from the thundering falls. Above the rushing water, we could see a stark and ragged outline of rock, and I fancied I saw a resemblance to the Gibraltar I had seen from the deck of a cruise ship. Below us, salty spray burst up from the agitated surface of the rapidly enlarging pool at the base of the falls.

The ledge we had chosen was wide enough, and slightly tilted, so that we could sit with our backs braced and legs extended without much fear of sliding off the slippery stone. The sha’um moved off and crouched behind a group of small boulders, their ears flattened and eyes half-closed. I could sense Keeshah’s discomfort. The only thing he hated worse than wet fur was the reflex which tried to fluff it—which let the moisture in next to his skin.

*It won’t take long,*
I assured Keeshah.
*Thank you for going through this.*

*Important
,* he admitted grudgingly, but then grumbled:
*Not fun*

Tarani had opened her soggy belt pouch, and she barely hesitated as she reached in and brought out the Ra’ira. Neither one of us had wanted to touch it again, after the burning sensation we had felt at the end of our Eddartan mindjourney.

Whatever had emanated from the Ra’ira, it had not been conventional heat; there had been no mark on my hand or on Tarani’s. For me at least, that made me all the more reluctant to touch the strange blue gem.

I took it now, however, as Tarani and I settled back against the smooth rock and joined hands around the Ra’ira. This time the shock was one of sudden silence, as I found myself on the mindplane once again, and the noisy waterfall had vanished from my perceptions. Tarani and I were together, but individual.

“As I thought,” Tarani said, “you are as skilled as I, Rikardon. That will make it much easier. Shall we begin?”

Together, we set out across the network of force, moving slowly at first, and then more confidently—but never without caution. Raithskar, physically closer to us, was also closer on the mindplane, so we touched there first. Zanek was easy to find, the pulsing of his aura clear and steady. He became aware of us instantly, and there was warm greeting in his mindvoice.

“All is ready here, my friends,” he said. “Most of Raithskar is gathered in the square, awaiting the event.”

“We will touch the other locations, then begin,” Tarani told him.

We moved off once more, and located Indomel in Dyskornis. His mind jumped when we touched him. “I am here, as you
requested
, Sister,” he said. “I remain uncertain about the feasibility of this plan.”

“Only try, Indomel,” Tarani said. “The Sharith have alerted every city in Gandalara to expect our message. The mind of every Gandalaran should be open to us. All I ask is that you channel our message clearly, with no coloration of your own.”

“I have already agreed to that,” he said, sulkily. “Let’s get on with it.”

“In a moment,” Tarani said. “We must connect with Zefra, first.”

We moved once more, gliding through the darkness toward the cluster of mindpresences that was Eddarta. There, Zefra responded immediately to the touch of Tarani’s mind. “All is ready here, Daughter,” she said.

“Something is wrong, Mother,” Tarani said. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Zefra protested, but she must have realized how futile a lie was in this close contact, mind to mind. “I fear I am not strong enough,” she admitted quietly.

“You are strong enough,” Tarani assured her, and I sensed Zefra’s mood lightening.

Tarani and I returned to the waterfall, and I let my consciousness return to my body. As we had planned, Tarani remained in trance, and maintained her link with me as I woke. The close connection with her mind overlaid my perceptions, making everything seem slow and dreamlike. It was not inappropriate, for we had come here to dream.

“I am Tarani, and I speak to everyone in Gandalara,” Tarani’s mind voice said.

I knew that it was reaching out to Zanek, Indomel, and Zefra, and through their mindpower was being broadcast through the length and breadth of the World between the Walls.

“You have been told how this is being done, but not why. A time of change has come upon Gandalara,” she said. “The shaking of the earth marked its beginning. I wish to tell you of this change, and what it means to each person, each city, each place in Gandalara. But I, myself, understand it only imperfectly.

“I will therefore serve only as a channel for the memories, the knowledge, and the understanding of the man some of you know as Rikardon, Captain of the Sharith. First, look upon what lies inside the Valley of the Mists….”

I turned my eyes toward the majestic waterfall, and kept them focused on the rushing water. The thundering noise reached me faintly, as if we were much farther from the falls. Through the link with Tarani, who was receiving secondhand feedback through her links with the three other mindskilled people, I sensed the wave of reaction from the Gandalarans who were seeing their very first waterfall. It varied from awe to disbelief to simply lack of comprehension.