The River Wall (36 page)

The All-Mind imagery of the interlocking cylinders or tubes of golden energy, each tube representing the lifememory of a single individual, was not there. Instead, Indomel’s consciousness was only one among uncountable, separate sparks, and Tarani sought the spark which was uniquely his.

In the All-Mind there had been some sense of distance, because we had arrived near the outer arc of the sphere and moved toward the center. We had been aware that our bodies’ energy was being used to maintain the link with the All-Mind, but there had been no sensation of effort. We had been concerned with how “far” we went only as it related to how long it would take us to get back to our entry point and, ultimately, to our physical bodies.

Now we
felt
the distance across which our consciousness stretched. I had halfway expected a visual overview of the land itself, but it was nothing so understandable. Where the All-Mind had seemed to me to be a sphere, the—for want of a better term, I thought of it as the “mind level”—was a flat plane, with sparks scattered throughout it. We did not have a visual overview of the mind level, because we were imbedded in it. Yet we could “see” it all in some sense, as if a map and a marking on the map were, in concept, the exact same thing.

Where there were cities in the physical world, there were clusters of sparks on the mind level. Just as Raithskar and Eddarta were at opposite corners of the Walled World, we knew we would find Indomel on the far side of the mind level. The direction and distance seemed very clear, but not the pathway. The All-Mind had been a pathway in itself; on the mind level, the sparks seemed isolated in empty darkness.

But Tarani’s unsuccessful attempts had taught her that there lay, invisible within the darkness, a network of interlocking lines of force which could be sensed—with effort—and crossed—with effort. She had exerted the small effort of reaching out to me, had enveloped my mindpresence, and eased it free of my physical presence. The first touch had been alarming, a more pure version of the tingle my body had felt when I had touched the Ra’ira. But once established, the contact between Tarani’s mind and mine was as effortless and comfortable as the experience we had shared in the All-Mind.

Tarani set out across the dark void between us and the Eddartan minds very carefully, and there was a definite feeling of
pushing
ourselves off from our physical anchors. She never became confident, even though it was clear to us both that there was no risk of “falling through” the plane; we were inextricably part of it. The risk lay in misjudging the path and wasting energy by backtracking. The risk lay in not being able to find our way back, or in not having sufficient strength left to
come
back.

The risk lay in the possibility of being lost and stranded on this plane until our bodies died. Then, presumably, our memories would join the All-Mind, and we—well, we would see for ourselves what Zanek had not been able to remember.

“Tarani, if I had known you were taking this kind of chance, I—”

“You would have been more concerned,” she interrupted. “You would not have prevented it, Rikardon. The risk is the price of the power, and the power is necessary, for now. Please allow me to concentrate.”

I kept silent as she guided us through the darkness. In some way, she had linked us so that she was using my strength equally with her own, and the drain was less for both of us. Yet we both felt the cost of the effort by the time—subjective time; I had no idea how much real time had passed—we approached Eddarta. Only then did I speak again.

“How will you recognize Indomel?” I asked her. “Every one of these—minds—looks identical to me.”

“I see differences,” she said. “I cannot explain why you do not see them, as well. Here, look
with
me—”

She seemed to wrap more closely around me, and it was only then that I realized Tarani had gone to some lengths to minimize the contact between our minds. Tarani and I suddenly achieved a closeness very like the blending that Keeshah and I sometimes shared. She and I became a single entity for a brilliant, searing instant, and we shared ourselves totally. Our emotions, our memories, our private fears and hidden shames … what we believed, our attitudes and logic patterns, our experience and everything our experience had taught us … our
selves.

It was wondrous and terrifying and unbearable and beautiful. Tarani broke the contact almost instantly and, for the moment, we paused in our journey merely to rest. The moment was part of our memories now, and we would be able to sort through what we had learned of each other at some later time. For now, there were two immediate by-products of that union.

First, I could now see what Tarani saw—each spark was surrounded by something not really visible. Each mindpresence emitted an aura which was unique to itself, made up of patterns and pulses of different energies. A spectrum of colors is an appropriate analogy for the range of energies, but the quality of the energy itself was more akin to the lines of force in the mindplane than to anything in the physical world.

It was the other effect of our brief union that made us pause. In a way which had never before been possible, I
knew
what Tarani thought of me. What’s more, I
knew
how her feelings had changed as she had been exposed to all of me, all of my very private, innermost me. That was what kept me silent and shocked. She had seen all the filth and self-hatred and unwanted memories resting at the bottom of my soul, and she had come away with more love for me than she had felt before.

Yet, how did her reaction differ from my own? I had looked into the depths of Tarani, too, at the things she was hiding from herself. The way a sixteen-year-old girl, caught between Volitar’s abhorrence of control and Antonia’s sensual maturity, had been frightened and fascinated and exalted by exercising the sexual and mental power Molik had craved. The guilt she carried for every moment of enjoyment she had reaped from their warped relationship. The self-loathing and self-doubt stimulated by meeting and being disgusted by her natural father, Pylomel. Other things, childhood horrors from both Antonia and Tarani.

I had seen all that, yes. And I had seen her tenderness for the sha’um cubs, the sense of peace and goodness that entered her when she cast her healing sleep, her determination to make life better for the Eddartans. The net effect of all that deep learning was to make me
appreciate
Tarani more.

I realized that Tarani was not merely an individual who had been born. Nor could her specialness be explained by the invasion of Antonia’s personality. Tarani had made herself what she was through a constant struggle, a continual need to make choices. Most of what was locked away in the dark closet which had opened to me were choices she regretted. But she had emerged from the struggle whole and good, with an awareness that there would never be an end to doubt, but with an established habit of making right choices. She was committed to values I respected and—more importantly—she herself respected.

The weakness I had seen only made her strength more impressive. Her doubt called out to my sheltering and protecting instincts, and I made a fierce resolution that her choice to love me would never have to be relegated to that ugly closet.

If I came away from that encounter with new commitment to and a stronger love for Tarani, why did it surprise me so that Tarani could have the same reaction toward me?

As I recovered from the intensity of our blending experience, I found the answer—an answer I had given to Shola and Dharak and Thymas in Thagorn. It is always easier to forgive another than it is to forgive yourself.

Tarani’s guilts and fears seemed only natural to me, some of them even inconsequential. But my own were real and terrifying and, certainly, much worse than everyone else’s. At least, I had thought they were, until Tarani had touched them. She was not disgusted and repelled—because, as I had done with her, she had touched the good things in me, too, and found them to be more important.

Knowing that she could tolerate the awfulness inside me diminished it, and made me feel more positive, more complete. It seemed as if I had been loving her imperfectly, drawing limits just short of the closets of my mind. Something in me had been freed when those boundaries had vanished. I loved Tarani with more confidence that my love had value.

“I did not know that would happen,” Tarani’s mind said at last, “and if warned, I would have resisted it. I am glad we had no warning, for it is a memory I shall treasure forever.” She paused. “Tell me—the clearer sight which was the reason for our joining—do you have it?”

“I see the auras,” I said. “But I still don’t feel sure I can help you find Indomel.”

“I found him before, and will recognize him again,” she said. “It is a different sort of sensing—I believe you will recognize him too. We should begin the search.”

As I agreed, I noticed that I was no longer enclosed within Tarani. If the word
touch
has any meaning in this purely nonphysical sense, we were barely “touching,” yet the mind-to-mind communication was as easy as it had been before. Now she did not carry me, but led the way, and I was able to follow.

We seemed to flow from one mindpresence to another, moving swiftly. Tarani’s prediction proved to be correct. As we approached each mindpresence, I
knew
whether or not we were approaching Indomel. Eventually, we found him—one presence in a cluster of others, the patterns surrounding him erratic but strong. There was another, nearby, which issued similar patterns, but in a forced, unnatural way. In the minor differences of its pattern we recognized Zefra.

“He must be keeping her under compulsion,” I said, knowing that Tarani, too, had recognized her brother and mother.

“As horrible as that must be for her,” Tarani said, “I am glad that she is not helping him willingly.”

“What now?” I asked.

“Now, my love, we announce our presence.”

She swept toward Zefra’s mindpresence and … replaced it. Two patterns were visible to my heightened senses: Tarani’s strong and balanced pulsing and, underneath, a weaker pattern which shifted uncertainly as Zefra’s mind threw off Indomel’s control.

So suddenly had Indomel’s compulsion been broken that I sensed him reeling from the shock. I took advantage of his imbalance, and I … became Indomel.

I had a moment’s shock, myself, as the “normal” world screamed into my senses again. I was in the central meeting room of Lord Hall, seated in the chair on the dais reserved for the High Lord. Six other Lords were present, all of them right now staring at Zefra, who was reeling back toward the door that led to the main area of Lord Hall. The man nearest the outer door was half out of his chair, his hand extended toward Zefra.

“Wait,” I said, and all the heads snapped in my direction. “Wait a moment. She is all right.”

“Indomel,” said the man in the chair which represented the Rusal family. He was the only Lord I remembered. The other five men were young, new. “You may force me to call you High Lord in public and accede to policies which violate my sense of values, but I beg you again to release the lady Zefra from your domination. Her statements in support of you have served their purpose; what more use can she be? We have seen her body fail under your continuing compulsion. Would you destroy her utterly?”

Inside me, Indomel, I felt something utterly surprising. Regret. Shame. Love. All from Indomel for his mother. Just as Tarani’s presence had released Zefra from Indomel, my arrival had destroyed the—literal—mindset which Ferrathyn had established in Indomel.

He
was
still Indomel. There was ambition and greed and the excessive self-interest that Pylomel had instilled in his son, but there was also the pitiful cry of an abandoned child, the anger of a boy against a mother not strong enough to claim him, the love that had never been given an opportunity for expression.

Indomel’s mind was free of the superimposed madness of Ferrathyn’s manipulation, but the boy was left with the memory of what he had done and—worse—the memory of having enjoyed the domination of his mother, enjoyed it to the point where he had employed it unnecessarily, enjoyed it to the point where he had literally endangered her life. Even for Indomel’s decadent, self-serving spirit, that truth made him ashamed.

“I am not Indomel,” I said, and in the wake of the Lords’ shocked expressions, I stood up and moved away from the high-backed chair. “And the true High Lord is here to claim her place.”

Zefra/Tarani had recovered her balance, and Zefra walked the length of the room, to climb to the dais and stand beside me. There were murmurs from the Lords as Zefra moved—the way she walked betrayed the difference.

“Your kindness,” Tarani said to the Rusal Lord, “is deeply appreciated, by Zefra and by me.” She looked around the room at the faces reflecting bewilderment and realization.

“Does anyone doubt that I am Tarani, and rightful High Lord?” she demanded, “or that the man beside me is not Indomel at the moment, but Rikardon, Captain of the Sharith?”

Those who could find the strength to move at all shook their heads in silence.

“Good,” she said, and moved to sit down. “Indomel’s dominance is at an end, and work must begin immediately to repair the damage he has done. Our time here is short, so listen carefully. First, I see Indomel has replaced nearly everyone. I see no need to create further distress by recasting the Council of Lords, provided you follow my instructions explicitly.”

They all nodded.

“Good. Now, if you will please introduce yourselves …”

The first thing I was conscious of, when I awoke again in my own body, was a burning sensation in my left hand. I jerked my hand away, and Tarani echoed the gesture at almost the same time. The Ra’ira rolled across the floor between us, turning clumsily. It was pervaded with a glow that seemed to be fading.

That initial, startled movement sent tremors of weakness shooting through my body. The elbow that propped me started to shake, and gave way. I flopped back down, my head reeling.