Below the Root (12 page)

“In mind-speech then,” Neric said, holding out his hands.

With the aid of palm-touch, Raamo found that he and Neric were able to pense each other with amazing speed and clarity. Like two infants who had attained the highest level in the game of Five-Pense, they sent and received quickly and easily, in distinct words and syllables. And in mind-speech Raamo explained to Neric about Pomma—how it was possible that she was wasting, and how she had twice received some comfort from healing ceremonies that Neric had conducted.

“I will do what I can for her,” Neric said, “and I wish that I could promise more than that. I cannot say how much I wish it. When my field of service was assigned during my novitiate, it was decided that I should serve as a healer. Not because I had shown any particular force for healing, but only because it was necessary to choose someone and none among the younger Ol-zhaan seemed any better qualified. I did not want the assignment, for I felt I was deceiving the Kindar who came to the ceremonies believing that I was skilled in healing. But then I saw that I could be, at least, of some comfort, and at times when there was strong belief on the part of the ailing, there was, perhaps, some small degree of real healing. I tell you this because I would not deceive you when I tell you that I will seek your sister out and do what I can for her.”

Raamo answered, “I thank you, Neric, and I will think carefully concerning all that you have told me tonight and—”

“And we will speak again very soon,” Neric finished, and he led Raamo out of the great hall and, by a secret route that made use of steep narrow branchpaths and ladders of Wissenvine, to the roof of the hall of novices. From there Raamo was able to drop silently to his own balcony and slip unseen into his nid-chamber.

V
ERY EARLY IN THEIR
novitiates, Raamo and Genaa agreed that the novice D’ol Salaat was a true paraso, given to vanity and self-importance. But they also agreed that on one matter he had spoken with great truth and accuracy. When he had warned them that they should enjoy their year of honor because the days of a novice were full of work and study, he had, for once, spoken with good reason. This fact became apparent almost immediately.

It was, in fact, the first morning after the Elevation that Raamo, emerging sleepily from his nid-chamber, entered the common room to find the large-chinned D’ol Birta waiting to begin his instruction. This first class, which D’ol Birta explained was of the greatest importance to the new novice, was called Form and Custom, and it concerned matters of great urgency.

Yawning and heavy-eyed, Raamo and Genaa sat before D’ol Birta each morning thereafter, either in the common room of the novice hall or in D’ol Birta’s private chambers high in the temple grove, learning long lists of rules and regulations. The rules concerned such things as the proper manner of address and forms of contact permitted between Ol-zhaan and Kindar, as well as between Ol-zhaan and Ol-zhaan. Some of the knowledge imparted by D’ol Birta, such as the fact that relationships of Love and close communion were permitted between Ol-zhaan, but that bonding and parenthood were prohibited, was of sufficient interest to catch the attention of even the scarcely awakened. However, it seemed a poor time of day to require the memorization of long lists and charts concerning the ranks and titles of each Ol-zhaan and the authority vested in each position.

There were times, during the early days of his novitiate, when it seemed to Raamo that the life of a novice was very like that of a Kindar child during his years at the Garden. Many of the novice classes were quite similar to those taught in the Garden, at least in method and approach. As a Garden child learned the Forest Chant, by imitation and repetition, Raamo and Genaa learned how to conduct an endless number of ceremonies and celebrations—how to administer to the ailing, how to take part in a Vine procession, and how to conduct a public celebration of Peace or Joy. It was necessary, they were told, for all Ol-zhaan to be well versed in many rituals, even though they would eventually be assigned to the one area of service for which they seemed best suited. Thus it became necessary to again spend long hours in memorization, which Raamo found as difficult now as he had during his years at the Garden.

Not long after the beginning of their novitiates, Raamo and Genaa began to attend a class taught by the novice-master, D’ol Regle, which was, at times, quite different from anything they had encountered before. In spite of Raamo’s problem with memorization, there were times when the words of D’ol Regle, emerging slowly from the deep recesses of his trunklike chest, implanted themselves in Raamo’s mind as firmly as Wissenroot on the forest floor. And this great, if temporary, improvement in his memory was all the more strange in that it occurred in spite of, rather than because of, his firm intention.

“Within these walls,” D’ol Regle announced on the first day of this class, “you will hear and understand and then think no more of what you have heard, holding it only in the dim depths of your memory.”

And thus admonished, Raamo, who had forgotten many things with great ease, found it impossible to erase from his memory one syllable of the puzzling and disturbing words of the novice-master.

“It is the duty and the responsibility of every Ol-zhaan, to hear and understand the tragic story of the origins of our civilization, that they may more fully dedicate themselves to the holy purpose that underlies every institution in our social structure.

“Learn then, D’ol Genaa and D’ol Raamo, that the first settlement of Green-sky, the mythical flight revered in song and story, was indeed a flight. A desperate flight from a far distant planet, which had been totally destroyed by the terrible curse of war.”

As Raamo and Genaa exchanged puzzled glances, D’ol Regle wrote the letters of the mysterious syllable on a grundleaf tablet and fastened it to the wall behind him. W A R—the letters were large and clearly printed but were without meaning to the novices until the master began to explain their terrible significance.

During the days that followed, many other words were posted on the wall behind D’ol Regle’s chair. Words that were, at first, only meaningless sounds. Words like anger—hatred—murder—execute—punishment—violence. The explanation of these words was not only frightening to the young novices but also acutely embarrassing. Reared as they had been in a society where any show of unharmonious behavior was treated as a disgusting obscenity—where a squabble of two-year-olds over a toy was considered a disgraceful indication of defective training—and where in describing human emotions the strongest negative adjectives were words like “troubled” or “unjoyful”—in such a society, the frank definition of the meaning of a word like violence was enough to cause lowered eyes and painfully flushed cheeks.

Along with the strange new words—not new actually, as D’ol Regle carefully explained, but old and obsolete—the novices also learned many new facts concerning the beginnings of their civilization. They were told how, long ago on a distant planet, a group of learned holy men had managed to escape the destruction of their world. Foreseeing the holocaust, they had prepared for their escape and that of a large group of Kindar who had been entrusted to their care and instruction. The flight from the ravaged planet to Green-sky, Raamo and Genaa were surprised to learn, had taken several years.

In the beautiful history books of the Garden, the flight had been described but vaguely, and in the embroidered illustrations it was shown as a large group of people gliding through open space, apparently supported only by the wings of their shubas. However, the flight was actually made, D’ol Regle explained, by means of an enormous flying chamber constructed of materials called metals, which were unknown on Green-sky because of the Pash-shan. These materials, which were found beneath the surface of the land, were, of course, inaccessible in a country where such areas were in the control of monsters. For this reason metals existed in Green-sky only in relics of the flight—in the objects of art that lined the central hallway of the inner temple and in certain other ancient tools and artifacts that had been carefully preserved.

The metal flying chamber having arrived safely on a lush and beautiful planet, the group of holy men set about establishing a new society. Haunted, as they were, by the horrible fate of their beloved homeland, they, who were to become the first Ol-zhaan, dedicated themselves to the development of a civilization that would be free, not only of war, but also of all the evil seeds from which it had sprung.

Thus it was that these brilliant and learned men, by making use of their great knowledge of the human mind and of their mastery of the skills of the Spirit, were able to banish from the hearts and minds—even from the tongues—of their young charges, every semblance of violence. All the old institutions that had once given rise to hostile feelings were completely abandoned. In their place new institutions were developed in which all natural human instincts and drives were gratified in such a way that the pleasure of their gratification was closely associated with ritualized expressions of peaceful, joyful human communion. As a result, even the first generation in Green-sky had begun to demonstrate new heights of mind and Spirit.

“But what of the Pash-shan?” Genaa interrupted D’ol Regle’s glowing description of the glorious success of the new society. “We are taught that in the days of the flight the Pash-shan were not yet imprisoned by the Root. Weren’t many of the Kindar lost to the Pash-shan in those early days?”

“In those early days,” D’ol Regle said, “the Kindar were very few, and they lived high in the grundtops in chambers constructed for them from materials salvaged from the flying chamber. The Pash-shan, who lived far below on the forest floor, did not threaten them during those early years. It was only much later when the Pash-shan, growing strong in number, and jealous of the beauty of the Kindar civilization, became a great danger. And it was then that the great leader D’ol Wissen, famous in song and story, gathered those among the Ol-zhaan most gifted in the art of grunspreking and led them on the first Procession of the Holy Vine. There on the forest floor, amid constant danger from the Pash-shan, these few Ol-zhaan caused the already remarkable root system of a native vine to grow and spread until it covered the entire surface of the forest floor and at the same time to develop a magical strength, a coldly invulnerable force, which rendered it impervious to any attack made against it. And the evil forces of the Pash-shan were imprisoned in the dark depths of the earth. At that time, the Blessed Vine began also to produce Blossoms and Berries. Thus it was that the Vine brought not only protection from the Pash-shan but also the delicate beauty of the Blossom and the gentle comfort of the Berry to the people of Green-sky.”

As D’ol Regle spoke, he had grown more and more grandly eloquent, as if he were addressing a large assembly of admiring Kindar. Genaa’s quick glance at Raamo mocked the master’s flowery speech, and her gesture of contrition mocked herself for having asked a question that invited such a grandiose and lengthy response.

“Yes, D’ol Regle,” she said quickly when the Ol-zhaan at last paused for breath. “We have heard the story of the first procession. I think it is in the fourth year at the Garden that one is required to commit it to memory. It was just that it had not occurred to me to wonder how long after the flight the Pash-shan were imprisoned.”

“I have a question, also,” Raamo said. “If the Kindar are protected from the evil emotions and deeds of our ancestors by their lack of knowledge of such things—by not even having the words to speak of such things—why must the Ol-zhaan remember? Would it not be better if we Ol-zhaan also could forget?”

“A thoughtful question, D’ol Raamo,” the master said, “and one that has been debated by the Ol-zhaan in past years. The knowledge of our tragic past is, indeed, a burden. But it has been the judgment of our fellow Ol-zhaan that if the memory of violence was completely erased from our civilization, there would be none to guard against its return. Do you remember the chant In Praise of Good Memory?”

Raamo blushed. The chant had not been one of his favorites.

“I think I do,” he said. “At least most of it.”

“You recall then the line that says ‘forgotten errors are soon repeated’? The words are true, and not only for children, but for civilizations as well. Therefore it has been decided that we, as Ol-zhaan, must bear the burden of memory, so that the tragic errors of our ancestors will never be repeated. Are you unwilling, D’ol Raamo, to bear such a burden?”

“No, no,” Raamo said quickly. “I didn’t mean that I was unwilling. It was just that I wondered about—” He paused and then finished lamely, “It was only that I wondered.”

Raamo had always been tempted to spend too many hours on fruitless thought-taking, and now that he was an Ol-zhaan he did not seem to have conquered the tendency. As the voice of D’ol Regle rolled on, Raamo quite often found himself wondering about many things.

In particular, of course, he wondered about the terrible things that Neric had spoken of in the Temple Hall. About the Geets-kel and their fearful secret; about the fact that D’ol Regle himself was of their number; and about the possible connection between the Geets-kel and the Pash-shan. He wondered, too, of course, if what Neric had said was really true. As it happened, there had been no chance to talk further since Neric had again been sent away.

Only two days after their meeting in the temple, Neric had waylaid Raamo on a branchpath near the novice hall and told him briefly that he was being sent with a message to Farvald. He would not be gone long this time he said, no more than a dozen days, and in the meantime Raamo was to keep his eyes open. There had been no time to say more.

As the days passed, D’ol Regle eventually reached a period in the history of Green-sky that was much more familiar and much less shocking to his two students. The glorious early years on the new planet had been the subject of many of the songs and stories learned in the Gardens, and here, for the most part, D’ol Regle’s telling differed but little from the traditional account. Raamo and Genaa heard, once more, in great detail, of the struggle to find food before the development of the huge orchards, of how the people had lived for years on little besides birds’ eggs and tree mushrooms. But with the growth of the Spirit-skills and the art of grunspreking, the grunds and rooftrees were caused to die away in large areas, leaving open ground where carefully guided mutations of saplings brought from the old planet were then planted. These saplings adapted well to the rich soil of Green-sky, increased in productivity and, due to the light gravity, increased greatly in size. Soon food supplies were no longer a problem on the new planet.