Below the Root (8 page)

The room, the common room of their new nid-place, was enormous, and furnished in a manner far beyond the means of ordinary Kindar. In the place of the usual chairs and lounges fashioned of hardened tendril, this room contained many pieces carved from inlaid wood and covered with richly ornamented pillows. Since all woodwork was slowly and laboriously done by hand tools with cutting edges fashioned from trencher-beak, such furnishings were extremely rare and valuable. Walking slowly to the center of the room, the D’ok family stared uneasily at their magnificent surroundings.

A strange transformation had begun to come over them. Where, a moment before they had been glowing, shining, smiling—as alight with excitement and emotion as newly caught moonmoths—they were now suddenly limp and silent. Raamo moved slowly to the nearest chair and collapsed into it. He sat for many minutes, as unaware of his surroundings as if he were deep in sleep, as he listened to the thunderous reverberating echoes that filled his mind. Perhaps his eyes had rested on Pomma for a long time before he awakened to what he was seeing.

Curled into the corner of a carved panwood lounge, Pomma seemed reduced to the size of a sima, her pale face withered and wizened with exhaustion. Seated on opposite sides of the room, Hearba and Valdo, lost in their own minds, seemed not to have noticed. Crossing to the lounge, Raamo pulled Pomma into his lap, where she curled against his chest like a baby treebear. Softly he began to sing a Psalm of Peace, the one that likened the fall of the night rain to warm soft voices. The psalm had always been one of Pomma’s favorites; and as Raamo sang, she raised her head and smiled weakly.

Soon after, Valdo and Hearba joined in the singing, and as the moments passed, the recurring returning rhythms and the intricate close harmonies brought the singers back to at least a portion of their usual peaceful-ness and close communion.

“But we can’t stay here tonight,” Hearba said suddenly, when the psalm was over. “All our belongings are still in our old nid-place in Skygrund.”

As if in answer, a woman appeared in the inner doorway. “I am Ciela,” she said. “I am assigned as a helper in your nid-place. You will find, I think, that everything you need is here. You may, of course, send for any of your old possessions if you think you will have further need of them. But this nid-place has been provided for you with the best of everything. Food, clothing, furniture, tapestries—”

“Baya,” Pomma cried suddenly. “I want Baya.”

The woman, Ciela, smiled. “Baya, too, has been supplied,” she said, and disappearing briefly, she returned with the whimpering sima, who immediately scampered to Pomma and, leaping into her arms, clung to her neck.

Smiling, Hearba offered her palms to the woman in greeting. “I thank you,” she said, when the greeting was completed, “for your kindness in coming to help us find our way about in this huge nid-place on this long day, which has left us quite exhausted. But perhaps you should quickly show us where we are to eat and sleep, as the night rains will soon begin and you will be unable to reach your own nid-place.”

“You do not understand,” Ciela said. “My nid-place is here. I am assigned. You will find that with your special duties and responsibilities as the parents of a Chosen, you will have little time for such tasks as nid-weaving and food preparation.”

“Valdo?” Hearba said questioningly, clearly asking him to intervene, and Raamo easily pensed her distress at the thought of sharing their nid-place with a stranger. But when Valdo responded by offering his thanks to Ciela, Hearba tried again. “We have always cared for our own—” she was saying when Ciela interrupted.

“You have never had the care of so large a nid-place,” Ciela said, “nor the many responsibilities of a Chosen family. I think you will find that you need my help.”

“Who is it that sends—” Hearba began haltingly, and then paused, troubled that the stranger might find her thoughtless and ungrateful.

“By whom was I assigned?” Ciela asked. “By the Ol-zhaan. There is a helper assigned by the Ol-zhaan to the family of every Chosen, as I have been assigned to you.”

Hearba bowed her head to signify her acceptance of the wisdom of the Ol-zhaan, the holy leaders of Green-sky.

In the days that followed, Raamo remained with his family in the new nid-place. Just as before, his father and mother went daily to work as harvester and embroiderer, and Pomma returned to her classes at the Garden. But there were many differences.

The D’ok family members were now persons of honor, and as such they found many differences in old familiar situations and relationships. People with whom they had long worked and played—friends with whom they had, only a few weeks before, danced and sung in the grund-halls, beloved friends with whom, in their Youth Hall days, they had once daily practiced rituals of close communion, even those with whom, as infants, they had once played Five-Pense—all these now stepped aside to let them pass and even asked them for advice in important matters—as if they had suddenly become authorities on everything from the nesting habits of trencher birds to the best way to cure an infant of fits of tearfulness.

Relationships within the family changed also, at least for a time. But as the days went by, old habits overcame newly acquired attitudes of respect and reverence—and soon Raamo was scolded and instructed by his parents and teased by his sister very much as before. At times it was hard for them to remember that he was soon to be transformed into a being of holy wisdom and great power. There were times when Raamo, himself, was almost able to forget.

There were, however, many reminders. From time to time a messenger, usually one of the novice Ol-zhaan, would arrive to escort Raamo to the temple to take part in a ceremony or celebration, or to a guild or assembly hall where he was to be honored at a public gathering or banquet. At such times Raamo and Genaa proceeded along branchpaths in a small procession, led by a symbol-bearing novice and followed by small crowds of admiring Kindar. Gradually Raamo became accustomed to the crowds and began to expect and enjoy the shouts of praise and commendation. The gracious gesture of response and gratitude became easy, and almost as natural as a smile.

“Why do they cheer and shout for the Chosen only during their year of honor?” Raamo asked their novice guide one day while they were on their way to the temple. They had just reached the midheights of Stargrund, and the cheering crowds had been left behind. The novice, a short, round-faced youth called D’ol Salaat, had, himself, been a Chosen only the year before. His glance was quick and narrow as Raamo went on, “I don’t understand why there is no more cheering once the Chosen has become an Ol-zhaan.”

“It is the custom,” D’ol Salaat said. Although he had accompanied Raamo and Genaa several times, he had spoken to them seldom and always with great brevity.

“It is because we are still one of them,” Genaa said. “We are still Kindar, and therefore not too holy to be cheered and shouted at. Besides fame and honor probably mean nothing to the Ol-zhaan, and cheering would only offend their dignity. Is that not so, D’ol Salaat?”

D’ol Salaat’s stately stride continued for a few more paces before he nodded approvingly. “You are quite right, Chosen One,” he said. “When one has been elevated and is truly an Ol-zhaan, one places little value on the praise of the Kindar. As a true Ol-zhaan, you will learn to lift your eyes to higher matters.”

While D’ol Salaat’s eyes were lifted expressively, Genaa rolled hers toward Raamo in a manner that was not entirely respectful to the young Ol-zhaan. But by the time D’ol Salaat’s eyes had descended to her level, Genaa’s were again wide and admiring.

“I am sure that one learns many many things of great importance when one becomes a novice—and a true Ol-zhaan,” Genaa said in a voice of unnatural sweetness. Raamo had begun to suspect that when Genaa sounded like an artless child, it was best to be wary. But apparently D’ol Salaat had no such suspicions. He smiled at Genaa, allowing a small crack in his shell of dignity.

“One does indeed,” he said. Then a sigh escaped him. “When one is a novice,” he said, “one learns—continually. There are classes and lessons and examinations from morning until night. When one is still a Chosen and being fed and honored all over Green-sky, one doesn’t know how lucky—” He stopped suddenly. After glancing sharply at Raamo and Genaa, he turned away and once more assumed his stiffly formal manner. “We must hurry on,” he said. “We are awaited in the chambers of D’ol Regle.”

During the long days of their year of honor, Raamo and Genaa were often together. During the moments in the temple while they awaited the beginning of a ceremony or the arrival of an Ol-zhaan, they spoke together briefly, with frequent interruptions. But on the long journeys to the other cities of Green-sky, they sometimes walked together and it was at such times that Raamo came to learn many things about Genaa D’anhk. And the more he learned, the more certain he became that she was, indeed, a person of great ability and rare talents. There was, for instance, little doubt that she was possessed of mental powers far beyond that of ordinary Kindar.

It was not only that her memory was remarkable—she had apparently memorized quickly and almost without effort not only every song and chant but also every story and history that the Garden had been able to provide. To Raamo, whose memory had always been untrustworthy, this alone seemed a remarkable feat. But there was more. If Genaa’s remarkable memory put everything she had ever seen and learned in the past forever at her command, she was in even more extraordinary control of the present. It seemed to Raamo that Genaa absorbed everything—people, events, ideas, essences—with amazing speed and clarity. Each was instantly absorbed and analyzed and judged. And nothing was safe from the cutting edge of Genaa’s mind and the prick of her mocking humor. But while nothing escaped Genaa, she herself escaped everything. Nothing, no person or situation seemed to touch or trouble her. Or so Raamo thought until one day when the Procession of Honor was on its way to the city of Farvald.

This procession, to the smallest and most isolated of the seven cities, had taken several days and now, as they approached their destination, the small column moved very slowly. The entire distance had been covered on foot, as D’ol Regle would not permit gliding while in procession—not even in open forest. When the portly novice-master had explained that gliding, as a means of progression, was lacking in the dignity and majesty so necessary to the occasion, Genaa had whispered to Raamo that D’ol Regle would probably like gliding better if he liked sweetened pan a little less.

“He’d need wing-panels as wide as a branchway,” she said, grinning at Raamo, and Raamo couldn’t resist grinning back. “So we all have to walk for five days when we could easily have made it in two.”

Raamo and Genaa were walking together well to the rear of the straggling column of marchers, made up of D’ol Regle and five other Ol-zhaan, six Kindar porters, and the families of Raamo and Genaa. Later on, as they approached the city, the two Chosen would have to take their places near the head of the procession. But for the moment everyone was too exhausted to trouble themselves over their whereabouts.

“Are we nearly there?” Raamo asked. “Do these grunds look familiar to you?”

“Yes,” Genaa said. “Within the hour we should be reaching the outskirts of the city.” There was no hint of eagerness in her voice.

“Aren’t you pleased to be returning to your birthplace after having been so long away,” Raamo asked. “Many among those who cheer for you here as Chosen will be old friends and classmates. Is that not so?”

Genaa nodded. “Yes,” she said. “And the thought is somewhat pleasing, if that is your meaning. But Farvald is not my birthplace.”

“Where were you born then?”

“In Orbora. My father was then Director of the Academy.”

Raamo stared at Genaa in astonishment. He had never before heard her speak of her father, and it seemed very strange that one would not speak of a parent who had held a position of such high honor. The Academy of Orbora trained teachers for the Gardens as well as those others among the Kindar who were destined for professions of great honor and responsibility. The Director of the Academy ranked with the City-masters at the very top of Kindar society.

Genaa turned her face away from Raamo’s gaze, but not before he had read there something quite different from her usual clear-eyed composure. Pensing quickly he found, as he had suspected, that her mind-blocking was not complete. In that brief moment he pensed that Genaa’s father was dead and that his death had brought her bitter anguish.

They walked on in silence. Finding it impossible to express in voice-speech, Raamo sent his sharing of her sorrow to Genaa in mind-touch, although he knew that she was unable to pense.

At last in voice-speech Raamo said, “And it was after the death of your father then, that you and your mother went to live in Farvald?”

“No,” Genaa said, and her voice was again emotionless. “My father was sent to Farvald as a teacher in the Garden there.”

This was indeed strange. That a man who had been Director of the Academy should be given a position of so much less honor. Suddenly an explanation occurred to him, “Was he, then, already too ill to fulfill the duties of his high office?” he asked.

“My father was never ill,” Genaa said. “He was taken by the Pash-shan.”

Something moved in Raamo’s chest like a cold hand. He had heard, on rare occasions, rumors that a person in Orbora or Ninegrund or Farvald had been lost to the Pash-shan. But usually the person lost was a small infant too young to wear a shuba, who had simply fallen to the forest floor. Never before had it been a person closely related to someone he knew—and a full-grown man. Glancing at Genaa, who walked on steadily beside him, her face unchanged except for a vein throbbing in her temple and a blurring of her brilliant eyes, Raamo’s mind darkened with thoughts too terrible to accept.

He was walking near the edge of the branchpath, and he carefully kept his eyes from straying downward, lest Genaa, noticing, might allow her thoughts to follow his. But although he looked straight ahead, the eyes of his mind would not return from the dark tangle of undergrowth, the damp pungent earth, the yawning mouths of hidden tunnels and the quick quiet movement of sharp clawed hands. He walked on, lost in the darkness of his thoughts, until a joyful shout aroused him.