Below the Root (24 page)

D’ol Falla paused, watching Raamo’s face intently. “You are, I know, aware of the secret organization known as the Geets-kel.” Raamo nodded, and she went on. “There were at that time, only twelve members of the Geets-kel. Of the fifteen Ol-zhaan who sat on the Council of Elders, all but three were also secretly members of the Geets-kel, so that they easily controlled all the judgments and decisions of the Council. Except for myself, all of the Geets-kel were Ol-zhaan of great rank and honor, and I was yet to reach the twentieth year of my life. I was highly flattered to be one of such company—and very much in awe of my fellow Geets-kel. And so when, after my initiation, I was told the secret of the Pash-shan, although horrified, I did not question the values or purposes that lay behind the secret. I did not question even when, not long afterward, I was asked to accompany a Procession of the Vine, which carried, on its draped altar, the drugged body of an orchard worker who had grown too curious about something he had seen in the orchard tunnels.”

Raamo gasped, and his eyes flickered for a moment ‘ past D’ol Falla’s head to where Genaa stood, her face a painful mask of controlled anguish.

“So that is how—” Raamo said.

“Yes, that is how the taken—and they were, indeed, taken, but by the Geets-kel rather than the Pash-shan—reached the forest floor. And from there they were carried far into the forest to an opening in the Root. As I have already mentioned and, as you may have guessed, there is a permanent opening, designed and ingeniously concealed by D’ol Wissen himself. Through this opening the victim was placed in one of the many deserted tunnels that stretch out in every direction from the inhabited areas of the lower regions. There, due to the nature of the drug, the victim returns to consciousness and body strength, but for many hours, perhaps days, suffers from a form of amnesia. By the time his mind regains the capacity for memory, he has wandered far from the place where he had been deposited. Eventually most of these exiles are probably found and adopted into the society of the Pash-shan, but—” D’ol Falla’s eyes fell and her voice sank to a harsh whisper as she went on. “—it is possible, probable even, that some perish of thirst or hunger, or even of the terrible fear they must feel to find themselves buried, trapped in the dark tunnels inhabited by what they believe to be inhuman monsters.

“I knew these things for many years, and yet I did not question. Even when I became the highest among the Vine-priests, and as such led every procession that carried a new victim to the opening in the Root—even when it became my task to offer the friendly drink that held the drug—even then I did not question.

“But a few years ago, I began to find myself consumed by a strange restlessness of mind and Spirit. Long before I had lost, with only slight regret, every vestige of Spirit-force; but suddenly I found myself yearning desperately to once again feel myself a part of the force that moves in and through the Spirit-gifted. To feel again the Oneness with others—with all life—all things.” As D’ol Falla spoke, her eyes seemed sunken into darkness; and Raamo felt that all around her the air had grown empty and hollow with her longing.

“I set myself to regain some of my old abilities, using every ritual and exercise known, but without the slightest success. So then, being unused to failure, I set myself a new task, that of discovering
why
I had failed. If I could not regain my Spirit-force, I would at least discover why the skills of the Spirit were waning in Green-sky. The fact that this loss of Spirit seemed responsible for many of the problems that had recently been increasing—the illness among the Kindar, the overuse of the Berry, and, of course, the withering of the Root—made my quest seem all the more urgent.

“I turned first to the old books and documents, the histories and diaries written by the early Ol-zhaan. As first priest of the Vine, I had been assigned these chambers adjacent to the grundtrunk that held the secrets of the Forgotten, so I was able to spend much time here among the old records. I spent many days and nights in careful reading and in thought and meditation. It was while I was studying the accounts that told of the great debate between D’ol Nesh-om and D’ol Wissen, that I became aware of a growing conviction. I had become convinced that D’ol Nesh-om’s vision had been the true one; that when the first Pash-shan were shut away and the Root grew and spread, the growth of the Spirit was over in Green-sky and its decline was assured. Gradually, after long hours of meditation and much painful mind searching, I came to the conclusion that, whatever the cost in danger and turmoil, the Pash-shan must be freed from their bondage and the Kindar from their ignorance—and that the land of Green-sky must no longer be divided into incomplete parts: Pash-shan, Kindar, Ol-zhaan, and Geets-kel.

“I began, then, to question others among the Geets-kel, cautiously and without stating my true feelings, so that I would not be suspected too soon and thus, perhaps, hindered in any plan of action I might later decide upon. I discovered that, while several among the Geets-kel seemed to share my uneasiness concerning the virtue of our position, there were none who were ready to risk a change, none who saw that Nesh-om’s dream could not be protected by methods that denied the truth of that dream. It was not that they were cruel and unfeeling as much as fearful and unimaginative. For many, years of power and glory, of being set apart, had left them blind and rigid.

“Despairing of help from my colleagues, I could not think where else to turn, and for a while I tried to forget my conviction and continue my life as before. But this I found impossible to do. I became more and more troubled in mind and body until I was almost unable to eat or sleep and my days and nights blended in a continual nightmare of guilt and shame. Lying in my nid at night, the sound of the rain became a chorus of voices chanting the words of Nesh-om’s oath. Over and over the words rang in my ears, ‘Let us now swear by our gratitude for this fair new land, that here, under this green and gentle sky, no man shall lift his hand to any other except to offer Love and Joy.’ And I knew that I could never again pretend that the hand that gives fear and mind-pain is not a hand of violence, whether the giving be by such as this—” D’ol Falla touched the triangle of metal, “—or by a drugged cup.

“And then one night I dreamed—or I thought at first it was only a dream—that a voice spoke to me as I walked down a long hallway. I turned to see no one, nothing except the endless hallway that stretched back behind me into the far distant past. I seemed to know at once that the voice was that of D’ol Nesh-om and he spoke to me of one who would come as a Chosen. ‘This one,’ the voice of D’ol Nesh-om said, ‘by his very existence, will vindicate my dream and break the bonds of fear and pride. You will know him by his gifts of Spirit, and by the two who will accompany him and who will give to his promise, motion and direction.’

“I awoke thinking only that I had dreamed strangely and with amazing clarity, but soon after I heard of the child Raamo—and I began to work for his choosing.”

D’ol Falla sighed and then smiled, though her smile was weary. “But then, Raamo, when you were among us, I was not certain. Your gifts of Spirit seemed quite limited. I was unable to reach you. And I was not until recently aware of your two fellow conspirators. I am, however, quite aware of them now, and it would be more seemly of them to come forward and be greeted properly.”

A bit sheepishly, Neric and Genaa came forward. When they had sung the greeting, they joined Raamo at the table-board as D’ol Falla continued.

“I was still undecided when, late last night, a certain young Ol-zhaan, who often seeks to curry favor with his seniors by spying and tale bearing, came to me with a story of following you three to the forest floor and observing you in apparent communication with a Pash-shan.”

“D’ol Salaat,” Neric sent, and Raamo nodded.

“I saw then that I had been too cautious and that I must act quickly or it might be too late. My sending, summoning you to me in mind-touch, was involuntary, almost unconscious, for I had no reason to think that I could make you hear me. But a few minutes later, I felt quite certain that you had, and that you would respond.

“And then you came; and your friends, who are obviously the ones predicted by my vision, have followed you. So now I am certain that my dream was a true foretelling, and that you, Raamo, are truly the one foretold.”

“I?” Raamo said. “But I am not—I don’t see how I can be the one in your foretelling. I have done nothing. It was Neric who discovered the secret of the Geets-kel, and it was he and Genaa who made the plans. They will tell you that what I say is true.” He turned to his two companions for confirmation and found that they were staring at him strangely; and their eyes, like D’ol Falla’s, were full of hope.

Suddenly Raamo was frightened, more frightened even than he had been when the tool of violence had pointed at his heart. He pushed away from the table-board, his hands outstretched as if to ward off danger. “I am not a leader,” he said. “I think I am not even a true Ol-zhaan. I am only a Kindar.”

“Raamo,” it was Genaa speaking, “you do not have to be a leader. As D’ol Falla heard in her foretelling, you are a promise. You are a promise that the way of the Spirit can produce a new kind of humanity, with new and higher instincts. It is not you yourself, Raamo, but those instincts that we must follow.”

“Yes,” D’ol Falla said. “Instincts such as the one that tells you that you are still Kindar. Think of the evil that could have been prevented if we had all known, surely and deeply, that we were all Kindar—that we have all always been Kindar together, no more and no less.”

Raamo nodded slowly, somewhat comforted. A promise. The words repeated themselves in his mind. The words were beautiful, like a call that beckoned enticingly from a far distance. A distance that seemed suddenly to be almost visible, dim and obscure, but alive with beautiful and mysterious shapes and figures. He let the eyes of his mind turn inward, toward that far distance.

But now Neric, whose entire face had been a jumble of excited energy since he had first entered the chamber, burst again into speech. “We thank you, D’ol Falla—we are indeed greatly thankful to you—and
for
you—” his words collided with each other in his excitement. “—I feel certain—I think it is inevitable now that we shall triumph—but would it not be wise now for us to speak of what it is that we will do, and where we will begin?”

D’ol Falla laughed. “You speak truly,” she said.

“And typically,” Genaa interrupted, smiling. “But before we plunge forward into the future, may I have one moment to offer D’ol Falla my own thankfulness for a private matter. May I thank you, D’ol Falla, for driving an evil shadow from my mind. For more than two years now this shadow has tormented me, filling my mind with dark imaginings against the Pash-shan, first, and then against the Geets-kel. But today I saw myself in your story, and I saw how easily I could have walked your path—and the shadow was lifted. For this I am more thankful than words can tell.”

D’ol Falla touched her palm to Genaa’s cheek in a gracious gesture of acceptance. And then, sighing a little, she turned to Neric.

“You are quite right, Neric,” she said. “It is time now for planning and action. There are many things to consider, many goals to be accomplished, and many evils to be avoided.”

“Do you think that what we are setting out to do is really possible?” Genaa asked. “All the weight of years and numbers is against us. Do you truly think we can succeed?”

“I think it is possible,” D’ol Falla said. “There will be many problems. For many years most of the Ol-zhaan have been chosen not for their gifts of wisdom and Spirit but for their capacity for blind loyalty to power and pride. It is not likely that such as these will easily accept a change that would threaten their glory. And it is impossible to know how the Kindar and Erdlings will react to each other. We must move slowly and carefully and take every precaution. It will not be easy. But we have, here among us, gifts that will help us greatly, and we have the Kindar who, in spite of all, are still greatly blessed by the dream of D’ol Nesh-om. I truly think that we may be able to rekindle the light of that dream in all Green-sky.”

“And you, Raamo, do you believe that we will succeed?” Genaa asked.

Genaa’s voice came to Raamo as if from a great distance; and turning his mind to her question, he realized that he had been far away in thought lost in a deep dream that had come upon him suddenly and with great clarity, just as had the dream that foretold the healing of Pomma.

“What is it?” he asked. “What question did you ask me?” He smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid I was dreaming.”

“Of what were you dreaming?” Genaa asked.

“Of a promise,” Raamo said. “I dreamed of a promise that has always been, and always will be.”

Zilpha Keatley Snyder (b. 1927) is the three-time Newbery Honor–winning author of classic children’s novels such as
The Egypt Game
,
The Headless Cupid
, and
The Witches of Worm
. Her adventure and fantasy stories are beloved by many generations.

Snyder was born in Lemoore, California, in 1927. Her father, William Keatley, worked for Shell Oil, but as a would-be rancher he and his family always lived on a small farm. Snyder’s parents were both storytellers, and their tales often kept their children entertained during quiet evenings at home.

Snyder began reading and telling stories of her own at an early age. By the time she was four years old she was able to read novels and newspapers intended for adults. When she wasn’t reading, she was making up and embellishing stories. When she was eight, Snyder decided that she would be a writer—a profession in which embellishment and imagination were accepted and rewarded.

Snyder’s adolescent years were made more difficult by her studious country upbringing and by the fact that she had been advanced a grade when she started school. As other girls were going to dances and discovering boys, Snyder retreated into books. The stories transported her from her small room to a larger, remarkable universe.