Read The Steel of Raithskar for Free Online Page B
Authors: Randall Garrett
Keeshah.
*
Markasset?
* came the thought again. It wasn’t really the name, simply an identifying thought and a sense of question. Uncertainty.
I understood many things then. The special bond between a Rider and a sha’um was a telepathic link. The huge cats could not verbalize or think in exactly the same way that a man can, but they were intelligent in a feline way, and they had a low-powered type of telepathy. They could communicate with men.
That is,
one
sha’um chose to link with
one
man. And the basis for that link was mutual loyalty, a friendship which went deeper than human friendships. When Markasset turned twelve, he had gone to live for a season in the Valley of the Sha’um. The cats had accepted him as their own; a huge gray female had allowed Markasset to take with him his “brother,” her only cub—Keeshah.
Markasset had passed the judgment of the sha’um. That gave me a deeper impression of him than anything I had yet learned about him. Now I had to face that same judgment, and there could be no deception in this mind-to-mind relationship.
The question came again:
*Markasset?
* With a growl of impatience.
I walked toward the sha’um, and as I moved, he grew still. Only the tip of his great tail moved, barely twitching.
I was still afraid. Not of death under the teeth and claws of a huge, dangerous cat. But of failing to win Keeshah’s trust. In Markasset’s body—
as Markasset
—I had shared the special, wonderful friendship of the sha’um. I was desperately afraid … that I might lose Keeshah.
I stopped directly in front of the sha’um and looked up into his face. Even his eyes were gray, flecked with silver, and as unreadable as any cat’s. He made no move, though he was tensed to leap in any direction.
*
No longer Markasset,
* I spoke to him in a way that was automatic, a way I didn’t understand. *
Not the Markasset who brought you from the Valley.
*
The big head moved then, up and down my body, sniffing.
*
Same smell. Different. Who?
*
I answered the most honest way I could. *
Myself.
*
*
Not Markasset?
* Keeshah relaxed a little, sat in the classic cat pose. His tail curled around his feet, and its tip still twitched restively. He tilted his head and wrinkled his mouth and regarded me with a perfect look of puzzlement.
Suddenly I laughed: a loud, raucous sound that filled the courtyard as Keeshah’s roar had done. The cat laid back its ears and fled in startled confusion. He stopped a few feet away, turned in an incredibly small circle, and crouched to the ground, watching me.
“I don’t blame you for being mixed up, Keeshah,” I said aloud, conscious that I could choose to speak at the same time I was projecting to him mentally. I walked toward him slowly and muscles rippled along his side as he crouched even lower. The claws on his hind feet were out, digging into the sand for better traction.
*
Who?
* he asked again.
*
Myself, Keeshah. Someone who is neither Markasset nor Ricardo Carillo. Someone who is both. Myself. I have had a hard time accepting it; I know the change puzzles you.
*
But I am certain of this, Keeshah.
* I knelt in the sand and looked levelly into the cat’s solemn gray eyes. *
I
need you as Markasset did. More. Already you have helped me. And I think you—and only you—understand how strange I feel. How alone.
*
Not Markasset, Keeshah. Markasset is gone. Please let me take his place.
*
For a moment, the cat gazed at me steadily. Then his head darted forward in a light nudge to my midsection. I fell over and rolled several feet, once more tasting salty sand.
*
Not Markasset,
* he said as he rose to his feet. A single bound and he was looming over me. His mouth opened, and my breath dried in my throat. The razor-sharp teeth closed gently on my shoulder. *
But same friend. Keeshah’s friend.
*
He released me, and rubbed his great soft-furred head against my chest; his whiskers tickled my abdomen. I laughed and grabbed the huge head with
*
Markasset?
* came the thought again. It wasn’t really the name, simply an identifying thought and a sense of question. Uncertainty.
I understood many things then. The special bond between a Rider and a sha’um was a telepathic link. The huge cats could not verbalize or think in exactly the same way that a man can, but they were intelligent in a feline way, and they had a low-powered type of telepathy. They could communicate with men.
That is,
one
sha’um chose to link with
one
man. And the basis for that link was mutual loyalty, a friendship which went deeper than human friendships. When Markasset turned twelve, he had gone to live for a season in the Valley of the Sha’um. The cats had accepted him as their own; a huge gray female had allowed Markasset to take with him his “brother,” her only cub—Keeshah.
Markasset had passed the judgment of the sha’um. That gave me a deeper impression of him than anything I had yet learned about him. Now I had to face that same judgment, and there could be no deception in this mind-to-mind relationship.
The question came again:
*Markasset?
* With a growl of impatience.
I walked toward the sha’um, and as I moved, he grew still. Only the tip of his great tail moved, barely twitching.
I was still afraid. Not of death under the teeth and claws of a huge, dangerous cat. But of failing to win Keeshah’s trust. In Markasset’s body—
as Markasset
—I had shared the special, wonderful friendship of the sha’um. I was desperately afraid … that I might lose Keeshah.
I stopped directly in front of the sha’um and looked up into his face. Even his eyes were gray, flecked with silver, and as unreadable as any cat’s. He made no move, though he was tensed to leap in any direction.
*
No longer Markasset,
* I spoke to him in a way that was automatic, a way I didn’t understand. *
Not the Markasset who brought you from the Valley.
*
The big head moved then, up and down my body, sniffing.
*
Same smell. Different. Who?
*
I answered the most honest way I could. *
Myself.
*
*
Not Markasset?
* Keeshah relaxed a little, sat in the classic cat pose. His tail curled around his feet, and its tip still twitched restively. He tilted his head and wrinkled his mouth and regarded me with a perfect look of puzzlement.
Suddenly I laughed: a loud, raucous sound that filled the courtyard as Keeshah’s roar had done. The cat laid back its ears and fled in startled confusion. He stopped a few feet away, turned in an incredibly small circle, and crouched to the ground, watching me.
“I don’t blame you for being mixed up, Keeshah,” I said aloud, conscious that I could choose to speak at the same time I was projecting to him mentally. I walked toward him slowly and muscles rippled along his side as he crouched even lower. The claws on his hind feet were out, digging into the sand for better traction.
*
Who?
* he asked again.
*
Myself, Keeshah. Someone who is neither Markasset nor Ricardo Carillo. Someone who is both. Myself. I have had a hard time accepting it; I know the change puzzles you.
*
But I am certain of this, Keeshah.
* I knelt in the sand and looked levelly into the cat’s solemn gray eyes. *
I
need you as Markasset did. More. Already you have helped me. And I think you—and only you—understand how strange I feel. How alone.
*
Not Markasset, Keeshah. Markasset is gone. Please let me take his place.
*
For a moment, the cat gazed at me steadily. Then his head darted forward in a light nudge to my midsection. I fell over and rolled several feet, once more tasting salty sand.
*
Not Markasset,
* he said as he rose to his feet. A single bound and he was looming over me. His mouth opened, and my breath dried in my throat. The razor-sharp teeth closed gently on my shoulder. *
But same friend. Keeshah’s friend.
*
He released me, and rubbed his great soft-furred head against my chest; his whiskers tickled my abdomen. I laughed and grabbed the huge head with