The River Wall

by Randall Garrett

  I sat up, rubbing my eyes, then stretched. Across from me, Tarani’s eyes opened. She smiled.

  “It is a good sound, is it not, when we are not causing it?” She sat up. “I cannot claim that I have ever led an easy life,” she said, “but those days disguised as a vlek handler, always smelling of the beasts, always struggling with them, are ones I would not care to relive. I always had the fear that I would come to think like them, to be stupid and stubborn and nasty.”

  I laughed. “Well, that’s one thing I didn’t have to fear,” I said, picking up the belt and baldric I had laid aside sometime during the night. “I started out that way.”

  “I shall not deny that,” she said, and for a moment her eyes held mine.

  I wondered what she was thinking. She could be remembering any of a hundred painful moments, I thought, when my words struck at her from distrust and jealousy, when my silence limited her knowledge of herself, when my needs took precedence—not gently—over hers and Yayshah’s.

  Suddenly she took her eyes away and dragged her saddlebags up from where they had lain on the floor into her lap. She opened one and began digging in it carefully with her hands. “We have grown a great deal, each of us,” she said, and looked up, smiling again. “I had nothing to teach you of gentleness except how to express it. And you have made me see my own strength.” She shrugged. “As for stubbornness,” she said, “what else could have driven us so far through a shifting bog of questions and secrets?”

  “And stupidity?” I prompted. “And nastiness?”

  She had found what she was searching for, a folded piece of thin leather. She stood up, pushing aside her packs, and offered her hand.

  “I believe neither of us is guilty of the first,” she said. “As for the second, we both fear we have it, and that serves to drive it away. Shall we refresh ourselves, and think of the day ahead?”

  I took her hand, and we stepped out under the spectacular Gandalaran sunrise. Across the courtyard, Thuren appeared at the single doorway and hurried across to us. He was followed by an older man who limped, but carried himself with the same quiet pride I had seen in every one of the Elders I had met.

  “Greetings, Respected Elder,” Tarani and I said, almost in one voice.

  “Welcome, my friends,” the old man said, touching our hands lightly with his own. “Thuren told me of your arrival as soon as I woke. One of the household apartments is, of course, available to you. After you have refreshed yourselves, I would ask your presence in the inner courtyard. A judgment is necessary, and it has awaited your arrival.”

  “A judgment?” Tarani echoed, and looked at me. I shrugged, and we both looked at Charol.

  “One among us has broken Fa’aldu law,” the old man said. “He must speak and be judged before the family. He asked for delay until you could be present. The delay was granted.”

  “Who is being judged?” I asked. “What for? How are we involved?”

  “It is Veron who faces judgment,” Charol said. “I may say nothing of the lawbreaking. If you please, Thuren will show you to your apartment now.”

  Tarani started to say something, but I squeezed her hand to signal silence.

  “We will join you as quickly as we can,” I assured the Elder, and we followed the straight-backed boy.

  Thuren led us through the doorway, down a shadowy corridor, and out into a bright courtyard which lay at the center of the family area. This inner courtyard was much larger than the one in which the vleks had bedded down. Around it were arranged rooms and suites in which resided the members of this House, who were all kin of some kind and were led by the Elder.

  After Thuren had conducted us to a large apartment and left us there, Tarani demanded: “How did they find out Veron has been helping slaves escape from the copper mines?”

  “The sooner we get out there,” I said, “the sooner we’ll know.”

  We washed at a ceramic basin and quickly changed to fresh tunics and trousers. Although I had been ravenously hungry when I had awakened, I left the fruit and bread and cheese untouched. I noticed Tarani made no attempt to eat, either, and wondered if her stomach had turned queasy too. We glanced at each other, and stepped out into the courtyard.

  The entire family was assembled. Though they did not form ranks but sat on the hard-packed ground in an uneven semicircle, there was the air of parade formality about the assembly. There were fifty or more people in the courtyard. After Tarani and I had sat down at the back of the crowd, the Elder was the only person standing, until he said: “The judgment begins.”

  Toward the front of the crowd, a young man stood up, moved forward and turned to face his family. He was slim and pale.

  “Veron,” the Elder said, “tell the family of Iribos why you are to be judged.”

  “I have broken the law of neutrality,” the young man said in a loud if somewhat shaky voice.

  Silence greeted that announcement. The young man took a deep breath and continued.

  “I sought to help Eddartas slaves escape to freedom,” he said, then his voice turned bitter. “Recently I learned that my good wishes only led the slaves of the copper mines into a different kind of slavery, or into death.”

  This time, the family reacted. Heads turned and a whispering sound rose from the seated people.

  “For endangering the neutrality of the Fa’aldu, I offer no apology,” Veron said, defiance ringing in his strident voice. “My views in that area are well known. I ask to be judged”—his voice faltered—“for allowing those views to endanger the lives of others.”

  “Judgment cannot rest merely on the result and not on the act itself,” Charol said, speaking with a careful formality. “Judgment cannot touch you at all, if you alone seek it. Who of the family will confirm your lawbreaking?”

  “I acted alone,” Veron said, “but many knew, and kept silent because they approved. I required their word-bond to continue silent, lest they, too, be called to judgment. There are two here who can speak, however. They are outside our laws, but honored by the family. I ask that the Fa’aldu accept the voices of Rikardon and Tarani as our own.”

  Heads turned toward us, and the family waited expectantly. Nobody—except us—seemed very surprised.

  Now what the hell do I say? I wondered. I don’t want to wind up convicting this kid, but he’s right—with all good intentions, he channeled slaves toward their deaths. Good intentions, I repeated to myself. Not what happened, but what he wanted to happen. He worked for what he thought was right, and nobody is going to convince me that can ever be a crime.

  I climbed to my feet. Beside me, Tarani rose in the graceful single movement I admired but could never quite master.

  “When Harredon proposed the establishment of the Refreshment Houses,” I said, letting some of my anger show, “the Fa’aldu chose to be loyal to the Kingdom. In spite of what your law says, that marked the end, not the beginning, of Fa’aldu neutrality.” A shocked gasp swept through the crowd. Even Veron gaped at me. Only Charol maintained an aloof composure.

  “The raiders and scavengers and barbarians who hoarded their water,” I continued, “they were truly neutral because they cared for no one but themselves. The Fa’aldu who abandoned that life in favor of peace and service made a commitment to the value of the individual—a commitment reflected in Veron’s opposition to Eddartan slavery.”

  It took a moment for everyone to realize I was finished. Then attention shifted to the woman standing beside me.

  “I will speak,” Tarani said, “to the results which have tormented our friend into asking judgment. It is true that the house in Chizan which Veron believed to be a safe place, the beginning of new life for the slaves he helped, was in the hands of a roguelord who enslaved them again or killed them. Compared to the promise of freedom, that is a bitter fate. But compare it to continued service in the copper mines, and it seems again to be relief. Who is to say that the former slaves were not still grateful to Veron, even in Chizan?

  “I ask you
to remember, as well, that Veron’s system worked in both directions. Had the way out of Eddarta not been so carefully organized, Veron would have been unable to help us when we wanted to enter Eddarta in secret. He acted as blindly with us as with the slaves, wanting only to help and having no knowledge or control over the result. If you argue that Veron caused the slaves to die, then you must also grant that Veron caused me to be High Lord. As High Lord, I have set in motion the end of Eddarta slavery.

  “Weigh the lives he has destroyed—indirectly—against those he has saved—indirectly—and I believe you will find Veron more worthy of honor than of condemnation.”

  There was a shocked silence after Tarani finished, then Charol stirred. I forestalled whatever he had planned to say.

  “You invited us to help you judge one of your own for breaking the law,” I said. “Instead, we ask you to judge the Tightness of his actions and the reality of the law. We make this request not merely for Veron’s sake, but because the ‘neutrality’ of the Fa’aldu may soon be tested. When that time comes, we hope you will remember that the Fa’aldu have always favored those who care for and value the individual.”

  I sat down. Tarani had caught the beginning of my movement, and she sat at the same time.

  There was a general shifting as the faces which had watched us turned back toward the other end of the courtyard. Charol pulled at his long white tunic, rearranging it slightly, then looked up and spoke to the family.

  “It seems clear that Veron has broken the law as it has been practiced,” he said, “and deserves to be forbidden the shelter of the Fa’aldu.”

  A kind of sigh issued from the audience, acknowledgment of the severity of the penalty. To Fa’aldu, I thought, that sort of banishment must be tantamount to being stripped of identity.

  “Yet our guests,” Charol continued, “remind us of the law as it was designed. In that light, Veron’s aid to the slaves seems little different from a gift of water to the traveler in need.”

  A louder sigh rose up, somehow carrying a message of agreement.

  “As Elder of Iribos, I may judge alone within the law,” Charol said, “but I may not question it alone. I call for a family statement. Veron: condemn?”

  Charol extended his arm to the right, the hand tensed into a fist. No one in the courtyard moved. Then he dropped his right arm and extended his left.

  “Forgive?”

  Everyone in the courtyard leaned to the right. A sound came from Veron—half sob, half laughter.

  “Veron is of Iribos,” Charol said, with an intonation that made it a formal pardon. “To those who may feel he yet deserves a lesser punishment, I say that the fate of those he attempted to help will continue to torment him. To those who would challenge our law, I say that the questions raised today will be reported to the other Elders, and considered seriously.

  “The judgment ends.”

  5

  The people stood up and scattered in all directions, vanishing through the multitude of doors that lined the perimeter of the courtyard. Veron bowed deeply to Charol, who stood straight and still as a statue, then came toward us and bowed again, aimed at a point between us but slightly closer to Tarani.

  “I am grateful for your words,” he said. “I am blamed, now, by no one—except myself.”

  I gripped Veron’s shoulder until his gaze left the ground and rested on my face. “If you respect your family, Veron,” I said, “you have to respect their judgment too.”

  “Your guilt,” Tarani added gently, “does you even less honor than your misguided efforts.”

  Veron thought about that a moment, looking from Tarani to me and back again, and finally nodded. “I will try to—to forgive myself. What you said about ending slavery in Eddarta, High Lord, that is true?”

  “It is true,” Tarani said. “I dared not make such a sweeping change immediately, but the process has begun. A person who is sent to the mines for punishment will remain for a length of time that is assigned in proportion to his offense. He will be free to return to his former occupation at the end of that period, but if he worked well, he may be offered employment at the mine.

  “Those who are serving as slaves now will be examined for health problems. The severely ill will be released immediately; the remainder will be treated, assigned a service time of approximately one-fourth their remaining life span, and will continue their service with decent rations and adequate rest. They, too, may be offered payment for their continued service.

  “The Lords have agreed to this program as a test for the next five years. I have predicted that people who are allowed fair treatment and a sense of the worth of their effort will become sufficiently more productive to allow the mines more profit, even while payment is given for labor which once was free. If my prediction proves true—as I am sure it will—the Lords will consider abandoning the most dangerous mine, and establishing the entire mining operation on an employment basis.”

  It can’t have hurt her chances for acceptance of this plan, I thought, that the dangerous mine she proposes to close down belongs to her own family, the Harthim.

  I remembered the time I had spent at the Lingis mine—not as a slave but as one of their guards. It had suited Indomel’s humor to keep Tarani and me apart, each of us hostage for the good behavior of the other. The Lingis mine was a surface mine with deposits of copper ore that occurred near the surface of the hilly area, and the duty of the slaves there had been harsh enough. The Harthim mine had followed the ore lode straight into the side of a mountain, so that the slaves were essentially working in an unsupported tunnel mine. Between the collapsing walls and the congested air, the slaves had little hope of survival.

  Ricardo Carillo—the man I had been before my personality arrived in Gandalara—had accumulated an amazing assortment of unrelated information during his long life, and I had not lost his habit of examining and comparing information in order to find meaning in facts. It had hampered neither Ricardo nor Rikardon that I often peered out at those facts from inside an empty well of ignorance—very often, the level of water in the well rose in the course of such an exercise.

  It occurred to me now to speculate on the geologic trauma that could create an area as large as Gandalara with rich deposits of copper and tin, but almost no iron. The only iron in Gandalara seemed to be mined from the remains of a meteor that had crashed into the wall above Raithskar, thousands of years ago.

  There is no native iron, I thought, but plentiful native copper. No, wait, there’s another way of looking at that. Copper has been found only in the hills—at a lower level, I think, than the iron near Raithskar, but nonetheless above the floor of Gandalara. You could say that neither one is truly native to Gandalara. The green marble that is quarried in Omergol is also pulled out of a hillside. If you define Gandalara as the flat area between the “walls” (considering that in most areas, mountain ranges are called “walls” as a Gandalaran convention), then the only thing truly native to Gandalara is salt.

  Something nibbled at the edge of my consciousness, a frustrating half-image, like the face of someone whose name is familiar but will not come to mind. I reached for it, almost had it—then Charol’s voice drew me back from my thoughts.

  Veron was walking away from us, toward a doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard from the visitors’ area. Tarani and Charol were both staring at me, Charol with concern written clearly in his expression, Tarani with faint amusement and a touch of impatience.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, laughing. “I was thinking. Do I owe Veron an apology for being rude?”

  “Not at all,” Charol said. “It is clear to him, as to me, that you are concerned with grave matters. You spoke of a coming choice, Captain. May I hazard a guess that it has something to do with the theft of the Ra’ira?”

  Tarani jumped, and Charol smiled.

  “The Fa’aldu have never believed that knowing about the affairs of the world is the same as meddling in them, High Lord.” His smile faded. “Normally w
e choose to learn of such things indirectly, but I feel this situation warrants the ill manners of direct inquiry. Captain? The choice?”

  “I hope it never comes, Respected Elder, but—yes, the Ra’ira is involved. I would say more, but …”

  I glanced at Tarani, who hesitated only a moment before speaking.

  “Rikardon hesitates out of consideration for me,” she said. “We share a truth which has been hidden for centuries. I give him my consent to share it with you, as well, Charol, but I give you a warning: in accepting this knowledge, you are making that choice.”

  I hadn’t considered it in those terms, but of course Tarani’s right, I thought. We would not merely be warning the Fa’aldu about Ferrathyn, we would be asking their support against him, should it come to that—all in the same breath.

  Tarani and I waited, while Charol thought about it. Slowly, he grew calm—and a little grim.

  “The Fa’aldu,” Charol said, “have been following your activities since Balgokh’s first report of meeting you, Rikardon. He spoke then of sensing a difference in you, and foretold that you would have a profound effect on the future of Gandalara. I had thought we had already seen that effect in your becoming Captain of the Sharith, in the appearance of Yayshah and the birth of her cubs, certainly in the acclamation of Tarani as High Lord of Eddarta.

  “But now I feel that these are meaningless, that the knowledge you offer me will reveal what Balgokh would not even attempt to guess.”

  Charol paused expectantly. I was stunned to learn of Balgokh’s assessment of me, based as it was on a very brief encounter. Tarani seemed to sense my confusion and stepped into the silence.

  “No one knows what Balgokh foresaw,” Tarani said, “and I would not call ‘meaningless’ the changes you cite. I would say, rather, that they have been preparatory to the purpose contained in the knowledge.”

  The man nodded vigorously, as if he regarded Tarani’s answer as total and direct confirmation of his statement. “It would be cowardly, then, to retreat to ignorance now. I choose to learn what you would tell me.”