Below the Root (20 page)

And what would happen when the disillusioned Kindar went to the forest floor and met their imprisoned kinspeople? What strange things, what thoughts and feelings, what habits and reactions would they learn from these mysterious, long-imprisoned Kindar of darkness?

Raamo pondered all these questions over and over again without arriving at any answers. But in spite of his unanswered questions and fearful uncertainties, he began to be aware that a belief was growing in his mind and becoming daily more strong and insistent. That belief was that knowledge of the true nature of the Pash-shan belonged to the Kindar, and that it could not be right to keep it from them.

During those days, Raamo also thought often of Neric’s warning concerning D’ol Falla. Daily, as he made his way from the novice hall to the central platform and from there to the ornate door-arch of D’ol Falla’s chambers, he reminded himself that he must be very careful. He must watch and listen for the slightest flaw in the mind-blocking of the old woman, at the same time being on constant guard to prevent any relaxation of his own. It was not an easy thing to do.

D’ol Falla was beginning to teach Raamo the many intricate rituals of the Vine, and there was much drill and repetition. But more than ever now, as he listened to the soft rasp of the old woman’s voice, Raamo was tormented by the constant awareness of a dim uncertain questing, a blind searching that seemed to hover just beyond the edge of his own consciousness. And, more than ever, he found it hard to refrain from lowering his own barriers and reaching out in open response. But he did not. Instead he reminded himself of Neric’s warning and firmly turned his thoughts to the ordered patterns of the ritual chants.

When the next free day finally arrived, Raamo hurriedly left the great hall after the morning ceremony, only to be detained by D’ol Salaat. D’ol Salaat, it seemed, had no plans for the free day and wanted to know how Raamo was planning to enjoy the hours of relaxation. It took some quick thinking and talking before D’ol Salaat could be sent on his way and Raamo was free to make his careful approach to the meeting place. Fearful that he would be keeping the others waiting, he finally pushed his way through the Vine-screen, only to find that there was no one there. Looking around, he noticed a large grundleaf attached to a Vine-tendril in such a way that it could not fail to attract attention. Someone had written on the leaf in large letters and left it where it was certain to be seen. Raamo had just begun to read the message when the Vine parted and Neric entered the hiding place.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A message,” Raamo said, and together they read what Genaa had written.

“I arrived early and have gone on ahead, as I wish to speak privately with Teera. Join me there. Genaa.”

“Privately,” Neric said. “What is she up to now?”

Raamo shook his head. “I doubt that she will have much success,” he said. “Unless she can somehow convince Teera of her good will.”

“Good will!” Neric said. “When she has said that she would like to kill all the Pash-shan, even though they are only imprisoned Kindar?”

“I don’t think she really meant it,” Raamo said, “or, at least, she would not mean it if she took time to consider. But whatever her true feelings are—Teera will know. Although she cannot mind-speak, her pensing of emotion and feelings is very quick and accurate. She will know what lies beneath the questions Genaa asks her, perhaps better than Genaa herself.”

“Perhaps,” Neric said. “In any case, we had best hurry. I may not be noted for my skill at foretelling, but I feel quite certain that this private interview with the glorious D’ol Genaa bodes no good for our little Pash-shan, and perhaps no good for us.”

Raamo and Neric made the long roundabout journey to the D’ok nid-place in a very short time, but it became obvious, the moment they entered, that the time had not been short enough. Pomma met them in the doorway, and her face was wet with tears.

“They’ve gone,” she said. “D’ol Genaa came and talked to Teera alone, and then they came out and went away. I asked them where they were going, but they didn’t say anything except D’ol Genaa said to tell you that they were going to the forest floor.”

“That was all?” Raamo asked. “She didn’t say why?”

“No,” Pomma said. “That was all she said. But I think she had been crying.”

“Teera was crying?” Neric asked.

“No. D’ol Genaa.”

“Genaa? Crying?” Neric said. He grabbed Raamo’s shoulder. “Let us go quickly,” he said. “There is no time to waste.”

“What is it?” Pomma cried, bursting into a fresh flood of tears. “What is she going to do? What will she do to Teera?”

Quickly reassuring Pomma as best he could, Raamo joined Neric in the doorway to wait until a break in the traffic of strolling Kindar made it possible to hurry to the safety of their vantage point in the nearest leafy branch-end. There they paused long enough to plan their pursuit.

“She would have gone this way to the outskirts of the city,” Neric said. “I would guess that if we go to the first uninhabited grund and seek out the first strong stand of Vine, we will not be far from the route taken by our impetuous colleague. She is in no mood for caution or patience, I think.”

“Yes,” Raamo said, “but she will not be able to move swiftly with Teera. If we hurry, perhaps we will be able to catch them before—”

Already pushing his way through the thicket of end-branches, Neric looked back to ask, “Before what? What do you think she plans to do with Teera? Do you think she plans to harm her?”

“I don’t know,” Raamo said. “It seems impossible. But if she forced Teera to tell her something concerning her father’s death, and if in truth, the Erdlings were responsible—I don’t know what she might do. She might—do almost anything.”

“Aha,” Neric exulted. “I am relieved, at least, that you are beginning to sec more clearly. But do not berate yourself. You are not the first to be blinded by beauty.”

Soon after crossing over from Grandgrund to the dense endbranches of the first forest grund, Raamo noticed a loosely twisted spiral of heavy Vine-stems passing directly through a leafy thicket of grundtwigs. Near the Vine, a grundleaf’s succulent surface had recently been marred, as if by grasping fingers.

“This way,” Raamo said, and swinging onto the Vine, he climbed quickly downward, with Neric following close behind. Within a very few minutes, they were standing, for the second time, on the forest floor.

As before, the light under the arching ferns was muted, deeply shadowed in shades of green, and in the still air the rich heavy scents seemed almost tangible to tongue and fingertips. No sound of voices or footsteps broke the silence, but here and there in the soft moss small rounded imprints were clearly visible. The imprints had quite possibly been made by the heels of small human feet, and led away from the Vine ladder in a southerly direction. Silently, alert for the slightest sound or motion in the surrounding undergrowth, Raamo and Neric crept forward.

In spurts and starts, losing the trail and finding it again, they zigzagged down long corridors under arching fern-fronds, and then crossed a more open area where the fern gave way to low, wide-leafed plants bearing enormous blood-red blossoms. Twice the trail led them across small crevices full of flowing water before it plunged back into a dense growth of towering fern. Here the boles of the ferns grew so closely that the narrow pathway twisted and turned constantly and beneath the interwoven fronds the light faded to a greenish twilight. Bending low, peering, even feeling for the faint indentations, their progress had slowed almost to a crawl when a sudden sound brought them to their feet, staring at each other in wild conjecture. Far in the distance a voice, a thin childish voice, was shouting for help.

“Help,” the sound came again. “Help me. It’s Teera. Help me.”

Frantically Neric and Raamo plunged forward, twisting and turning as they dodged around the fern boles and Vine-stems and scrambled over the decaying trunks of fallen rooftrees.

The call came again, much closer now, “It’s Teera. Help me. It’s Teera.”’

As the last shout died away, Raamo broke through a thick wall of undergrowth and stopped short. Following close behind, Neric was unable to stop in time to prevent a sharp collision. But the crashing of underbrush and the thud of colliding bodies went entirely unnoticed by the two people who were already occupying the clearing.

As Raamo scrambled to his feet, he saw that the two figures crouching in the center of the clearing were indeed Genaa and Teera. On their hands and knees, their heads hung low, the two girls might have been searching for something very small in the thick moss. Except that Teera was once again shouting, calling for help.

A cold wave of fear flowed up Raamo’s spine, but he forced himself to move forward. He had approached to within a few feet of the kneeling Genaa when she turned suddenly and saw him. Her gasp of surprise turned into a shining smile as she leaped to her feet and threw her arms around him.

“Oh Raamo,” she cried. “He’s alive. My father is alive.”

A
T GCNAA’S JOYOUS CRY
, Teera finally became aware of Raamo’s presence and turned away from the ventilation tunnel down which she had been calling. Getting quickly to her feet, she approached Raamo shyly, but with a smile almost as radiant as Genaa’s own.

“Greetings D’ol Raamo,” she said softly, “and D’ol Neric,” she added as Neric, whose progress had been temporarily impeded by a shortness of breath brought on by running at full speed into a suddenly stationary Raamo, finally staggered up.

“Greetings Teera,” Raamo said. “We heard you calling for help and came as quickly as we could. Were you in danger?”

Teera looked surprised. “No,” she said. “I was just calling—” she motioned to the dark hole bordered by Wissenroot, “—I was just calling to the Erdlings to come and help us. But no one has come yet.”

Genaa laughed, and there was a lightness to her laughter that Raamo had not heard before. “Let me tell you,” she said. “Let me tell you what happened.” Glancing at the still gasping Neric, a touch of her old mockery glinted in her eyes as she said, “You seem breathless, D’ol Neric. Please be seated. I have much to tell.”

When they were seated on the soft turf of the clearing, Genaa began her narrative. “I decided to go early to the D’ok nid-place because I wished to question Teera concerning the disappearance of adult Kindar who ventured down to the forest floor—what was done to them and how they were disposed of. I knew such questions would frighten Teera and you would object if you were present.” Genaa smiled ruefully. “The questions did, indeed, frighten her. So much so that I was unable to get a word from her, no matter how I threatened and pleaded. But then 1 became so troubled that I began to cry, myself, and I began to talk to Teera about my father. I don’t know why. I have not been able to speak of him much to anyone since his—since he disappeared. But somehow I found myself crying and talking about him—how good and wise he was and how I had worshiped him—and, suddenly I realized that Teera had stopped crying and was listening very carefully with a strange expression on her face. I don’t even remember saying my father’s name but I must have in my raving, because when I finally quieted, Teera said, ‘I know a man named Hiro D’anhk. He is a teacher and a Verban.’

“ ‘A Verban?’ I asked, and Teera explained that nearly everyone in Erda is either an Erdling or a Fallen—who are almost like Erdlings because they have been below the Root since they were infants. But there are a few who are not Erdlings or Fallen, and they are called Verban. The Verban are those who have been
sent
below the Root by the Ol-zhaan.” Turning to Teera, Genaa asked, “Isn’t that right, Teera? Isn’t that what you said about the Verban?”

Teera nodded. “And everyone feels sorry for the Verban,” she said, “because they have lost their people and all the things they were born to, like trees and sky.”

“When I asked her how long the Verban named Hiro D’anhk had been in Erda, she said a long, long time,” Genaa said. “It has been only two years, but that must be a very long time to someone like Teera who is only eight years old. When she described him, the Hiro D’anhk who is now teaching in the Erdling academy, I knew that it was he. So I asked Teera to come with me to the forest floor to help me look for a tunnel opening. And here we are.”

“You were not afraid to come with D’ol Genaa?” Raamo asked Teera.

Teera shook her head. “Not when she wasn’t angry anymore. I was afraid at first on the Vine, but D’ol Genaa told me to shut my eyes and climb by feeling, and when I couldn’t see how far it was, I wasn’t afraid anymore and I climbed like a sima. Didn’t I, D’ol Genaa?”

“You did, truly,” Genaa said. She laughed again, “Oh Raamo, I have never been so—”

“Great Sorrow!” Neric shouted suddenly. “Do you realize what this means?”

“Means?” Raamo said, and it was not until that moment that he began to think about meanings and significances, having been too much caught up in Genaa’s Joy to think of anything else.

“It means,” Neric said, “that there are still some among the Vine-priests who are capable of causing changes in the Root.
And
that new prisoners are still being added to those already below. It means that the mysterious disappearances of adult Kindar are no longer a mystery, and that many who were thought to have died at the hands of the Pash-shan are probably still living among the Erdlings.”

“But if the Vine-priests can still influence the growth of the Root, why are they unable to control the withering?” Raamo asked. “Surely, if the priests could cause the Root to shrink enough to allow the passage of a full-grown man, and then regrow, they could keep it from withering.”

“But there must be withering,” Neric said. “Teera is proof of that, and I, myself, heard D’ol Falla speak for the choosing of Raamo
because
of the withering. With my own ears I heard her say that she advised Raamo’s choosing, in spite of the dangers, because of the chance that his Spirit-force could be used to heal the Root.”

“There must be an explanation,” Genaa said. “If the Root can open enough to swallow my father, it can open enough to release him, and I intend to find out how it can be done.” The soft shining was gone from Genaa’s face and voice as she spoke, replaced by the old rigidity.