The River Wall (41 page)

Indomel and Zefra left Lord Hall together, caught up in a strained and uncertain silence. Only then did Thymas come forward from the corner he had sought while the rest of us were concentrating on the Ra’ira. He reached out toward the pile of fragments, but did not touch them.

“Amazing,” he said. “The trouble that thing has caused, and now it is gone.”

“I find only one sad thing in this,” Zanek said. “Without the physical image as a reminder of the stone, it will be soon forgotten, and along with it, the lessons it taught about strength and power.”

“What?” Thymas said. “I do not believe that anyone who heard Tarani’s message, saw Rikardon’s vision, could forget it, Zanek.”

“Not they, certainly,” Zanek agreed. “But their children will not have the experience. Their parents will recount these events, as is required in the rules we have set forth. But to children, they will be only stories. The movement up the River Wall—that will be real to them, and I do not doubt there will be a continued commitment to its purpose. But the Ra’ira will be far in the past by then.”

“A legend,” I said, feeling troubled. “Like all the inaccurate legends I have run into these past months. The few people in Raithskar who knew about the Ra’ira believed that only the last, harmful Kings had possessed and used the stone. With Serkajon’s steel sword part of their everyday lives, carried by one of the Captain’s descendants, no one remembered that another steel sword had existed during the time of the Kingdom. Only in Eddarta, where the Lords had settled and passed down the story of the twin swords, was there any knowledge of that second sword.

“It makes me wonder. There is still a lot to do, but I feel we have laid the foundation of a strong, shared vision. Each new generation will be instilled with a sense of responsibility to continue the climb. But when they get to the top, will anyone remember why it all happened?”

“I have a more serious question than that, my friend,” Zanek said. “It had not occurred to me before now, but—how will that final generation
know
that they have reached the top?”

The question sent a chill down my spine.
Why haven’t I thought of that before?
I wondered.
Only Tarani and I have any knowledge of what the terrain will look like. That’s only a guess, but it’s more than anyone else has. By the time Gandalarans reach the rim of the basin, nomadic movement will have become a habit. Why should it matter that they start moving on level ground, rather than on an incline?

That’s not what we intended,
I thought.
Gandalara’s culture has developed in a geographically static—though environmentally evolving—location. Our whole purpose is to preserve that culture. The idea is to take it up the Wall, find a suitable location, and settle down again.

Aloud, I said: “You’re right, Zanek. We have put a lot of thought into starting the movement, and none at all into stopping it when it’s time.” I shrugged, feeling unhappy. “As of now, I don’t have any ideas.”

“I have one,” Tarani said, “and I believe it will satisfy both those questions of accurate remembrance.”

I turned around to face Tarani. She had picked up a few of the Ra’ira fragments in one hand, and was letting them drop, one by one, into her other hand.

“You have seen only one side of the Recorder function,” Tarani said. “It is possible to
add
information to the All-Mind, as well as retrieve it.”

In a long-ago conversation with Thanasset, this capability of the Recorders had been mentioned. The information had come in the flood of confusion that had beset me before the integration of Ricardo and Markasset, and I had not thought of it again, until now.

“
Add
a lifememory? Deliberately?” Zanek challenged, horrified.

“I did say ‘information’ and not ‘memory,’” Tarani corrected gently. “It is a regular practice of all Recorders—and has been, since the first Recorder—to place in a specific location a description of each question asked by a Seeker, the search path and location of the answer, and what was discovered.”

“An
index
?” I questioned, using Ricardo’s word for the concept.

Tarani nodded. “It functions that way, yes,” she said, and frowned. “In terms of your vision of the All-Mind, Rikardon, it would seem to be an extraordinarily long cylinder of light, attached at only one end.”

“I have been to the All-Mind three times,” I said. “Twice with you, once with Somil. Neither one of you touched something like that.”

She smiled. “Do you recall the ritual of entry? The Recorder establishes the link with the All-Mind a few moments before the Seeker joins the Recorder. In that brief time, we consult the—index, as you name it.

“I
say
that the skill has not been used for any other purpose,” Tarani continued. “That does not mean that it cannot have other uses. We have asked the people to tell their children of the events of these past weeks, and you have pointed out that, in the telling, the tale may become less real.

“I propose that we attempt to do exactly what Zanek imagined: create a special Record which, essentially, contains the lifememory of a living man. It would not
be
a lifememory, you understand, or even memory at all. It will be one persons recounting of the basis for the journey.

“I also propose that the education of our young include a Recorder as one of the teachers. We attempt a rigorous environmental change, and we are forced to expect that some of the adults will die during any given move. The lost ones may be of any craft, any skill, and not only their contribution will be lost, but the continuation of their skills through their children. By integrating Recorders into our regular education, we can guarantee that such lost skills can be partially replaced.

“It will be necessary,” she said, turning to walk a few steps, turning back, “to seek out talented children to be trained as Recorders. A few have been sufficient until now; many more will be needed to make this plan effective. The teaching Recorders will serve to educate our children in their own history, and part of each child’s education will be the sharing of the
constructed
lifememory about the beginning of the journey. Children will learn the general background from their parents, but in sharing the knowledge, the conviction, the present awareness of one person who lived through this beginning, the children will recover the
spirit
which pervades us now, the certainty of disaster, the grand purpose, which is nothing less than survival.”

We were all silent a moment, caught up in Tarani’s special vision. It was Thymas who finally spoke.

“I see the value of the plan, Tarani,” he said. “But you have not spoken to Zanek’s concern. How can such a memory assist our people in identifying the final destination?”

“It will serve that purpose, as well,” Tarani said, “if the lifememory is Rikardon’s.”

I jumped, even though my mind instantly agreed with the logic of it. Another thought crossed my mind.

“Is this what Livia asked you to ‘consider’?” I asked.

“Livia’s visit was very helpful,” Tarani said. “I had conceived of the idea of the special Recording, and of everyone sharing those memories, but I had not foreseen the need for more Recorders, and their value in other areas. Livia made that suggestion, and its value was obvious.”

“If you accepted that, then what
were
you considering?”

Without fully realizing it, I had tensed up, and was leaning on one of the pillars, one hand on my hip. It was no wonder that Tarani reacted defensively.

“Her comment has nothing to do with the plan we are discussing,” she snapped.

“I have no quarrel with the plan,” I said. “I have some questions about its details, but I know they can be worked out. But this is the first time you’ve mentioned this plan to me, and I’d rather not be surprised by what else Livia suggested to you.”

“If you must know,” Tarani fumed, “she asked that I make provision for at least one of our children to become a Recorder!”

“Our … children?” I said.

“She asked it as a favor, a replacement for my departure. I told her such a choice would be made by us both, and not before our second child is born.

“Since you insist on discussing this now,” she continued angrily, “would you not also like to know what her parting remark meant?”

“You mean, ‘That’s that,’ after I told her I … love you?” Suddenly I felt embarrassed that such a small thing had almost built to a quarrel. I relaxed from my aggressive stance, and smiled. “You must know, by now, that I have a lot more love than tact—or timing.”

To my great relief, she laughed.

“A highly pardonable failing, my love,” she said. “So I
shall
tell you what Livia meant. I had told her that I shall be the Recorder who enters that special Record, and she had assumed I meant to take on the formal appearance and behavior of a Recorder—including a private, separate residence. I fear,” Tarani said with a wry smile, “that I was rather blunt in my refusal.”

“Good for you,” I said. “She struck me as a tough old lady; I’m sure the bluntness didn’t hurt her.”

“As a matter of fact, she countered me with a wise caution against Recording while I carried a child, and used that as an argument for at least a temporary withdrawal until the Record was complete.”

“I fear I do not understand the wisdom in that restriction,” Zanek said. “Why should it matter if a woman were pregnant?”

“Only that the bodies of a child and its mother are in intimate contact,” Tarani said, “and that no one can tell if their minds, too, are touching. It is possible that the child would suffer the strain imposed on the Recorder. I agreed to Livia’s counsel willingly, but shared with her one of the tenets we are asking all of Gandalara to accept. A high birth rate is essential, to replenish our strength as we climb.

“The Record will be a difficult task for both of us, my love,” she said, coming toward me with her hands outstretched. “We will need several sessions, I think, and considerable distance in time between those sessions.” I took her hands. “My own desires, as well as our need to set an example, will not permit postponing our family.”

I pulled her into my arms and hugged her, for the moment too moved to speak. After a moment, I stepped back.

“What solution have you found, then?” I asked. “To select someone else to create the Record?”

“Ah, no!” she exclaimed. “It is a privilege I claim for myself, and a task to which I believe my slightly different skills are particularly suited. I propose a compromise solution: that I shall not attempt to Record during pregnancy—which will certainly prolong the time it will take to complete the Record—and that, for several days before a session, I shall withdraw to solitude to achieve the tranquillity of mind and body which will, I believe, be necessary. Understand, Rikardon, for the purpose of the Record I shall have to abandon my other duties entirely for a time, and take on the formal aspect of a Recorder.” She laughed. “That is, what I understand to be a traditional Recorder—
not
Somil.”

I laughed too. “I can live with that,” I said. “What did Livia say?”

“She acknowledged the fact that I had already decided, and she could not change my mind. But she refused to offer her support unless she could be convinced that my feelings for you were returned. Actually, the phrase she used was ‘Is he worth all this concern?’”

Tarani smiled, but looked down at the floor as she said: “Obviously, your answer convinced her.”

I touched her arm, and she looked up at me.

“The whole plan is inspired, Tarani. I support it fully, and I’m grateful for your ‘concern’—for me and for our children. I think the Record should begin with my arrival here, and continue through these planning stages, don’t you?”

I looked around at the others too. They all nodded.

“Then you are no longer angry that I made these plans independently?” Tarani asked.

“I was never angry, Tarani, and I think I trust your judgment even more than my own. I feel sure there will be occasion for each of us to make independent decisions in the coming years, even though we are, essentially, a ruling council of four.”

“Rikardon,” Zanek said, “may I interrupt a moment?”

“Of course,” I said, turning to him.

“We have told the people that, when everyone who is coming has gathered here, they will be asked to approve an administration system which we have not yet thoroughly designed. I would ask a gift from you, my friends.”

“After all you have done for us, Zanek,” I said, “I’m sure I speak for Tarani and Thymas in saying you may ask anything of us.”

Zanek smiled. “A rash statement, Rikardon, but I shall hold you to it. I would like to leave now.”

“Well, certainly,” I said. “The Ra’ira’s destroyed—”

“Don’t be such a
vlek
, Captain,” Thymas interrupted. “He means to leave Dharak’s body, not this hall.”

“What?” I stammered, staring at Thymas.

“Zanek was kind enough to ask me about it a few days ago,” Thymas said, “since, for me, he feared it would be like losing my father twice.” He turned to Zanek. “I will say, before them, what I said to you then. It is
your
loss I’ll feel, Zanek, but I would not hold you here for my sake. Dharak and I have been honored by your visit.”

Zanek put his hand on my shoulder. “Do not look so horrified, Rikardon. In Thagorn, you merely assumed I would share the burden of leadership, but if you think back, I never promised such a thing.”

He smiled, and though it still looked like Dharak’s face to me, I knew it was Zanek who smiled. He looked sad, and tired. “I have done this before, you know—restructured the world. If you think to benefit from my experience, consider the final products of my work. They were hardly lasting successes. It could be argued that you will be better off without my advice.”

“Do not say that,” Tarani said. “Had you not established the Kingdom as Zanek, and then destroyed it as Serkajon, there would be nothing here today worth saving.”

“She’s right, Zanek,” I said. “And though it causes me pain to say it, so are you. You have done more than your share already. You—you have my consent, if you feel you need it.”