Below the Root (23 page)

“These are weapons,” D’ol Falla was saying. “Tools of violence such as were used by our ancestors in the days before the flight. This one, for instance, by only the slightest touch here upon this bar, is capable of destroying anything at which it is pointed, even at a distance of many yards.”

Turning toward D’ol Falla, Raamo saw that she was holding one of the weapons in her frail old hands, her narrow fingers coiling tendril-like around its ugly surface. Roughly triangular in shape, the weapon tapered to a narrow orifice, a dark ugly mouth that seemed to reach out to Raamo as if in hunger. Raamo lifted his eyes quickly from the deadly mouth to D’ol Falla’s face, seeking desperately to read there some reassurance, some clue to her intentions. But the bright green eyes looked back at him coolly from the withered face, and no shadow of thought or feeling answered his pensed entreaty.

“I have been informed,” D’ol Falla was saying, “by those who keep watch for me, that you, Raamo, have been in contact with those who live below the Root, and therefore there are certain things that must be done quickly. But first there is a story that I would like to tell you. Let us sit here, by this table-board while I speak, for I am old and weary, and the tale will not be short.”

Moving to a long table near the center of the room, D’ol Falla sank slowly into a chair, and Raamo seated himself at the other end. The old woman’s eyes were still fixed on Raamo with unblinking intentness, and the cruel blunt shape of the ancient weapon was still heavy in her narrow hands.

“It is a long story.” she began, “and a very old one. It is the story told by these books, and much of it is known to a very few among the community of Ol-zhaan, to those few who are known as the Geets-kel and to no one else. There are, I know, some parts of it that you have already learned. You have already learned, as have all Ol-zhaan, that our ancestors once lived on a large and beautiful planet, a rich and fertile world, blessed with every resource necessary to produce a complex and highly developed way of life. But, although they had managed, by their wisdom and knowledge, to find the means to banish most of the ills and evils that had plagued their early development, there was one great evil they were seemingly unable to control. And that evil was the curse of violence.

“In spite of their great wisdom and scientific skills, and in spite of the warnings of many of their Spirit-gifted leaders, they seemed to be unable to produce a society that functioned on any basis other than the pitting of human beings against each other in ways that inevitably produced pain and fear. Violence developed in ever more destructive and uncontrollable forms. This pattern continued for so long that there were many, even among their great thinkers and leaders, who felt that such things were inevitable, and that violence was so deeply ingrained in human nature that it could never be done away with. Yet there were, in the last days, some who felt that such was not the case, that all things were capable of change, and that there were many clues pointing the way toward new skills, new forces, even new states of being, which could produce a society free forever from the use of force. A small group of such men, scientists engaged in the study of developing human potentials, had created a laboratory, a school, where a large group of infants, orphaned by the latest in the endless series of wars, had been turned over to their care. The men had only begun their experiment, their training of the infants in the most advanced manifestations of the developing human Spirit, when the end came—and the flight began.”

D’ol Falla paused, and for a moment her eyes closed and her head fell forward. She sighed deeply, and then, as if with great effort, she raised her head and once again the green eyes met Raamo’s.

“The early days of Green-sky were a time of great change, of incredible adventure and exploration in the realm of the human Spirit. The scientists, who of course were the first Ol-zhaan, chose as their leaders two greatly gifted men. The first was a Doctor Nesh-om, who had been a leading authority in the old world on what had been known as psychic research; he had been a pioneer in the training of young children to make use of and develop their naturally evolving powers of mind and Spirit. The other was a Doctor Wissen, whose field had been communication with lower forms of life, and in particular, the control and development of plant life by means of psychic force.

“These two greatly gifted men, although very different in personality and temperament, were united in their determination to work for one sacred goal: the establishment of a society that would be free from every form of violence.

“The first years in Green-sky were a time of great, almost unanticipated, success. Nurtured in institutions that encouraged close communication with their peers and teachers, taught to accept and encourage every instinct that nourished loving interdependence, allowed to express themselves freely in song and dance and to seek comfort in ritual and meditation, the children grew in Love and Peace—and with absolutely no knowledge of the evils that had destroyed their ancestors.

“But as the children reached adulthood, a disagreement arose, and there were soon two factions among the Ol-zhaan. One group, led by D’ol Nesh-om, thought that as the children matured they should be told the complete history of their race and the tragic truth concerning the fate of their ancestors. D’ol Wissen and his followers believed that it would be better to allow them to remain completely innocent of such evil knowledge. Such a solution meant, of course, that there would continue to be Ol-zhaan, a small group who would guard the key to the Forgotten and who would carry the burden of the knowledge of evil. The debate went on for many years. These shelves contain many of the writings of D’ol Nesh-om and D’ol Wissen on this matter, setting forth their opinions and beliefs.”

D’ol Falla paused as she motioned toward the bookshelves beside the table-board, but Raamo noticed that although her left hand moved in a sweeping gesture, her right remained clasped around the ugly triangle of metal. The whispery voice resumed, and the narrative went on.

“The writings of D’ol Nesh-om reveal that in his old age he had become obsessed by a single idea. This obsession took the form of insisting that the Spirit itself was threatened by the division of the people of Green-sky into Ol-zhaan and Kindar. At last, D’ol Nesh-om and his followers took matters into their own hands and began, secretly, to instruct a small group of Kindar concerning the civilization of their ancestors and the evil days before the flight.

“But then many things happened swiftly. D’ol Nesh-om died suddenly, leaving his small group of followers without a leader; and in order to end the dissension and protect the innocence of the Kindar, D’ol Wissen was forced to take steps.

“Therefore, a group of five Ol-zhaan and fifteen Kindar became the first dwellers below the Root. In order to explain their disappearance, the remaining Kindar were told that a party that had been sent to explore the forest floor had been attacked by a terrible tribe of monsters. Thus it was that the Pash-shan came into being.”

D’ol Falla paused again, and Raamo nodded, “I know,” he said. “I know about the Pash-shan being really only Kindar. But how were they taken? How were they placed beneath the Root?”

“They were heavily drugged,” D’ol Falla said. “Then they were carried down to one of the enormous caverns that had been found to exist beneath the forest floor. And it was then that D’ol Wissen, by invoking his great force for grunspreking, caused the Vine to be transformed. The Root spread and grew, becoming impenetrable and indestructible, and at the same time other changes occurred. Changes which even D’ol Wissen had not expected or foreseen. The simple blossom of the native Vine was suddenly transformed into a thing of strange and illusive beauty; and the fruit, a small sweet berry, was found to be capable of producing a relaxed and peaceful state of mind when eaten often and in large quantities.”

“How could they have done it?” Raamo said. “How could they have shut them away to live all their lives in darkness?”

“It was not meant to be forever. It was D’ol Wissen’s intention to keep them imprisoned only temporarily—until they could be made to see reason, or until the Kindar were more firmly established in their habits of peaceful communion. Indeed, he left a secret opening in the Root for the purpose of releasing the prisoners, in the event that the Root could not easily be restored to its natural state. But somehow the time never seemed right—barriers once established tend to grow stronger. And the Pash-shan began to grow and multiply beneath the Root. Eventually, others were added to their number. By means of the secret opening, others were placed beneath the Root—all those who seemed to be carriers of the seed of violence or dissension.

“Then, of course, with the secret of the Pash-shan to protect as well as the secrets of the Forgotten, it became even more imperative than ever that the Ol-zhaan be perpetuated. So it was that the choosing was established and the future strength of the Ol-zhaan, and the Geets-kel as well, was assured.

“And so life has gone on in Green-sky and, although the use of the Spirit-skills has gradually diminished, there has been no increase in violence, and the people, Kindar and Ol-zhaan alike, have continued to live in peaceful contentment, until—”

D’ol Falla was silent and her eyes, which had grown pale and distant, became once again cold green moons that held Raamo motionless with their strange radiance.

“Until now,” she repeated slowly, “when it has all been endangered by my own folly.”

“Through your folly?” Raamo whispered.

“Yes, mine. Because it was I who insisted that you should be chosen. Because of minor problems, problems no doubt easily solved by less dangerous means, I urged the choosing of one who was known to be gifted with unusual Spirit-force, although I knew the risk involved in such a choice. And now the worst has happened.

“The worst—” D’ol Falla’s thin voice cracked and her pale fingers twined convulsively on the ugly surface of the weapon that still lay before her on the table-board. “I am old,” she said, “and if I break my vow and take upon myself the curse of violence, I will not have long to suffer the pangs of remorse, or to contaminate others with my evil. And since I alone brought this threat to Green-sky, it must be mine alone to—”

The old woman’s voice faded into silence as if it took all her strength, every ounce of her dwindling energy, to lift the ugly mass of contorted metal that lay before her. Raamo sat paralyzed as the blunt snout lifted and turned in his direction. But then, suddenly, it fell back to the table with a dull thud. Grasping her throat, D’ol Falla had fallen back in her chair gasping, her face convulsed as if she was in extreme pain. As Raamo sprang to his feet, she slid sideways from her chair and sank down, the silk of her shining shuba billowing around her.

W
HEN RAAMO KNELT ABOVE
the still form of D’ol Falla, he saw no sign of life. He could detect not so much as a flutter of eyelids, nor even the slightest rise and fall of breath. If she were yet alive, it seemed that she would not be for long. To go out and return with a healer would take a long time—perhaps too long. Running to the heavy wooden door, Raamo pulled it open and returned quickly to the still figure on the chamber floor. Slipping his arms beneath her, he rose carefully to his feet. Scarcely burdened by the weight of her frail body, he had begun to move forward when a voice spoke suddenly only inches from his ear.

“You may put me down now, Raamo. I am quite all right.”

Startled for a moment into complete immobility, Raamo at last came to his senses and hastened to place D’ol Falla on her own feet. She was smiling, the green eyes glowing like those of a mischievous child.

“You are not—you were—” Raamo stammered.

“I was feigning.” D’ol Falla said. “It was an experiment. I was only testing you—and more than you. I was testing a theory.”

”Testing? I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? Where is the weapon—the tool of violence with which I was threatening to take your life?”

“Where?” Raamo turned quickly to look at the table. “Why, there. There on the table where you dropped it.”

“Yes,” D’ol Falla said, “although it could easily be in your own hands now. You could easily, and for very strong and compelling reasons, have taken it into your own hands, and you did not.”

“I—I—it did not occur to me.”

D’ol Falla laughed. Raamo had not heard her laugh before. Like her eyes, it was strangely youthful. “It did not occur to you!” She laughed again as if with great Joy.

“Come, Raamo,” she said at last. “I can see that you are beginning to wonder if I have lost my senses or eaten too many Berries. Let us sit down again, and I will try to explain. It is time now for you to hear a different history—the history of D’ol Falla.”

It was then, as D’ol Falla and Raamo seated themselves once more by the table-board, that behind the old woman’s back two figures emerged silently from the open doorway. Just inside the door. Neric and Genaa paused, their faces tense and anxious. But then, as Neric started forward, Genaa grasped his arm, and at the same time signaled to Raamo to remain silent. By turning his eyes quickly back to D’ol Falla, Raamo indicated his understanding. Making a supreme effort not to let his relief and Joy at the sudden appearance of his two friends show on his face, he told himself that he should have known they would find him. They would have waited for him in the dooryard until he was overdue, and then the open grillwork and the trail of glowing lanterns would have been all that was necessary for such as Neric and Genaa.

Apparently unaware of the two who stood only a few feet behind her chair, D’ol Falla was still speaking.

“You must hear my story in order that you may understand what I have done and what I am about to do. I entered the community of the Ol-zhaan long long ago, at a time when the burden of their secret had not yet caused the Geets-kel to oppose the choosing of all who were blessed with gifts of the Spirit. I had, in those days, an unusual gift of Spirit-force. Other gifts of nature were mine also, gifts of mind and body that I had done nothing to earn; but being young and untempered by life, I allowed myself pride in my good fortune—pride and an ever-growing ambition. During my novitiate, I surpassed all others in my studies; and at a very early age I was made a priest of the Vine, and soon afterward I was invited to join the Geets-kel.”