And All Between (14 page)

At that hour the glidepaths were well traveled and, as Genaa and Neric drifted downwards, they passed through groups of Kindar of all ages, dressed in shubas of every shade and hue. Groups of children dressed in brilliant colors floated by, their light bodies so buoyant that they seemed scarcely to be descending, as they filled the air around them with the sound of their singing, laughing voices. Since it was unusual for Ol-zhaan to be outside the Temple Grove at such an early hour, many of the older Kindar glanced curiously at the two young Ol-zhaan. A few lifted upturned palms as they passed by, in the Kindar gesture of respect and honor.

“Let us hope that they are not Temple servers,” Neric said. “Or, at least, that they are not in the service of one of the Geets-kel.”

Genaa drifted closer, nodding. “Yes,” she said. “It occurs to me that I should have removed my tabard. As a novice, I am more easily identifiable, since we are so few.”

By then, however, they were already in the mid-heights of Skygrund, and it was necessary to drop swiftly, circling the enormous trunk and coming to a quick landing on the great lower branchway that stretched out in a southerly direction. From there they would walk, following at first the established forest branchway, until they reached the third outlying grundtree.

Situated as it was on the farthest outskirts of the city, the branchway, although wide and level, was sparsely inhabited. As Genaa and Neric walked quickly down its great length, they saw only two small nid-places, and passed no fellow pedestrians, either Kindar or Ol-zhaan. Soon they were among thickly grown end branches, which intermingled with the end branches of the first outer-forest grund.

They were now on an established branchway, which led out through the open forest towards the neighboring city of Ninegrund. Such branchways, developed mainly for the use of porters too heavily laden to glide, were kept cleared and marked and equipped where necessary with ladders and rampways. As Neric and Genaa approached the trunk of the first grund, they entered a rampway leading around the trunk to the beginning of its most southerly branch. When they had, in this manner, reached the third outlying grund, Neric stopped and unrolled the grundleaf map. It was here, from this grund, according to D’ol Falla, that all Vine processions that carried drugged bodies of exiled Kindar made their descent to the forest floor.

“D’ol Falla spoke of anchors, loops to which the rope ladder were attached,” Genaa said.

“But we have no ladders,” Neric protested.

“Don’t we?” Genaa said. “I thought perhaps you had thought to bring one in your belt pouch.” Her pointed smile softened just in time to prevent Neric’s tentative frown from hardening into anger. “I only meant that finding the loops would prove that we were indeed at the right place. Since the map centers around the place of descent, it will be very important to find the exact spot.”

Nodding sharply Neric rolled the map and led the way around the rampway. And soon afterwards, at the base of a westerly branch, they came upon loops of braided tendril attached to the stumps of side branches.

“Ah,” Neric said, pointing. “There they are.” Approaching the edge of the branch way, he gazed down the great towering trunk, down and down to where the dense vegetation of the forest floor was transformed by distance to a shadowy carpet of darkest green. “It’s strange—very strange,” he said.

“Yes. Strange—and horrible.” Genaa was standing beside him.

“Horrible?” Neric asked. “I meant that it seems strange to look below without fear—or guilt. To know that there is no Pash-shan lying in wait below the Root—that all the warnings were needless—makes it seem so entirely different. It even looks different—almost beautiful. It no longer seems horrible, to me, at least.”

“I did not mean the forest floor,” Genaa said. “I meant this place. This place where all the Verban, drugged and helpless, were lowered down into—into death.” Genaa’s voice was taut and brittle. “Death,” she said again, “at least to everything they had known and loved.”

“Come, Genaa. It does no good to think about it.” Neric pulled her away from the branch edge, but she resisted, her body tense and rigid, her gaze as fixed as that of a foreseer in deep trance. “Come,” he urged, “think instead of what we are doing, and how, if we are successful, all the Verban will be restored to Green-sky and to all those who loved them.”

“Yes,” Genaa said at last, shuddering as she turned her eyes away.

“We must look now for a heavy stand of Vine—” Neric was saying when suddenly he stopped. “No! There is no longer any need to climb down cautiously. We can glide. We can glide down to the forest floor without fear of landing within reach of death-dealing claws.”

And so, without fear, Neric and Genaa launched themselves from the lowest branch level and drifted downward, as no Kindar had ever done before. After spiraling slowly through the soft damp air, they landed at the base of the same grund, directly below the place where the Vine-priests had attached their ladders. Once there, they unfurled their map again and studied it carefully.

From the circle that represented the trunk of the grund, D’ol Falla had drawn a line that extended due west, past a double trunk, where two grunds had come up so close together that their trunks had merged. Beyond the double circle, the line turned sharply to the north. Turning to the west, the two moved forward through great fern, which, arching high above their heads, made it impossible to see for any distance. But they had not gone far when they glimpsed the towering double column of the merged grunds. Circling the enormous trunk, they turned north. After a short time they reached the next landmark shown on the grundleaf map—a great boulder, gray and forbidding. At its base they turned again to the west.

Now they found themselves on a narrow path that wound its way through dense fern and heavy growths of ground vine. The light was dim, and the air was heavy with strange rich odors, so overwhelming that they seemed to touch and caress the skin. The earth below their feet was soft and spongy with no sign of the radiating ridges that indicated that the grillwork of Root lay near the surface of the soil. The path forked twice and, following the map’s markings, they each time took the right hand fork, and in a few minutes they found themselves approaching another boulder.

“There it is,” Neric whispered. “And see, there is another and another. We have found the place.”

It was here that D’ol Falla’s map ended, at a place where three boulders set close together, forming a triangle. At the center of that triangle lay the opening in the Root. As the two young Ol-zhaan stepped through the narrow opening between the boulders, they saw before them a pit, several feet across and a little deeper than the height of a tall man. The bottom of the pit seemed to be full of fallen leaves. Without hesitating, Neric stepped forward and jumped lightly down to the bottom; a moment later Genaa landed beside him.

Neric was already on his knees, raking up the thick layer of dead vegetation. Beneath the leaves, the earth was loose and soft, and suddenly Neric gasped, clutching the fingers of his right hand.

“What is it?” Genaa asked.

“The Root,” Neric said. “I am never prepared for its coldness. See, it lies just here.”

“And here another branch crosses. D’ol Falla said it forms a square of dimensions large enough to allow the passage of even the largest man, and the opening is covered by a shield of metal. The shield must lie here, between the branches.”

The metal shield, which had once been a part of the flying chamber in which the Flight was made, was soon laid bare. Grasping it from each side, they were able to lift it away. As they placed it against the wall of the pit, they saw that its underside was roughly textured and fashioned to resemble the earthy roof of the tunnel so that, seen from below, it would give no hint of what lay above.

With the cover removed, Neric and Genaa stared down into a gaping hole of incredible darkness—a blackness that seemed utterly different from the soft breathing shadows of the forest night. Looking down into that well of oblivion, it seemed almost as if it would not be possible to move, or even to breathe in such darkness. Leaning down, Genaa thrust her arm as far as she could into the hole. She held it there for a moment and then removed it, staring at it strangely. Glancing up she saw that Neric, too, was staring at her hand.

Genaa’s smile attempted self-mockery, but it was not entirely successful. “I almost expected—” she began.

“I know,” Neric said, “that it would be gone. That it would have been dissolved by the darkness. I felt that, too.”

They continued to stare silently into the black hole for a long time before Neric spoke again. “I wish we had thought to bring a honey lantern. Do you think we should go back for one?”

“I was thinking of that also, but we would have to wait then until dusk when the moon moths begin to fly. I think we must go on—through the darkness. We will feel our way—as the Verban do when they waken below the Root. But we must think of a way to mark our path, so that we will be able to return to this spot after we have reached the Erdlings and found my father.”

Neric recalled at once what he and Raamo had done when they first came to the forest floor. They had marked their path with fern fronds. No better solution presented itself, so it was agreed upon. Climbing out of the pit, Neric and Genaa hastily set about gathering large armloads of fronds, which they bound into two large bundles with strands of ground vine. With the bundles slung over their shoulders, they climbed back down into the pit and stood, once more, at the opening in the Root.

“Are we ready?” Genaa said. “Will you go first, or shall I?”

“I will,” Neric said. “But it has just occurred to me that perhaps we should look first for some roots and mushrooms. We may be many days in the tunnels before we are found and—”

“I have a little pan-fruit in my belt-pouch,” Genaa said, “and Teera said that water is plentiful in the tunnels—that there are many small springs and streams. I think we should not delay any longer.”

“Yes, you are right,” Neric agreed. He knelt down at the very edge of the opening, and leaning forward he peered down into the darkness. “I think I can see the tunnel floor,” he announced after a moment. “It’s not far.” Swinging his legs over the edge, he pushed forward—and disappeared into the darkness.

Watching, Genaa was suddenly gripped by cold fingers of fear. It seemed as if Neric had been swallowed—gulped down into the earth. But then, as she leaned forward, a dim, shadowy face appeared slowly, floating up out of the darkness.

“I lit on my knees,” Neric said. He lifted up his hands, and they came almost to the mouth of the hole. “See, it’s not far to the tunnel floor. Take my hands as you jump.”

A moment later they were standing side by side on the tunnel floor. Above their heads there was light—a small square of warm inviting radiance. But all around them was darkness and a cold, unearthly silence. As the moments passed, the dark silence seemed to seep into their hearts, and minds, smothering every thought and feeling in a dense fog of foreboding.

T
EERA FINISHED THE LAST
morsel of nut porridge with fruit sauce and licked the spoon. “They surely can’t mean to hurt us,” she said, “or they wouldn’t bother to feed us so well. Don’t you think so, Pomma?”

Pomma, who was still eating, looked up at Teera curiously. “Hurt us?” she said. “You keep talking about their hurting us. Why would they do that—and how? How would they—” Pomma’s voice wavered and her eyes fell. The images that came to her mind when she thought of hurting were vague and indistinct, but definitely uncomfortable to think about.

“Hurting,” Teera said. “You know.” She made a gesture of striking and then of kicking. “Hasn’t anyone ever hurt you—like other children, when you were playing and someone—” She swung her hand towards Pomma’s face, stopping just in time to prevent contact.

“Oh that,” Pomma said. “Like in a dance when someone’s hand swings around and hits your face? But we don’t call that hurting. We call it accident. Always when anyone pains you at the Garden, it is called an accident. That means that you are paining but no one meant to, and that everyone is sorry.” Pomma smiled, remembering how it was when there was an accident at the Garden—how everyone gathered around both the one who was paining and the one who had caused the pain and caressed and soothed them both, making a Ceremony of Comfort. It was often almost a Joy to be an accident at the Garden.

Teera sighed. “But don’t they ever do it on purpose because they are angry or because you have something they want?”

Pomma looked down, her cheeks reddening. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said.

Teera sighed again more loudly. “All right,” she said. “But the Ol-zhaan do hurt people. At least they hurt Erdlings and the Verban. And it was the Ol-zhaan who took us away from your nid-place and shut us up here. And it must be because we know that there really aren’t any Pash-shan, and they are afraid that we will tell.”

“But we could promise them that we wouldn’t tell.”

“I don’t think they would believe us. Because we might tell without meaning to, or we might forget about promising. I don’t think they would believe a promise, at least not enough to let us go.”

“What do you think they will do with us then?”

“I think they might put us down below the Root, like they do the Verban.” Teera spoke rather cheerfully, thinking of the surprised delight of her parents and clan-siblings, and of how fascinated they would be with Pomma, a Kindar child. But at that moment her musing ended abruptly, interrupted by a sudden awareness of fear and despair. Pomma’s face was blank, her eyes wide and expressionless; but Teera could pense her terror. It was not until then that Teera realized what it would mean to Pomma to be sent below the Root.

Throwing her arms around Pomma, she caressed her soothingly, crooning words of comfort; but Pomma’s fear died slowly.

“I was wrong,” Teera told her. “I didn’t remember that you are a Kindar, and the sister of an Ol-zhaan. They would never put you below the Root. Please, Pomma, don’t think of it anymore. Let’s think of other things—like, how well I am learning to Five-Pense. Shall we Five-Pense, or do you want to play Garden, like we did yesterday?”