Free The Glass of Dyskornis by Randall Garrett Page B

been set up deliberately by Dharak. It was clear that he believed everything he had said to me. But the feeling persisted—
there was a catch.
    It was to escape that feeling that I suggested another session of mondea on the night before the ceremony. Privately, I had resolved to ignore my inner awareness and get blotto. It was an impulse as rare in Ricardo as it had been in Markasset, and it worried me. As I sipped my third glass of barut, it seemed to me that this kind of make-merry-now philosophy had been the basis for bachelor’s parties in Ricardo’s world. While I regarded that as a deep truth in my fuzzy state of mind, I failed to see the parallel until the fatal sixth glass was being poured.
    Then it hit me.
    Of course there was a catch.
    I was the catch.
    No matter what I said I wanted, no matter that nothing would be demanded of me—I couldn’t go through that ceremony without being prepared to accept the responsibilities it conferred. I was none too sure what they were, or might be in the future, but I knew that if I didn’t commit myself to them, totally and honestly, I would be doing the very thing Thymas had accused me of—betraying the Sharith.
    With a sigh of resignation, I handed my filled glass back to Bareff. “I’d better quit now,” I told him. “I’ll need to be sharp for the ceremony tomorrow.”

7
    In the morning, I called Keeshah, and we ran up into the hills at the back of the valley. The ceremony had been scheduled for early afternoon, and I wanted some time alone before facing Dharak at lunchtime.
    This slope, and the heavily wooded areas at the sides of the valley, were the hunting grounds of the sha’um. The Sharith raised herds of domestic glith, but were careful to repopulate the wild herds, when necessary. The sha’um hunted their own food, which kept them in shape and maintained their sense of freedom. Not that they were captive in any sense—they remained in Thagorn because their riders were here, and they wanted to be with them.
    Keeshah picked his way carefully through the tangled brush of the hillside. Several times, his presence startled small groups of glith from their grazing. The glith were goat-sized animals with thin, graceful legs, and bilateral horns that came straight up from their skulls, then twisted slightly to point forward.
    Their fur was dark and long. In the domestic herds, the fur was salvaged when the skins of slaughtered animals were tanned. It was too fine and smooth to be woven into yarn, but it served as filling for the sleeping mats.
    Except when we had trained together, I had left Keeshah pretty much to himself. Any fears I’d had about his being accepted by the other sha’um had vanished immediately. There was plenty of room in the valley, and plenty of food. And the other traditional source of conflict between male cats wasn’t a problem.
    To take my mind off the impending ceremony, I asked Keeshah a question I’d been wanting to ask ever since we arrived.
    *
Don’t you want a female sha’um, Keeshah?
*
    *
I do not need one yet.
*
    Markasset was twenty-three years old, so Keeshah was twelve. Markasset had known that sha’um had lifetimes as long or longer than those of men. It was conceivable that Keeshah would undergo something akin to puberty. His use of the image “yet” indicated it.
    *
When will you need one?
*
    *
I will know.
*
    Oh, yes
, I thought,
I’m sure you’ll know.
To him, I said: *
What will you do when you need one?
*
    *
Return to the Valley,
* he answered. *
Females there.
*
    *
Shall I come with you?
*
    *
No.
*
    My stomach knotted up. I had to ask the next question.
    *
Will you come back from the Valley?
*
    *
I do not know.
*
    With startling suddenness, Markasset’s memory gave me an entire, tense year of his life, when Thanasset had waited for the return of his sha’um. Markasset had been ten at the time. When his father’s sha’um had not returned by the end of the year, the boy had become determined to go to the